Page 33 of Wrecked

“No problem, kiddo. Now, do you want to tell me where your car is?”

chapter EIGHT

“Twenty-five hundred bucks?” I practically break Rory’s eardrum with how high I screech.

Luke whistles through his teeth at the amount it is going to cost to fix the Blue Whore.

Rory does everything but roll his eyes at me. “The entire side of your car is smashed in, and the air-conditioning lines need to be redone—unless you don’t care about air.”

“I’ll drive with the windows open. I just need a motor that runs.”

He sways his mop of brown curls to the side. “It’s still going to run you about twelve hundred bucks.”

I lean toward Rory, who happens to work for his family’s auto-body shop. My insurance deductible is astronomical, and if I put a claim in, my premium will go through the roof. Paying cash is the way to go.

“Is there, like, an I’m-sleeping-with-your-best-friend discount or something?”

Luke laughs into his hand, his cheeks bright red, clearly amused by that comment.

Walking around the car, Rory explains, “That is the I-like-Suzanne-a-lot-and-I’m-helping-her-friend discount. I’m only charging you for parts.”

I fall onto a rolling desk chair in the garage.

Luke walks over and sits on top of a table that’s directly behind me. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be all right. I don’t mind driving you to work.”

It’s a sweet offer, but it won’t work. “For the summer. And then what? You have to go back to school, Luke. I need wheels.”

“Mom will give you her car.”

I groan. “I know she will. That’s unfair to her.”

“Or are you just trying to avoid telling her that you got into an accident?” he asks, pulling on my braid.

I double groan. “That, too.”

I told my dad I got into a fender bender—not exactly lying—and begged him not to worry Mom. They don’t keep secrets, so he said he’d avoid telling her unless she asked.

I swivel my chair around, hang my head in my hands, and contemplate how I can get a few extra bucks to fix my car.

“So”—Rory leisurely slides a rag along the hood of a red Ford—“Sue say anything about me?”

I peek out from my hands, and Luke gives me a look that reads, This guy’s got it bad.

I return it, I know.

A car pulling into the front of the garage causes Luke and Rory to turn their heads and me to swivel. We watch as the patrol car parks and idles.

The door opens, and I say a silent prayer. It’s not. Please say it’s not. I’ll give my left tit if it’s not.

It is.

Wearing his black uniform, Adam exits the car. His hair is tossed back, and those sinister eyes are hiding behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. His shirt is starched to the hilt; there’s not a wrinkle or thread misaligned.

Adam walks into the garage and stops momentarily at the sight of Luke and me . His chiseled brow is undermined by a softness in his eyes. It’s the same look he gave me last night when he drove me home.

Rory takes a few steps toward him. “Oil change?”

“You got time?” Adam asks.