I chewed softly, watching Jax, my eyes moving up and down, following his movements, and I knew damn well that given the choice of the conductor or Jaxon Trent, I’d watch Jaxon Trent.
His long fingers clutching the shift, the muscular calves flexing every time they punched the clutch, the blue eyes that I swore turned black and intense as they stared out the window.
I could watch him work his car forever.
“You need to stop watching me like that.” I heard his voice, and I jerked my attention up to his face.
Shit!
He was still staring out the windshield, lips slightly open and looking cautious.
“What?” I asked, trying to act as though I didn’t know what he was talking about, and I wasn’t just drooling over his driving. But it was useless. My cheeks had warmed, and I’m sure it showed.
“You’re going to get us in a fucking accident,” he scolded.
I scowled. “Me? What did I do?”
He shook his head, letting out a small laugh. “Do me a favor, would you?” His voice was soft and smooth, threatening in how quickly he turned sensual.
He shot his eyes to me, and I closed my mouth, gulping the bit of watermelon I’d been chewing. Why the hell was he looking at me like that?
He jerked his chin at me. “The watermelon juice spilling over your lip?” he indicated. “Lick it up or I will.”
I dropped the piece in my hand and stared at him, stunned and hoping he was kidding. The dare in his eyes, the menace in his soft voice, the danger traveling from his side of the car over to mine—it was no joke. I blinked and turned my gaze back out the front windshield.
Fuck my life.
Darting out my tongue, I snatched up any remnants of juice from my lips and sealed the container back up.
My phone began chirping from my bag, and I reached down to retrieve it, thankful for the distraction. But looking at the screen, I winced.
My mother again. She’d called twice and had now sent another text.
Tate’s house. Ten minutes.
I shook my head and stuffed the phone back into my bag, swallowing the bad taste in my mouth. What the hell did she want?
First she didn’t even bother to make sure I made it home okay, and only a few days later she was calling and texting. Maybe she just couldn’t stand the fact that I hadn’t called her, but all I knew for sure was that I didn’t want to see her. Not today and maybe not for a while.
“Who was that?” Jax questioned.
I sighed, still looking out the window. Why lie? “My mom. She’s waiting at Tate’s house.”
“Why?”
I shrugged, feeling the sadness descend on me. It wasn’t that I wouldn’t talk to him. I couldn’t. Who knew what would happen if I tried opening my mouth right now? And how easily the thought of her face, her voice, her presence had sucked dry the blissful little bubble I’d just been in?
“How am I supposed to know?” I griped. “You ask too many questions.”
I didn’t want to see her. I didn’t want to hear her voice. I didn’t want her hands on me.
I pursed my lips together, avoiding Jax’s eyes that I could feel on the back of my head.
We rounded the corner onto Fall Away Lane, the weight of the rain barely affecting the speed at which Jax traveled.
I closed my eyes. Please keep going. Please. I clutched the door handle, the hollow ache in my stomach growing as he traveled closer and closer.
Three seconds.
Two.
And then one.
But he didn’t stop.
He didn’t stop! My eyes went wide, and I spun my head around to see his self-satisfied eyebrow arched.
“What are you doing? Where are you going?” I blurted out, planting my right hand on the dash to support myself as he picked up speed again.
“You want to go home?” he challenged.
No. “Uh … um,” I stuttered.
“Good.” He smiled at me and shifted into a higher gear—I could only tell because the speed picked up again. “I can relate,” he sympathized. “I wouldn’t want to see my parents, either.”
“Okayyy,” I drawled. “So, where do you think you’re taking me?”
He didn’t answer. He turned up the music and forged ahead through the dense storm and deserted streets.
CHAPTER 6
K.C.
The Loop was the town’s unofficial racing ring. Frequented throughout high school by every guy with a car to race or money to bet, it was nothing more than a dirt track circling a very large pond on the Benson Farm property.
Or it used to be.
“Jax, I think you should just take me home,” I said, trying to hide the bite from my voice as we turned onto the long driveway leading only one place.
I hated the Loop.
I hated cars. I hated not knowing about cars. I hated that my ex-boyfriend had met another girl here in high school. I hated that everyone was comfortable here except me.
And I hated that I was so insecure and ignorant that I was no more than wallpaper during events here.
“I’ve got you alone,” Jax teased. “And you’re not looking at me like I just pissed on your Prada for once,” he continued. “Let’s have some fun.”
I scowled. “Um, unless your plan is to get me naked—which won’t happen—I can’t imagine why you thought this would be fun for either one of us. I mean, what am I supposed to do here?”
“Drive.”
My heart pitter-pattered. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
What? But … how? I couldn’t drive a stick! I tapped my feet, ready to dive out of the car, and I barely noticed that the crackle of gravel had disappeared under the tires.
I sucked in air, trying to fucking decide which battle to fight first. “Is the track paved now?” I blurted out.
The track now sported a concrete foundation, and it had been doubled in width. A few small sets of bleachers sat off to the side, and where viewers had once parked on the grass to the sides, now there was a set space.
“Jax?” I mumbled, taking in what I could through the blur of the rain. Were those stoplights at the finish line? And I looked off to the left. Was that a stand for the … announcer? Seriously?
“What’s happened here?”
“Look at me,” Jax ordered, ignoring my damn question.
I turned and met his eyes, forgetting my own damn question.
He pulled to a stop and set the parking brake. “How many guys have you had sex with other than Liam?”
My eyebrows did a nosedive. “Are you for real? Just get me out of here.”
What the hell was he doing?
His voice stayed light, with the hint of a laugh, as he held up his hands in defense. “I’m not trying to piss you off, Precious,” he teased, leaning his head back against the headrest and peering over at me. “I’m trying to make a point, okay? Driving a stick is like sex,” he stated.
“Every person you’re with is different. They’re like a code that needs to be broken.” He turned and ran his hands up both sides of the steering wheel, slow and smooth. “What parts like to be touched.” His sensual voice started stirring its way through my body. “Licked. Sucked. Bitten.”
Holy hell.
“Hell, some people don’t even need to be touched,” he pointed out. “Looking, teasing, playing mind games—everyone has that spot that jacks them into sixth gear, K.C.” And I stared, watching his every move as he turned and looked at me, speaking softly. “And this car is no different.”