Page 2 of Lines

“If you know how to get this thing going.” I shrug, pointing with a thumb over my shoulder at my good-for-nothing car. I’m not usually so careless to talk or accept help from a complete stranger, no matter how hot they are, but I don’t have much choice right now. Not if I want to come to school on time and not draw attention to myself on the first day of classes.

“Let’s see. What happened exactly?”

He gets off the bike in one smooth motion, like he did it a hundred times before. He probably did. I tell him about the strange sounds and light going on as he gets under the hood.

I look at him while he works.

He is around my age, but he could be older. It’s hard to guess because he has this whole older bad-boy vibe going on, and I’ve never seen him around school or town. I would know, everybody knows everybody around here all the way back to the diapers.

Add to it that he looks a little bit dangerous. Everything about him screams beware bad boy trouble—all dark and mysterious, giving sexy half smiles and trading fingers through hair right after taking off the helmet. And is that tattoo peeking through the sleeve of his shirt?

He turns around, startling me. “It’s definitely the oil.” Grey eyes narrow, looking at me. “Did you just stare at my butt?”

“What?”A shriek leaves my lips. “I did no such thing!”

His smile grows even wider, confidence oozing from every pore of his body. “You so did.” He leans into the car. “But it’s okay. Good to know all these exercises pay off.”

He winks at me playfully, and I can feel my cheeks getting hot with embarrassment. What did I do to deserve this kind of day? And it’s just beginning! “So can you do something or not?”

“If you have an oil change in your trunk, then yeah I can do something.”

I bite into my lower lip, uncomfortably switching from one foot to other.

“I guess you don’t.” The tone of his voice clearly states what he thinks but is too polite to voice—typical girl behavior.

“Well, I called my dad. He’ll come later and take care of it,” I sigh, going to the backseat to get my backpack. Walking it is. Is there something else that can happen to ruin this day even more than it already is? “Thank you for stopping to help and wasting your time, but I should really go. I’m already late for school.”

“You go to Greyford High?”

Throwing my backpack over my right shoulder, I close the door and turn to look at him, but he isn’t where I left him at the hood of the car. No, he is right there behind me.

This close, I have good look at his face.

He is handsome, his facial features movie–worthy. Strong jaw hidden behind light stubble, straight, white teeth, his lower lip is slightly fuller. His nose is straight, no bumps or any imperfections, and his almond, grey eyes stand out even more against his dark, prominent eyebrows and olive skin. Also, he is tall, over six feet and even behind clothes I can see he is well build.

“Why?” I ask carefully.

“Are you afraid?” he teases. The back of his finger is caressing my cheek, and I feel my body tense then shudder slightly from his touch. What is he doing to me? How is it that this guy that I just met has this kind of power over my body? “If I wanted to kidnap you, I would have already done it.”

“Then?”

“I’m going there myself.” He shrugs like it’s evident or something. His finger falls from my cheek as he takes a step back. “I just moved here, so it’s my first day. It’s your call, Freckles.”

I watch him go back to the bike. I could easily take his offer and maybe get to school on time. Or I could refuse him and walk twenty minutes with a backpack full of books over my shoulder.

“I don’t know you,” I say hoping to convince, I don’t even know who really, that this is not a good idea.

This is the first time I’ve seen the guy. Yeah, he is polite and helpful. Kind of like a knight in shining armor—or knight on a sleek bike—but I learned a long time ago that knights are just a myth, and if you want to survive you’ll have to do it on your own.

“Max Sanders.” He offers me his hand and I take it in mine. It’s big and warm, enveloping mine completely.

“Amelia Campbell.”

“So, Freckles, which is it? Bike or walking?” Max is still holding my hand as he asks the question.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I ask, trying to contain the small shudder that goes through my body. That name reminds me too much of another, not so cute pet name I’ve got. I look him in the eyes, hoping to find something, anything actually, that will tell me what he is thinking.

“You have them all over your nose and cheeks.”

---