Page 32 of Paper Hearts

He steps closer to me, and I realize I’m backed up against the side of the truck. The hot metal burns my back. He stares at my lips when he whispers, “It’ll only take a minute.”

“She said she’d be right down.” I stutter over my words as Myles walks inside the house, leaving me alone with Ender in the driveway. My towel slips down, revealing the tops of my breasts not covered by my bikini.

Ender’s gaze lowers to my chest and he shifts his stance closer. “I’m going with you guys.”

“You’re going?” He nods, his eyes focused on mine as he tips his cowboy hat up. My heart starts beating faster and faster in my chest and I want to ask him why he’s looking at me like this. “Since when?”

“Since my mom told Arya she couldn’t go without the boys.”

“And the boys would be?”

He chuckles lightly and takes a step back, throwing his keys up in the air. “Come for a ride with me. Then we’ll go swimming.” He reaches for the passenger door, tipping his head and resting his cheek against the doorframe. When I hesitate, he narrows his eyes. “Don’t you trust me?”

“You threw me off the back of the Jet Ski,” I whine, slapping at his shoulder.

He grabs a hold of my hand and yanks me toward him. I catch myself against his chest and search his wild eyes for what the heck it is he wants from me. I don’t even think he knows at this point, but it doesn’t stop him from saying, “I’d never intentionally hurt you, Hads.”

I’m stupid enough to believe him.

Just as I’m getting into the truck with him, Arya comes downstairs. “Fine. Choose him over me.” And then she plops herself down on the porch swing.

I wave at her. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave without me.”

“Who’s to say I’m not going to kidnap you,” Ender remarks, starting the truck.

It rumbles to life, vibrating my entire body. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” he warns, not making eye contact with me. “If I knew you’d let me, I would.”

Looking over all the rusty metal and chipped teal edges, I touch my hand to the doorknob. “Do you think it might need a paint job?” I ask, changing the subject so I don’t jump on top of him and find out what dry humping might feel like.

“Nah, I like it like this. It’s pure.” His gaze flickers to mine and that familiar expression finds his. Is it desire? Love? I don’t know what the hell it is, but every time he does it, my heart beats out of my chest. “In its original form. No one has ever touched it. There’s something special about that.”

Shifting into gear, Ender nudges my ribs with his elbow. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.” He grins. “You can come closer.”

I want to jump him right then and there and make him kiss me the way he kissed Becca last night.

Ender’s phone is connected to the makeshift stereo that doesn’t come in a 1956 Ford, and I’m not sure either one of us can hear it over the rumble of that 460 engine. I’m not a country music fan, but the more I hang around Ender, the more I’m sneaking over to the Southern side.

A mile down the road, I hear Walker’s truck behind us before I see it. After all, there are no mirrors in Ender’s truck. Walker got his truck in the spring—a brand-new Ford F250, lifted. I think it represents his personality perfectly, don’t you think? Flashy, superficial, and as Becca once said, teeny-weeny, if you know what that means. I don’t, so if you do, help a girl out.

Walker speeds up beside us on the dirt road, taunting us in his howling diesel. He’s screaming something I can’t hear, but we laugh anyway. The roads around the lake are windy and not meant for side-by-side driving so Ender speeds up, shifting up a gear. I watch him, the control he has and the way his strong arms maneuver the steering wheel.

I wonder if Becca felt his arms wrapped around her and what it must have felt like. Did she reach out and touch the soft hairs on his arms like I want to or run her hands up them and thread her fingertips in his hair?

And that’s the first time I think about taking his hand on the steering wheel and shoving it between my legs. In the next second though, we slam into a ditch.

It catches me off guard, my face hitting the dash.

“Are you okay?” he asks, touching my cheek and reaching for me. “Fuck,” he shouts, his eyes so cold and angry I don’t recognize him as he punches the dash. “I don’t even have seat belts in here.”

I turn toward him and he’s panting, his arm on the back of the seat, the other draped over the steering wheel. That’s when I throw myself at him and hump the shit out of his leg.

Just kidding. I smashed my face into the dashboard. I’m not thinking about humping him any longer. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to explain this one to my dad, and hoping I didn’t break my nose.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, gaining some control over my tears. I’m not completely convinced I haven’t broken a bone in my face.

“Your dad is gonna kill me,” he groans, sincerity in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s turning purple already.”

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