Page 16 of Dare You to Run
“Are you moving in? Seems like a lot of bags for just a week or two?”
My peace offering gratitude is wiped clean out with his, once again, sour attitude.
“I’m here for two weeks. I can’t very well wear the same clothes the entire time. Plus, unless you plan to provide me with everything I need for my day to day life, I thought it would be a good idea to buy toothpaste and soap to clean myself. I don’t know about you, but I like to bathe often.” I arch a challenging brow at him, waiting to see what kind of comment I’ll be met with next.
He kicks his leg over his bike, his boot clad foot stomping on the concrete and smashing the poor grass, and languidly walks over to me. I’m an average size girl standing at five six, but Hendrix towers over me. He’s almost as tall as Uncle Bishop and much more menacing as he looks down at me. But I’ll be damned if he sees me cower. I look back at him with the same intense stare and clenched jaw.
His nostrils flare and I hear rather than see the gnashing of his teeth. I wish to God I knew what I ever did, aside from breathing, to make this guy hate me so much.
“D’you eat?” Is all he says.
I screw up my face, completely confused by this man, and nod my head.
“Yessir. I took her to the Rusty Bucket for crawfish and all the fixin’s,” Kinsley says from close behind me.
She throws her arm over my shoulders and tugs me close. She’s a little thing, but her fierce attitude is six feet tall.
“I’ll show you around,” he mumbles and pushes past me.
Stepping up to the garage, he flips open a keypad on the side and presses his thumb to it. A beep sounds followed by the soft whir of the garage door opening. I watch as it rolls up to reveal a glossy floor that looks like it should be in a showroom and not a home. A set of wheels comes into view followed by a car that knocks my socks off.
Now I don’t consider myself some kind of car expert, but having a mother and a father who have a love for classic muscle cars means I know a lot about vehicles of a certain era.
The green metallic shines under the fluorescent lights and the black tires are slick, like not even a speck of dirt has touched them. The rims are polished chrome and my fingers itch to feel the smooth, cold surface.
My feet have a mind of their own and begin moving before I can think better of it. My eyes are glowing with envy for this beautiful green machine and if Mom were here right now, she’d be jumping through the window and speeding off like it was the General Lee.
“Sixty-nine, seventy?” I ask him, my eyes still glued to the shiny metallic surface.
“Sixty-eight,” he replies, moving closer to where I stand, my fingers ghosting over the curves. “You know something about cars?”
My head pops up, meeting his face with question. “Can agirlnot have an appreciation for cars?”
“I didn’t say that. I just asked if you know about classic cars.” His arms cross over his chest and his brows furrow.
“Oh,” I swallow, feeling a little embarrassed by my reaction. “My parents really love classic cars. My mom has a sixty-seven Camaro SS. It’s gorgeous but this is…wow.”
I peek inside the window and see all the original interior, shined up to look new. I close my eyes and imagine what the leather smells like, a familiar scent I know very well. The garage is silent, or at least I think it is. I’m so lost in the car that all I can hear is my internal thoughts sayingI wonder if he’ll let me take it for a drive.
While lost in thought, I manage to not notice where Hendrix stands and I end up slamming into him when I round the back end. His hands catch me and I let my eyes roam from his fingers that grip my forearms, tattooed and strong, to his haunting blue eyes. His features soften and I feel his warm breath lick my skin. As quickly as the moment comes on, it ends. He takes two giant steps back and clears his throat.
“Let me show you the place,” he says quickly, and walks off.
I shake off the goosebumps that roll over my body and turn to follow him. When I do, the face of a snarky Kinsley meets me, a sparkle in her eye and a sassy comment sitting on the tip of her tongue.
The corner of her lip pulls up in a lopsided grin. “Well well well,” she coos. “Someone is grinning like a possum.”
“What are you talking about?” I take a step and feel her right on my heels.
“What I’m talking about is you and Henny having the hots for one another.”
“The hots? Who in the hell says that?” I whisper, making sure Hendrix doesn’t hear us.
“Oh hush. It don’t matter none who says it. All that matters is it’s a fact.” She arches a brow and smirks before growing quiet and skipping up the stairs.
To put it in Kinsley terms, that girl is as nutty as a squirrel’s turd.
SEVEN
