you live?”
She rattles off an address, and then stares out the window as we pull out of the parking lot. Her window is cracked slightly, letting some breeze in. Every now and then, the smell of vanilla and strawberries washes past me, and it takes everything inside for me not to grab her and kiss her. I bet she tastes just like that.
I need a distraction.
“What are you studying?” I ask her.
“I’m not sure of a major just yet, but I want to get into journalism.”
“Impressive.” I nod.
She shrugs. “It’s more of a pipe dream right now.”
“Hey, at least you’re dreaming.”
She turns and studies me. “What about you, football star? Is that all you ever wanted to be?”
I nod. “Yeah, I guess I had a talent for it and just went with it. Cliché as it is. My dad owns a chain of clubs that he always wanted me to take over, but that shit just isn’t what I want.”
She nods, as if understanding. “I get that.”
We both fall silent, and I glance at her to see her staring out the window again. Fuck she’s beautiful, in the most innocent, geeky, fresh kind of way.
“Are you going to the bonfire tonight?”
She shakes her head. “No, that isn’t really my thing.”
“Have you ever been to one?”
She falls silent.
I guess that’s a no.
“Then how do you know it isn’t your thing?” I prompt.
“I don’t know. The idea of drunk people having sex and throwing up doesn’t sound all that fun.”
I laugh. “It’s not like that.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Surely you’ve got friends that are going.”
“My best friend has been begging me to go,” she admits.
“You should.”
Her cheeks go pink again. “Maybe,” she mumbles.
“Let me know if you want to. I’ll come by and give you a ride.”
She jerks and looks over to me with big eyes. “Why?”
I grin and focus on the road. “I’m taking everyone. I don’t drink.”
Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “You don’t drink?”
“You sound surprised by that?”
“Well . . .” She hesitates. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“It’s not that I have a problem, I just hate the feeling of being drunk and out of control.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“Anyway,” I say, pulling up at a small apartment building that my GPS just alerted me is hers. “Give me your phone and I’ll put my number in. You can text me if you want a ride.”
She stares at me a while, then sighs and pulls out her phone. I punch my number in, and then hand it back to her. She looks nervous, and fidgety as I lean over her and push the door open. “Blue Belle?” I say, my face close to hers.
“Ah, yeah?”
“It’s just a ride—I won’t bite.”
She studies my face, then nods, climbs out and closes the door.
She doesn’t look back.
~*~*~*~
She doesn’t call me to give her a ride to the bonfire, and when I arrive she isn’t there. The strange disappointed sensation in my chest is odd, and something I’m not used to feeling, but I push it aside and sit by the fire with my football buddies and Demi, who is well on her way to being drunk.
“Saw you with that redhead chick today,” Reese says.
“Belle?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t know her name, dude, just saw you talking to her.”
“Who were you talking to?” Demi demands, crossing her arms and swaying a little.
I scowl at Reese, and then turn to her. “I helped a girl who had a broken car. Nothing to pitch a fit about, Dem.”
“Did you give her a ride home?” she asks, studying my face.
“Yeah.”
Her cheeks grow red with jealousy and I choose to ignore it, turning back to Reese. “Nice one, bro.”
“Sorry,” he says, glaring at Demi. “Didn’t know Queen Bitch would take it to heart.”
I shrug and watch as all the red Solo cups are passed around. I wave a hand when one is pushed my way. Reese takes mine, grinning big as he holds the two full cups in his hand. He’s smiling like a kid on Christmas, like the very idea that he has two beers makes everything that much better than one.
“You should have one, dude. Might lighten you up.”
I flip him the bird. I’m in a sour mood tonight, and I can’t shake it. I’m disappointed Belle isn’t here and I have lost my mojo. I just can’t handle drunken fucking idiots tonight. “I’m going for a walk.”
Demi mumbles something but I ignore her and walk off into the darkness. These events are usually my thing, but