Burnout (Jack 'Em Up Book 0) (7 page)

I grinned and rounded the hood to slide into the passenger seat. I accepted the hot chocolate and sipped appreciatively. “Thank you so much.”

He studied me for a moment then shoved the car into park before yanking off his jacket and tossing it my way. “Here. Put that on. You look cold.”

I thought about playing coy and refusing, but I was freezing and his jacket was already oozing warmth onto my leg, along with his unique spicy scent. I lifted it and draped it across the front of my body like a blanket, my drink underneath, trying to be subtle about sniffing the collar. God, he smelled good. “Won’t you be cold?” I asked, sipping again.

He shifted into gear and shook his head. “Nah.”

True to this word, we rolled down the windows and cranked the music as we drove onto the main roads of town. His concession to my comfort was also blasting the heater, which I so appreciated.

The cold fingers of the breeze whipped through the car, whirling my hair around my face and making the skin on my cheeks and nose feel like ice, but I’d never felt more alive.

He grinned over at me as we passed the Whataburger where we’d met. “Having fun?”

I nodded, sure my smile would crack my face.

He simply gunned the accelerator, thrusting us forward and making me squeal. I could see the appeal of this kind of car. It was masculine. Loud. Fast. Totally sexy. It suited him.

I let the freedom wash through me like a balm as we headed to the freeway and south. We hadn’t talked about where we were going, and I honestly didn’t care. I giggled as he zipped past some slower cars and he changed the CD to something lighter.

I laid my head back on the headrest and watched the streetlights rush past.

“Want one?”

I rolled my head to see Blake offering me a mint as he slid one into his mouth. I watched him suck a moment, the strong ticking of his jaw muscles mesmerizing. I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

He nodded and kept going. I was so grateful he didn’t ruin it by talking or overanalyzing. We just went . . . and it was perfect.

Eventually, he slowed and exited, heading toward the coast. As we neared, the tang of salt began to infuse the air. I hugged his jacket closer and inhaled, realizing he smelled like the ocean. Clean, musky, a little bit dangerous.

We wound around a few older neighborhoods until we ended up at an empty pier. He parked and killed the engine, leaving us in eerie darkness and silence. He pocketed his keys and came around to open my door.

I set aside my empty cup and shifted his jacket so it was over my shoulders. He pressed the door closed and grabbed my hand. Cliché as it sounds, electricity snapped up my arm the moment he touched me. He glanced at me like he felt it too and squeezed my fingers tighter.

I let him lead the way silently until we were at the very end of the pier, overlooking the black ocean, the gentle swells pulsing beneath us. He didn’t let go of my hand, just stared up at the big moon, shining a rippling white spotlight on the velvety water.

“I haven’t been here in years,” I admitted, not sure why I was talking.

He glanced over, his dark eyes even darker in the night. “No?”

I shook my head. “My parents used to bring us here when we were little.”

“Why’d they stop?”

I shrugged. Though I could guess. It was about the same time as my dad got elected to Sheriff and started to taste political aspirations. Suddenly, the family man and police officer was a power-hungry stranger I didn’t recognize anymore. And my mom was just as bad as a county judge.

And, poof, just like that, my family took second place to ambition.

“What about you?” I asked, suddenly very curious about his life. I’d caught a glimpse of the inner, wounded Blake at dinner and I yearned to reach that guy again.

He huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Same. My mom used to bring us before . . .”

“Before what?” I shifted to face him, his sadness calling out to me. “What happened to your mom?”

With a sigh, he squeezed the bridge of his nose before meeting my gaze. “She had a blood clot that traveled to her lungs and killed her.”

I sucked in a breath and grabbed his other hand so we were our own private circle. “I’m so sorry, Blake. How awful.”

“Yeah. It was.”

Unable to help myself, I let his hands go and wrapped my arms around his waist, trying to offer whatever comfort I could, hating the sudden sadness coming from him. He hesitated a moment then wrapped me up in his arms so tight, it was like he was afraid I’d disappear.

“Delilah,” he whispered, his mint-sweet breath warm on my temple.

I drew back and peered up, my arms still locked around him. “Blake.”

“What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

He dipped his head until his forehead pressed against mine. “My sweet Princess Dee . . . you’re going to be the death of me.”

Something sweet and foreign swirled around inside of me. No one had called me Dee since my grandmother died years ago. But, somehow, coming from his mouth, it was so much more soothing, more intimate. Just more.

I swallowed. “I’m no princess.”

His breath fanned across my lips as he bent closer, his eyes on mine. “To me, you are. A perfect little princess who’s way out of my league.”

I saw the dare, the question, the uncertainty in his gaze. He didn’t move. It was up to me. So, going on instinct alone, with a healthy dose of fear, I hugged him that much tighter and tilted my lips to his, brushing across them once, twice.

Until, finally, he dove in, lips, tongue, moans. And I was lost to him.

Blake

I
dropped Delilah off at her house at about midnight and slowly crept away, my mind a swirling jumble of confusion. I already found myself looking forward to seeing her again. Her sweet smile. Her expressive blue eyes, the color of the sky on a cloudless summer afternoon. Her sweet, sympathetic heart.

Yeah, she was going to be trouble. Make that Trouble, with a capital T.

But she was like a vortex, sucking me in with the power of her pureness. I had no defenses against Delilah Jackson’s gravitational pull.

Suddenly, I was in a hurry to get home so I could go to sleep, because that would mean I’d see her again in the morning. Wow. I was whooped already, and I had the feeling she wasn’t even trying.

I turned into my crappy neighborhood, my foot automatically lifting from the accelerator as I spied the cop car parked in front of my house.

Damn it.

Creeping into the driveway, I scanned the house for signs of trouble. What had the old man done now?

I slammed my door and loped to the front. The door was cracked open, and inside I saw my dad and the police officer speaking intently. They both glanced over when I closed the old wood door with a creak.

“Where the hell have you been?” my dad shot out, his voice laced with a dusting of alcohol.

I yanked off my jacket, realizing that it still held Delilah’s flowery scent, which seemed so out of place in this house. “Out.” I shifted my gaze to the tall, balding cop, who relaxed his stance.

“Okay, Mr. Travers,” the officer said, his voice low and calm, but deadly serious. “You go on to bed now.” He glanced at me, obviously glad he was leaving me to deal with my father. “Just no more altercations with the neighbor, all right?”

“Mrs. Bernard?” I asked, as the officer headed toward the door.

My dad ignored the cop’s exit, his bloodshot eyes squinted at me in anger. “What about it? She’s a nosy old bitch who needs to keep her nose out of other people’s business.” He nearly shouted the last three words.

The officer ignored him and stepped out, his discerning gaze on me.

“Dad,” I said, once we were alone. “What happened? What did you do to get the cops called?”

He harrumphed and plopped down on the worn sofa. “Nothing.”

“Right.”

“Where were you?” he asked again, picking up a beer can.

“I told you. Out.” I made my way toward the hall. “I’m going to bed.” I shot him a glance over my shoulder, thinking of the neighbor who’d always been kind to my mom and brought us a tin of Christmas cookies every year. “And leave poor Mrs. Bernard alone. She’s nice.”

He didn’t even look at me as he flipped on the TV and lit a cigarette.

I needed a shower, but I almost hated to wash off Delilah’s essence that still seemed to cling to my skin. She was like this beacon of light, radiating from everything she touched even when she wasn’t there.

With a sigh, I grabbed a change of clothes and ducked into the bathroom.

Hopefully, I’d have another chance to experience her brightness and keep a sliver of it for myself.

She was absent from Government that Monday. Even though I felt like an idiot, I scoured the halls looking for her all day. She wasn’t there.

By the last period of the day, I was feeling sappy enough to shoot her a text.

U OK?

No reply.

“Hey, what’s up?”

I tucked my phone away and peered up into Jesse’s grinning face. “Hey.”

He leaned on the workbench next to me. “How’s the body work coming on your car?”

I shrugged and picked up the alternator I’d been working on. “Good.”

He was silent a moment until I glanced back up. “What?” I demanded.

“Nothing. Just wondering if you’re ever gonna tell me about what’s going on with you and Delilah Jackson.”

“Nothing.” I turned away. “Nothing’s going on.” God, how I wished that were true.

“Huh.” He opened his mouth to say more, but Mr. Dixon cleared his throat and interrupted from the front of the workshop.

“Hey, everyone,” Mr. Dixon said. “I’d like to introduce a new student. This is Trace Berringer. He’s new to town, but not to Auto Shop, so y’all be nice to him.”

The tall, lean kid behind him ducked his head like he hated the attention.

Class went back to normal and the new guy meandered around the workshop for a few minutes until he ended up near us. He picked up a carburetor we’d yanked from a Nissan then set it back down.

“Hey,” Jesse said.

The other guy glanced up. “Hey.”

I tipped my chin up in greeting. “Switched schools right before Christmas break? That sucks.”

He shrugged and stepped closer, eyeing the alternator in my hand. “It’s all right. My other school pretty much sucked, so this can’t be any worse.”

“Where you from?” Jesse asked.

“Alaska.”

“Alaska?” Jesse and I echoed together. “Holy shit,” I added. “Why the hell are you in Baybridge?”

An amused smile tilted his lips. “My dad retired and wanted to come back to Texas, where he’s from, and my mom wanted to be by the beach.” His shoulder lifted in another shrug. “So we moved here.”

Jesse and I glanced at each other, not sure why anyone would move here voluntarily. I mean, our town was okay, but it wasn’t anything special, and it definitely wasn’t Alaska.

“What’s there to do in this town?” he asked.

Jesse grinned. “Well—?”

“Trace,” he supplied.

“Well, Trace, the answer to that is . . . nothing.”