Burnout (Jack 'Em Up Book 0) (4 page)

Rising, she smiled softly. “Well, you’re not on your own. Are you?”

I shuffled, hating how this girl was suddenly making me uncomfortable. “I guess not.”

“So, you’ll let me help? Or try to?” She laughed at herself and I noticed the dusting of freckles across her nose for the first time. She was adorable all natural and approachable like this.

I shrugged. “Sure. If you really want to.”

“I do.” She glanced back at the car. “So . . . what
is
that thing?”

I huffed out a loud laugh. “It’s the quarter panel.”

Her smiling eyes met mine again. “And it’s bad, huh?”

My gaze darted away. “Yeah. Kinda.”

“I’m so sorry, Blake.”

I heaved in a breath at the way my name rolled off her tongue. “Well, it’s done, so don’t worry about it.”

For just a second, it seemed our hearts spoke to each other through our eyes. Hers filled with something that looked like longing and sadness, mine . . . I had no idea as I tried my best to shield myself. “Okay,” she finally said, a bit breathlessly. “Show me what to do.”

Later, after they finally rolled their lazy asses out of bed, Micah and Jesse ambled in, their sleepy faces snapping to in surprise when they spotted Delilah sanding away on the replacement quarter panel.

“Dude,” Micah whispered under his breath, “what’s she doing here?”

I glanced at her and stifled a smile. She was totally cute. Yanking Micah and Jesse aside, I mumbled, “Shut it. She’s helping.”

Jesse’s eyes darted back and forth as she noticed them and stopped sanding. He offered her a little wave and she tentatively smiled back. “Hey,” she said, obviously not sure about their presence. Over the past few hours, we’d formed a tentative peace, even managing to laugh together a couple times. But even I knew our easiness could be popped like a soap bubble with these two goons.

Micah strolled over and smiled widely at her. “’Sup, Delilah?”

“Not much.” Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “Just trying to help fix the damage I did.” Her big blue eyes skated over Micah’s shoulder and met my gaze, and I was sure we were both remembering our stupid little jokes from earlier about her driving ability. Or lack thereof.

“Blake, man . . . are you crazy?” Jesse’s urgent tone yanked me back to reality.

My stomach plummeted. I knew what he meant . . . and he was absolutely right. There was no need to remind me of my place in the social order of Baybridge. And it was way below Miss Delilah Jackson.

Trouble was, my heart was not listening one bit, as it beat feverishly in her presence as if I had a shot in Hell with her.

Micah made his way back to us, his eyes wide. Almost impressed. “She’s cute. Not a snob at all,” he murmured.

My brows thundered down. No, she wasn’t anything like we’d assumed. At least, not that I could see yet.

“He still shouldn’t get mixed up with her,” Jesse said. “With her daddy, the Sheriff, it’s got trouble written all over it.”

Yeah. It did. I just couldn’t say so. Not when she stared at me with eyes that reflected back the hopelessness I saw in the mirror every day.

I finally got rid of Micah and Jesse with promises of pizza later, and faced Delilah from the bay door, the sunshine warm on my back. The place smelled of oil and degreaser and sweat, but somehow she’d already infused the stagnant air with her fruity scent. Berries, I thought—like one of my mom’s long forgotten black raspberry pies.

“They don’t like me, do they?” she said, frozen on her stool, sandpaper limp in her hand.

“It’s not that.”

She tilted her head. “Then what is it? Because it was obvious something was off the minute they got here.”

I shoved my hands into my pockets and randomly searched the parking lot. Anything but look at her and admit the truth. I ignored her when I heard her rise from her seat and approach. Swallowing hard, I kept my gaze pinned on the empty spot where Micah’s car had been.

Her warmth bathed my side as she stood next to me, staring out to the lot as well.

She was just here to be nice. Repaying a debt. It had nothing to do with me. But I was an idiot who didn’t want to believe that. Still, I couldn’t erase a lifetime of knowing . . . I was a low-bred punk from the wrong side of the tracks who had nothing good to offer her. Nothing good to offer anyone.

But I couldn’t help myself. Not as I peered into those big eyes with every ounce of her innocence shining back at me. “You wanna go out sometime?”

Her mouth sagged a tad. “Uh . . . what?”

A mirthless laugh escaped me. “Nothing. It was dumb.”

She blinked, not taking her gaze from me. “No. It wasn’t dumb. Just unexpected. I mean—”

“You mean why on earth would Blake Travers, the worthless punk with no future, dare to ask you out?” I spit out before I could stop myself.

Pain raced across her face. “You’re not a worthless punk.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“No, I don’t. But it doesn’t take a genius to see you’ve got a chip on your shoulder.” Her eyes were blazing as she jutted a finger into my chest. “But you’re not the only one who feels less than . . . just less than. So, don’t give me that ‘worthless punk’ bullshit when it’s obvious you’re special.”

I wasn’t sure what shocked me more. Her vehemence, that she saw through me so clearly, or the word ‘bullshit’ coming from that pretty little mouth. “You think I’m special?” I shot back, sure she’d say she meant something else.

She paused for a moment, her eyes wide. I didn’t think she was going to answer, so I spun away and marched over to continue my work.

“Yes,” she finally said, her voice low and unsure.

I faced her again.

“I’m not sure why,” she continued. “I don’t know a thing about you really, other than your reputation. But somehow, after today, I think you’re much more than that.”

I couldn’t believe her. I wouldn’t. “Do you know who my father is?”

She stared at me, unblinking. “Yes,” she finally answered. “Do you know who
my
father is?”

I ripped off my hat and ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “Exactly!” I slammed the cap back on and turned away. “Forget I said anything.”

Silence descended, heavy and choking. Maybe now she’d finally leave me alone. No such luck. Suddenly, she was beside me again. “I shouldn’t like you . . . but I do,” she said, as I studied the sprinkle of freckles on her face. “And I don’t care if your daddy is the homeless guy on the corner or the President of the United States.” I opened my mouth to speak, but she kept on, “He’s not you, just like my father isn’t me. And I think we should agree to not hold our families against each other. Okay?”

I didn’t know how to interpret the fire blazing in her eyes; her burst of emotion. “What do you mean? What do you want?”

She sighed and leaned against the workbench, her gaze on me, liquid blue. “I don’t know. I just . . .”

“You don’t want anything to do with me.” I couldn’t look her in the eye as my shame bubbled up. She might say we’re nothing like our parents, but really, who doesn’t carry around some vestiges of their heredity? A piece of crumbled DNA?

“Well,” she waited until I glanced up. “That remains to be seen. But, in the meantime, sure, I’ll go out with you.”

Staring at her, I couldn’t comprehend this. Delilah Jackson, Princess of Baybridge High School, was agreeing to a date . . . with me?

“But, Blake?” Her gaze spilled out hundreds of emotions. “Don’t make me live to regret it.”

Delilah

I
don’t know what possessed me to agree to a date with Blake. There was just something irresistible about him. In the several hours we worked together this morning on his car (well, he did most of the work and I got in the way,) I saw underneath that badass, tough façade he puts on. Once he got over himself and said I could stay, he was patient in explaining things, quiet, nearly soft-spoken, and obviously intelligent. All that, along with his body and boy-band-worthy face, was a deadly combination, and some rebellious part of me wanted a tiny taste.

I just had to keep my heart out of his line of fire and just enjoy being with him, soaking up his strong energy that infused me with a spark of light I hadn’t felt in years.

Face it, he was exciting. Period.

And we were going out tonight.

I studied myself in the mirror as I got ready, trying to decide just how I wanted to treat this date. Keep it casual, no makeup? Dress it up a little? Dress it up a lot? It was a date, after all. But I definitely didn’t want to give him the impression that I was like all the other girls at school who’d drop at his feet in a puddle of lust. I may have found myself sucked into his gravitational pull, but I still had my dignity.

In the end, I decided on a combination of casual and dressed to kill. My best jeans and suede boots, along with my favorite deep red top would do the trick. That, and a hint of makeup, a dab of perfume, and my hair down, free and loose.

I grabbed my keys and purse to head out a little before seven to meet him—I wasn’t stupid enough to have him come to my house and risk running into my judgmental parents. No way.

“Where are you going?” Danielle caught me in the hall.

“Out.” I brushed past her and down the stairs.

“On a date?” she called down.

I ignored her and slammed out the front door before my parents got involved in the conversation. As far as they knew, I was meeting my friend, Rachel, to study or something. As long as I was back by curfew, I was golden.

I hustled to my Beamer and let it warm up for a few minutes against the December air, then hurried to the Whataburger down the street from the high school where we’d agreed to meet.

Even though I was early, he’d beat me. I pulled in, trying to still my galloping heart, as he leaned against his driver’s side door, watching me with no expression. I was so glad when he told me his Camaro was still drivable, but him, paired with that car, had the potential to crack my defenses.

I parked next to him and slid out. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and gritty like he’d just woken up.

I rounded my hood toward him, and his gaze raked me up and down with obvious interest. “You look . . . nice.”

I smiled, taking in his black jeans and flannel button-up. “Nice?”

He smiled back. “Yeah. Really nice. Beautiful, in fact. Red’s your color.”