Crash Into You (21 page)

Chapter 42
Rachel

THE KISS COMES HOTTER AND
faster than before. Our lips move quickly, a hunger grows between us that can’t seem to be quenched. There’s a rhythm, a dance, and somehow, I know the steps. An instinct tells me to follow his lead, to explore even further, to touch.

My hands drift down his back and when I feel scorching skin near the hem of his shirt, I gasp for air. Isaiah moans, and his lips leave mine to travel along my throat. My heart picks up speed as my entire body becomes one live electrical current.

His tongue swirls against the sensitive skin right where my jaw meets my neck. I shiver and press my body closer to his. When he meets my lips again, Isaiah loops his arm around my waist and pulls me farther onto the bed. On our sides, his body heat penetrates past my clothes, past my skin, creating an inferno in my blood.

A sudden coldness causes my eyes to flash open. Kneeling beside me, Isaiah’s hands go behind his head and he yanks off his shirt, tossing it to the floor. A flutter of excitement and nerves trembles in my stomach. I swallow and stare at the golden tiger rippling with the muscle in his arm. Biting my lip, I dig deep for courage. My hand reaches out. Stops. And I curl my fingers in.

“It’s okay, Rachel. Go ahead.” He angles so that the tiger is closer to me.

I outline the tattoo, enjoying its beauty. “I love this one.”

In the beams of street light scattered into the dark bedroom by the slatted blinds, I watch as Isaiah’s eyes melt into silver. “It’s my favorite,” he says. “One day I’ll get a tattoo for you.”

Warmth explodes in my chest, in awe that he would mark himself for me. “You don’t have to.”

“I will.” His fingers trace my cheek and chills of pleasure run down my spine. “It’s what I do. Each tattoo represents the only happy memories I’ve had. And you, Rachel, you’re the happiest.”

My lips move up, and his fingers brush them in response.

“I dream of your smile.” He follows the curve as if he’s an artist. “I’ve thought about you every night since the first night we met.”

There’s a power I only feel when I’m with Isaiah. A boldness I’ve never possessed in my life. Never in a million years would I have imagined I’d be the girl who’d say she was falling fast for a boy before he did. Never in a million years did I think I’d be lying in bed with a totally ripped guy that has his shirt off. But Isaiah has this effect on me. He makes me feel stronger than I really am.

There’s a pulse in my body, vibrating every pressure point. “I like kissing you.”

His hand lowers to my waist. “I could kiss you forever.”

I lazily glance at him from under my eyelashes. “Just kissing.” Because I think I’ll combust if we do more.

The right side of his mouth quirks. “Just kissing. And some touching.” To prove his point Isaiah’s hands caress my back, weave into my hair and slide against the dip of my waist.

Yes, definitely some touching. I inhale deeply, reminding myself that breathing is still a requirement. “I agree. Some touching. No new clothes off.”

Because I’d probably pass out at the thought of his jeans off. They already hang low on his hips. Too low. Very low. Low enough that I start to imagine what more there is to him.

Isaiah wraps his hand around the back of my neck and performs this deep massage that makes my eyes roll into my head in ecstasy. “I’ll put my shirt back on if you want.”

“No,” I breathe out. “I’m fine with it off.” More than fine.

I lick my lips as his teeth nibble on my earlobe. Between my muscles melting under his touch, my blood tingling with the teasing of my ear and the way my foot rubs against his calf, my thoughts become hazy.

My shirt rides up and Isaiah rubs his thumb in small circles on the bare skin of my stomach. The sensation causes me to arch my back and Isaiah groans as I kiss his neck. I like these feelings. Actually, I more than like them. They’re addicting, and I love how every little thing I do causes Isaiah to kiss and touch me more.

He rolls and I move with him. Our tangled legs become unraveled as my thighs fall open, accepting his weight. Isaiah’s body over mine is heavier than I would have imagined, but it’s a weight I craved without knowing it.

Isaiah kisses up my neck and when his lips meet mine again, he rocks his hips. Suddenly very aware parts of him are touching very aware parts of me, and my head falls to the side as a new sensation spikes through my body. One I’ve never felt before. One I want to feel again. One that...

My hands slip to Isaiah’s chest and I push. “Isaiah.”

Isaiah rolls us again, except this time his back is against the mattress and he slides me next to his side. His chest moves up and down at a rapid pace, and that’s when I notice that my breaths match his.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod, unable to think of anything coherent to explain why I did what I did. It was just new and fast and glorious and...

Isaiah places his fingers under my chin and has me look into his eyes. “It’s okay to stop.”

“I know,” I whisper, but to be honest, I don’t know if it is. I’m seventeen. Everyone else I know has done more...some way more...some into territories beyond way and into lands I don’t think I’ll ever visit.

Isaiah has to be more experienced than me. Has probably been with the girls who have no fear of pushing every boundary. Is it really okay for me to be... “I’m sorry I’m slow.”

He brushes my hair over my shoulder. “You’re not slow.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“I’m serious.” When he sees I’m unconvinced, he rubs at his stubble and starts again. “I don’t want you to give any more than you want. What makes this special is that you’re into it. The moment you aren’t, that’s where I become a bastard for asking for more. I’m telling you, I’ve got no problem taking it slow.”

I sigh. It’s the right words, but—

“Stop with the analyzing. Rachel, I’ve listened to the same movie bullshit you have about guys wanting to find the right girl and then wanting to take it slow because they believe the girl is worth the wait. I’ll admit, I never believed it, but meeting you...it’s not bullshit anymore.”

The right side of my mouth curves up. I’m worth waiting for.

Chapter 43
Isaiah

THE CLOCK ON THE SCREEN
flashes as it hits the one-minute mark. I finished the test fifteen minutes ago, but I review my answers repeatedly. This is my future, and there is no room for mistakes. In less than sixty seconds, I’ll have earned my ASE certification.

The computer freezes—time’s up. What had been a silent room becomes noisy as the other guys from class who took the “field trip” to the testing center relax back in their seats and talk to one another.

“Isaiah,” Zach calls. “How’d you do?”

“Okay.” I kicked ass.

“Good.” He leaves his buddies and rests his hip against the half cubicle wall meant to dissuade cheating. “Did Rachel tell you about my proposal?”

“I don’t think you need to be proposing anything to
my
girl.” The area between my skin and muscles vibrates. Rachel didn’t tell me crap, but I won’t let Zach know that. I plaster a deadpan look on my face, stretch out my legs so that Zach has to move and angle my arms so that he sees my tats.

Zach takes a wise step away. “Just trying to help. Heard you need money and you know I’ll match any wager.”

“If you want to race me, you come to me. Not to Rachel.”

He becomes a cocky prick when he smiles. “I don’t want to race you. I want to race her.”

My legs fold in as I lean forward. Zach nearly trips over himself as he stumbles back. “She’s not racing.” An eerie silence hangs in the room as everyone watches the showdown.

After a few seconds of me staring and Zach saying nothing, the room returns to normal.

“Money is money,” mutters Zach. “Who cares who drives?”

I whisper so only he can hear, “I’m not racing for ten bucks. I’ve made serious money so I’m betting serious money.”

He glances around to verify everyone else has returned to their business. “I’m making serious money now. I’ll match whatever you got.”

I stare straight at him and, like always, Zach averts his eyes. Zach comes from a broken home, and they’ve always lived on the edge of government assistance. There’s no way this asshole fell into money this fast without playing with the devil. “Tell me you haven’t become Eric’s bitch.”

Zach nervously laughs, but before he can try to deny it, I hook a foot around the chair next to me and shove it into his legs. “Sit.”

He looks around, trying to save face, but sits anyway. Once upon a time, he and I could have been considered friends and because of that, I give him this break. “You and I both know that Eric’s bad shit. If you’ve fallen in, maybe I can help you out.”

Zach bows his head as he pulls his legs under the chair. “He just wants Rachel to race me. That’s it.”

Fuck me. My fingers tighten into fists. “He wants Rachel and me to fail.”

His head snaps up. “You’re seeing this all wrong. Eric wants to help us. He said if the two of us work for him then he can pay us cash. Real cash. Not the minimum wage we’re going to end up with after we graduate. We’ll be kings, Isaiah. Not the trash we are now.”

I kick the wall between us and the keyboard falls to the floor. “Eric owns you now.”

“Not own. He’s helping me, just like he wants to help you.”

Before I can ask how the hell he’s become so delusional he believes any of that shit, Mr. Holden enters the room. “Test results are in. I’ll call you out one at a time to go over the results. Isaiah, let’s go.”

My heart thrashes and I stand, trying to control the anger. I lean down and whisper the threat. “Stay the fuck away from Rachel.”

“You can’t touch me,” Zach replies.

Since he’s under Eric, maybe not, but Eric’s underestimating what I would do to keep Rachel safe.

Chapter 44
Rachel

WITH MY HAND LINGERING OVER
the equation, my pencil rocks back and forth. Third-period Physics is torture. Both of my brothers are in here, along with over half of their friends, and the remaining people in the class love to gossip about me. We were supposed to separate into groups of four, but let’s be honest, I don’t like groups.

The sun filters through the windows and bathes me in warmth. I could probably focus better if I could stop daydreaming about Isaiah. Each time I think of how he rolled us in bed and how his body covered mine, I smile.

“Have you figured it out yet, Rach?” West whispers.

That snaps me out of the daydream. Ethan and West, of course, are in a group together, with two of their buddies. Because the room is uneven, I avoided a group, but I can’t ditch my brothers. They hover next to me.

“There are four of you and one of me. I’d say your odds are better than mine,” I answer. The pencil moves faster in my hand.

“But you’re good at this shit,” says West.

With a screech of metal against the linoleum floor, Ethan slides his desk closer to mine. “She’s got an answer. Give it here.”

Before I can protest, West grabs my sheet and places it in the middle of his friends. “Thank you, baby sister.”

“I’m not done yet,” I whisper severely. “That’s only half the equation.”

“Better than a blank sheet,” mutters Ethan.

“Besides.” West winks as he flicks my paper back at me. “It’s all about family.”

“Mr. Young.” Our Physics teacher looms over the group.

“Which one?” asks West. “There are two of us and a Miss.”

Our physics teacher doesn’t like West. He’s a smart-ass. Which means she’s not a big fan of me and Ethan by default. “I don’t remember Rachel being included in your original group.”

I press my face into my hand and tilt it so that I’m looking out the window and not at the class watching the power trip.

“She’s our sister. Of course she’s included in our group.”

Paper crinkles, and I peek to see her examining everyone’s sheets. “It’s the same answer, but half done.”

West relaxes in his seat, totally unaffected by her accusation of copying. “We’re a group. I think that’s expected.”

“Then explain it,” she says. “Explain how you solved half the answer.”

West’s mouth pops open, then he shuts it. “Rachel was in the process of explaining it to us. See, we were a little lost, and we didn’t want to hold her back so she went ahead with the work and stopped halfway so she could teach us.”

Our physics teacher’s eyes settle on me. So do West’s and Ethan’s. So do the eyes of their friends and of everyone else who has made fun of me since middle school.

“Well then, Rachel.” In an overdramatic swooping motion, our teacher gestures me toward the front of the room. “Since you’re so generous, why don’t you go to the board and teach the rest of the class how to complete the first half of the equation?”

Blood and heat rush to my face. Besides the fact this is one of my worst nightmares, I’m not even sure if I have the equation right. What if I’m wrong? What if I fall apart? At least with the speeches I can prepare for the impending meltdown.

This...this is out of nowhere. Begging for a way out, I frantically glance at West and Ethan. West locks his eyes on the floor while his fingers drum against his desk in an angry rhythm. “That
is
not necessary.”

“I think it is,” says Mrs. Patterson. “Unless you want to explain the work, but keep in mind, what goes on that board is your group’s grade.”

West jerks in his seat. Ethan leans over and whispers, “He’s going to blow.”

West is one detention away from suspension, a fact Ethan and I have helped hide from Mom, and Ethan’s grades have dropped this semester. He can’t risk a bad score. “I’ll do it.”

West’s head shakes back and forth, heat from his anger creating small red circles on his cheeks. Ethan kicks at our brother from underneath the desks. The two share a look, and both immediately focus on the floor.

When I reach the board, my body trembles as I grab the dry erase marker. I clear my throat twice and perspiration forms along my hairline. A couple of girls in the corner giggle.

My voice breaks as I incoherently explain how I solved half the equation. Due to my quaking hand, the numbers barely resemble squiggles. I clear my throat again, this time tasting bile. I inhale, only for the air to stop before reaching my lungs. My palms sweat, and the marker slips from my grasp. It taps the floor twice before rolling under the teacher’s desk. The world becomes a tunnel. Around me, laughter erupts.

“Rachel.” Mrs. Patterson sounds distant, almost like an echo. “I was wrong. As the teacher, I should be showing the class.”

My breathing is short, shallow, and my head has that floating feeling like when I’m sick with a fever. A buzzing noise fills my ears. Everyone stands and gathers their things. I try to suck in air, but my lungs won’t expand. If I can’t breathe, I’ll die.

Ethan appears in my line of vision. “She’s fine, Mrs. Patterson. Aren’t you, Rachel?”

I nod. No, I’m not fine. Ethan wraps an arm around me and ushers me into the hall. Cold metal supports my back. A hanging lock digs into my kidney.

West appears in the tunnel. “What the hell, Ethan? I thought she was over this shit.”

“Break into her locker and get her stuff,” he says. “We need to get her to a bathroom.”

* * *

Lunch is me, West, Ethan
and a bottle of Sprite. Because West plays every sport imaginable, he was able to sneak us into the guy’s changing room. Sitting on an old jersey that had been stuffed into the abyss of West’s locker, I glance at the toilet bowl containing the remnants of breakfast.

Confident I’m going to survive, I flush the toilet and peek at my two brothers, who have hovered over me since the end of third period. “See,” I say with a raspy voice. “No blood.”

But my throat is raw and sore. If I continue to vomit with the attacks, it won’t be long until the blood vessels in my throat crack.

Holding on to the stall door, West’s knuckles turn white. “How long?”

I drink slowly, buying myself not nearly enough time. West’s fingers tap a death march. He isn’t going to let this go. “It never stopped,” I answer.

His head whips to Ethan. “And you’ve been in on this?”

Ethan won’t stop staring at the toilet. “For a few weeks.”

I wince when West slams the door against the neighboring stall. “She was in the hospital over this shit. Do you want to watch her body waste away again?”

Tears threaten my eyes, and I rub at my nose. “Just stop.”

“Stop!” West shouts. “Why should I stop? You’ve been lying!”

“Whatever,” Ethan spits at West. “You pretended not to see it. So did I. Look me in the eye...no, look Rachel in the eye and tell her that you haven’t suspected the truth the entire time. She lied to make Mom happy, to make us happy and you’re pissed the dream is over.”

West takes two steps and stands nose to nose with Ethan. The anger in the air between them is so thick I could gag. They’re the same height, both over six feet. Ethan with dark hair and dark eyes. West with blond hair and blue eyes. Brothers less than a year apart.

West shoves his finger in Ethan’s chest. “You should have told me.”

“Now you know.”

After a few more tense seconds, West eases away. “What now?”

“We keep the secret,” says Ethan. “Mom’s happy. Jack’s working on Gavin.”

West becomes a statue. “She knows about Gavin?”

“Yes. She knows he’s out of work.” Something in the way Ethan overpronounces the words makes me question their meaning, but West is finally calming down and I don’t want to risk another eruption.

West’s shoulders visibly relax. “And the speeches?”

“We help her. One of us should go with her to the speeches and deflect Mom if she has an attack. And Rachel will tell us if her panic attacks escalate to blood.”

West picks up the bag I keep in my gym locker with extra clothes. “I got this for you. You’ve got ten minutes to take a shower and make it to fourth period.”

Both of my brothers stare at me, and I draw my knees to my chest. I hated this feeling back in middle school, and I hate this feeling now. No matter what I do in my life, the two of them will always view me as someone to be controlled.

* * *

By the time sixth period
rolls around, the school salivates with the news: recluse Rachel Young is weird again. When I enter the library for my internship, I’m greeted by the sound of giggles. The words whispered between ponytail tosses are not lost on me. “I told you she was strange...” Chuckles and lower whispers. “...completely freaked out in physics.”

Unable to face anyone, I duck into one of the stacks. I suck in a breath, not for an attack, but to stop the tears. Why? Why am I like this?

At the back wall, I sink to the ground and my phone vibrates. I pull it out and see the one person who doesn’t treat me as weird or as incompetent. Isaiah:
Look out the window.

My forehead furrows. I grab my pack and walk to the windows overlooking the student parking lot. In the back, Isaiah leans against his black Mustang. My smile automatically appears.

Me:
See you.

Isaiah:
Skip with me.

Skip. Besides that day with Eric, I’ve never ditched before. But that day was covered with a sick note from Mom. Leaving today would be different. It would be scandalous. It would be...everything I need.