Crash Into You

Chapter 12

Rachel

I PLACE THE DRYER ON the sink and run my fingers through my hair again. There—dry and officially beer-free. The edge of Isaiah’s dark blue T-shirt ends an inch short of my knees and I catch my silly smile in the blurry mirror. I’m wearing a guy’s shirt. Too freaking awesome.

I lower my chin to smell the shirt again. I want to wear this forever, without washing it. His dark, spicy aroma consumes the material. I peek at him from the corner of my eye, wondering if he spots me catching a whiff or if he knows how addicting his scent is to girls.

A knot forms in my throat. Does he have many girls?

As promised, Isaiah sits on the kitchen counter on the other side of the room from me. He leans forward, his legs lazily stretched apart with his joined hands resting between them as he watches me.

He’s observant. Overly so. I think he could tell me more about my actions than I could. A huge part of me doesn’t like it. In order for me to fit in at home, people can’t notice me. It’s harder to pull off being someone else when you’re the center of attention. But I’m not home. I’m miles from there. And here, in this room, I like how Isaiah looks at me as if I’m the only girl in the world.

Or like an antelope he’s going to pounce on.

My heart patters faster at the thought of him pouncing on me.

I fiddle with my hair for a few more seconds to buy time. What do you say to a totally hot guy when you’re alone with him in his apartment?

Alone.

A thrill of tickles moves in the center of my chest, and I think of the way his strong hand caressed my face at the bar. The tickles explode into my bloodstream as an adrenaline rush and I release a long steady breath to keep myself calm.

I really, really want him to touch me again.

One more tuck behind the ear, and I step out of the bathroom. “Thanks for the shirt.” I fuss with the ends again.

“It looks good on you,” he says as his eyes settle on the curve of my hips. Holy hell, it got hot in here.

My jacket lies over the arm of the couch. I walk over to it and fish my cell phone out of the pocket. One a.m. and one text from Ethan: where r u?

Isaiah shifts uneasily as I text Ethan back. I glance at him while typing a reply. He changed while I was in the shower, switching a black T-shirt with wording for another with different wording. Isaiah keeps surveying the apartment, and I finally get it. He’s wondering how to keep a safe distance from me.

“You don’t have to stay so far from me,” I say. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Lying by typing still driving, I push Send and put the phone back in my coat pocket. “If you were going to hurt me you wouldn’t have saved me from that fight or brought me home to use your shower. You also wouldn’t be standing all the way over there, so I trust you.”

“And that’s just bad for both of us,” he mumbles and then speaks to me in a normal tone. “Are you in trouble at home?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. My brother is good at distracting my parents.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “You were seriously trippin’ when you thought you had to go home with beer on you. Your parents—how hard-core are they?”

I swipe at my forehead as if there’s a stray hair to be restyled and feel naked when I don’t find one. “I don’t understand.”

Isaiah hops off the counter, and I’m mesmerized by the fluid way he walks: a sleek predator on the move. “It’s okay. I get it. Sometimes things are...” And he’s near me. Close enough that I have to lift my head to see his face. “Rough.”

“It’s...ah...it’s...” I love his eyes, and my skin tingles with the thought of his hands on me again. “Ah...” What were we discussing? Parents. Right. My parents. “It’s complicated.”

Complicated as in I’ve been failing miserably at replacing my mother’s dead daughter. My parents and oldest brothers have told me enough Colleen stories for me to be well aware that she would never have broken curfew, participated in a drag race or been alone with a guy.

“Right,” he says so slowly that the word sounds unbelievably sexy. “Complicated. So.” He pauses. “Are you ready for me to take you back to your car?”

Yes. No. Yes. Maybe not. Oh, crap. It’s ending too soon and I don’t want it to. I’m not good at this. I’m not smooth or good with words or good with guys or good with people. I’m silent. I blend in. How do I make this not go away?

“I like you,” I whisper and immediately stare at my shoes. Of all the things I could have said, that shouldn’t have been it. I. Am. An. Idiot.

A gentle tug on my hair sends goose bumps raining down my arms. I close my eyes and relish the sweet brush of his knuckles against my neck as he flips my hair over my shoulder. “Rachel?”

“Yes?” I say so softly he may not have heard me.

His hand caresses the sensitive spot right below my chin, and with a gentle pressure, Isaiah raises my head until I look into those warm silver eyes. “I like you, too.”

The right side of my mouth quirks and a spring of hope bubbles up inside me. He likes me. A really hot, really awesome guy likes me.

“Good,” I say a little breathlessly. “That’s good.” More than good. It’s great.