Crash Into You

Chapter 26

Rachel

WHEN I WAS FOUR I had an infatuation with electrical outlets. Dark holes that led into the wall and if I plugged something in, the machine would spring to life. Electricity! What would electricity look like? Feel like? Submitting to temptation, I stuck my finger into the socket at the moment someone turned on the vacuum. My body jolted with the shock. I learned two lessons that day. One: don’t stick your finger into the socket. Two: I liked the rush.

Closing the door to my Mustang, I fumble with the buttons of my black winter coat. My blood pulses with the same buzz of electrical energy. I’m going to see Isaiah.

He never called, I remind myself. Isaiah never called and he looked me square in the eye at the bar and told me he owed me a debt. The same words he said to Eric in my school’s parking lot. Stop any silly daydreams that he cares. He doesn’t. I’m a debt to be paid. Nothing more.

The small sickly garage appears different during the day. Oddly enough, that night, this place became a beacon of light, a haven. Now, with the gray clouds hovering low in the sky and the cracks in the exterior wall, I’m reminded that I’m out of my element.

I pull on the heavy door and enter. Heat belonging to a jungle suffocates me and defrosts my cold fingers. My hair blows across my face as a surge of cold air encircles me when the door shuts. A radio plays music that is loud and angry and full of electric guitars. With no shirt on, Isaiah hovers over the open hood of his Mustang. Both of his hands deep within her body.

The flaming tail of the dragon I noticed on his biceps the night I first met him continues up his shoulder and curls around to his back. The green eyes of the wicked red creature peer at me like a sentry protecting his master. Near Isaiah’s shoulder blade, fire snakes out of the dragon’s mouth. With a socket in his hand, Isaiah works on the car in a fluid motion. The broad strong muscles in his back become more pronounced the faster he labors.

Isaiah shifts, getting a better grip on whatever he’s working on. My mouth goes dry and alien sensations warm my body. Isaiah is absolutely beautiful.

My purse slips out of my hand and lands on the floor in an embarrassing thump. His head jerks up and he spots me gaping. A knowing smile slides across his lips, causing heat to creep along my cheeks. If only I could die.

He straightens, and I try not to stare at the liquid way he moves. I grab my purse, drop it again, then snag it back off the floor. Why am I always such a mess?

“Hey, Rachel,” he says easily in that deep voice that causes my heart to skip more beats than it should. He didn’t call. He didn’t call, I repeat. He doesn’t want me. I’m a debt.

“Hi,” I respond, proud I didn’t stutter the small word.

Snatching his black T-shirt off the bench, Isaiah shrugs it on and indicates that I should walk in farther. “Sorry about the heat. It’s either the tropics or the arctic. Take your pick.”

“Tropics,” I say. “I hate the cold.”

“Me, too,” he agrees. So we have at least one thing in common, besides cars and the drag race and Eric....

I pause on the other side of the open hood and openly appreciate the machinery embedded in the frame. He was right on one thing: that’s not the original engine of a ’94 Mustang GT. “You upgraded.”

“Rebuilt.” Isaiah studies the car with an intensity that suggests deep thought. “Found the trashed body in a junkyard when I was fourteen then spent the past couple of years smoothing out the frame and piecing together parts until I could make her run. On paper, I should be running more torque and horsepower, but too many of the parts are past their prime.”

My hands sweat, not from the heat, and I clutch the strap of my purse. I swing it a little so that it hits my knees. I miss the way the two of us acted that night. I miss the idea of him liking me. “I’m sorry,” I say.

His eyes snap to mine. “For what?”

For not being someone you could really like. “For all of it.” I lower my head and watch my purse smack my legs over and over again. “I know you think you owe me, but you don’t. This is my problem. I’ll figure it out.” Though I have no idea how.

His eyes darken back into the serious charcoal I remember when he swore his promise to me. “This is our problem.”

I’m a debt. He said I meant nothing. I gave Isaiah my first kiss, he never called and I’m a debt. Eric called me a fuck and Isaiah silently agreed. I’ve got lots of problems, and the last thing I want is to force a guy to help me because he thinks he owes me something. Not when I have feelings for him and he has none for me. Not when seeing him will continue to crush my soul. “Isaiah...”

He cuts me off. “One thing you should learn about me—I don’t argue.”

The purse stops swinging. “What?”

His eyes fade into a beautiful shade of silver. “This isn’t your problem. It’s our problem. And I know how we’re going to solve it.”

“You do?” I ask a little breathlessly. Oh, those eyes are gorgeous. Too much heat curls along my body and with one finger, I tug at the collar of my coat.

His eyes follow the movement. “You should take off your coat,” he says and my heart jumps in my chest at the thought of taking anything off in front of him. “It’s warm in here.”

Warm. The screwed-up heater. Right. Clearing my throat, I unbutton my jacket and slide it off. Isaiah takes it from me and I feel suddenly alone and naked as he crosses the room to place it on a hook on the wall. “We’re going to drag race,” he announces.

I snort. “Because that worked out so well the first time.”

He flashes that breathtaking smile, then it disappears so quickly I’m not sure it was there to begin with. “Street racing was a mistake I don’t plan on repeating, and neither will you.”

Isaiah pauses as if he’s waiting for me to protest. I’m not. Lesson learned: no street racing. He continues, “Have you ever heard of The Motor Yard?”

“No.”

“It’s a one-eighth of a mile dragway in the southwestern part of the county.”

“Is it legal?”

“Yeah. And that’s where I’m going to win us the money we need to pay off Eric.” Standing in the middle of the garage, Isaiah radiates confidence. I envy him.

“How is racing there going to be any different from the streets?”

“Because the place is legit and family-oriented. The guys racing there are generational—dads, uncles, grandpas, great-grandpas. I’ll make the money off side bets. The money per bet won’t be large, but I hope to win enough to compensate.”

I’m already shaking my head. It doesn’t sound like much of a plan. “So the two of us are going to race and hope to win some side bets along the way and all of this will hopefully total five thousand dollars?”

“Not the two of us,” he says with no apology. “I’ll be racing and winning with your car.”

I blink. “My car.”

“Yes,” he says with absolutely no hesitation. “Your car.”

There’s no way he can do it—make that much money in races he hopes to win. My lips shift to the right as I mull over what he said. He believes, but I...can’t.

Isaiah focuses on my mouth. In two easy strides, he crosses the distance between us and places his fingers under my chin. His warm thumb sweeps across the edge of my lips and my heart flutters. He performs the enticing movement one more time...but slower and my mouth responds by relaxing. I quit breathing and thinking. I have so missed his touch.

“I told you not to worry,” he whispers.

I choke on the sarcastic laugh and turn my head to breathe in air that’s free of his scent. Worrying is all I’m good at. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he responds quickly. “When I say I’m going to do something, I do it.”

Not true—he said he’d call and he didn’t. I fiddle with a wayward thread on the cuff of my sleeve as my heart sinks. What do I do if he bails on me? What do I do if I don’t work with him? Maybe I could ask West and Ethan for help. Maybe they have money.

I lift my head to find him staring at me. “I’m glad you’re here, Rachel.” He slides his fingers around my wrist and the brush of his skin against mine melts my muscles like hot dripping butter.

Disgust immediately weaves through me. I’m so pathetic. He never called. Isaiah never freaking called, and with a few words and a few caresses I fall right back to where I started: as a stupid naive girl.

I step away and push my bangs from my face. I can’t do this. I can’t let him toy with me. I’ve got a couple hundred dollars saved from my birthday and Christmas. I’ll pawn some of my jewelry. I’ll beg Eric for more time. Anything other than having my heart ripped out. “This is a mistake. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

As I walk past him, toward my coat, toward the door, Isaiah grabs my hand. “What’s wrong.” It’s not a question. It’s a demand.

“You said I was a one-night stand.” I jerk my hand, but he doesn’t give. Anger flares through me and I jerk harder. “You said I meant nothing!”

His hand slips away. “I never said you were a one-night stand. Rachel...I could never think of you as a fuck.”

I wince from the word leaving his mouth and hate how he inclines his head in pity as he notices the weakness.

“But Eric did,” I say. “And you didn’t argue.”

“I’m sorry,” he says simply as if that will wash away a week’s worth of ignoring me.

My throat burns as tears threaten my eyes. I should keep my mouth shut and bolt. Instead, I stay and say the stupid words. “I waited for you to call. You said you would. You said you liked me. And then you tell Eric I meant nothing.”

“I showed for you.” A bit of irritation leaks into his voice. “I got into Eric’s face for you.”

“Because you owe me! Because I stopped my car and let you drive it until we ditched the police.”

His expression becomes a brewing storm. “It’s not like that.”

I throw my arms out in a mock parody of not caring, but the truth is I do. I care so much about this guy that he’s tearing me to shreds. “So you don’t owe me?”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters as his hands fist at his sides. “I do owe you.”

He wants to say more, but I can’t listen to lies. “Just say it, Isaiah. Cut the crap and say that I was a game. Tell me how I was the stupid, pathetic rich girl you tried to sleep with. Just say it and then we’ll figure a way out of this mess without you having to charm me into doing what you want.” Without you breaking what’s left of my soul. “Just say it!”

But before he can say anything, the door to the garage creaks open. I turn my head reluctantly in time to catch two people who look roughly our age shuffling in. The guy is tall, looming over the girl who, if it’s possible, is shorter than me. Her eyes dart between me and Isaiah and finally settle on him. “Hello, Isaiah,” she says.

Her ripped blue jeans and blond hair with black streaks scream that she’s fine with danger. She’s beautiful, and by the way she holds herself, she’s confident—strong. I wipe at my eyes and angle my body in the opposite direction of her. My chest moves with the heavy beating of my heart and a moronic, traitorous tear falls.

Isaiah lowers his head and utters a curse. I can tell by how he tries not to look at her, yet keeps doing so that this girl means something to him. Guess he just got busted for cheating on her—with me.