Crash Into You

Chapter 38

Rachel

THE ENGINE SWITCHES FROM A growl to a purr as I shift down and ease into the bay of Isaiah’s garage. My heart does that nauseating skip, squeeze, beat once combination the moment I spot Isaiah. His eyes go right to mine, and the slight slant of his mouth gives me flutters.

Unable to hold his gaze, I stare at the console as I place her in Park. Oh, God, he is happy to see me. At least I think he is. My insides explode at the sight of him striding over. Last night, I fell asleep in his arms and woke up this morning to find my cell on the pillow beside me with the message Tomorrow typed into an open window.

I thought school was never going to end.

Isaiah opens my car door and his warm silver eyes smile at me. “Hey.”

I sweep my bangs from my eyes. “Hi.”

He offers his hand and I accept. His fingers wrap around mine and heat surges up my arm, flushes my neck and settles into a blush on my face. He tugs gently and I slip out. I’m not sure if my body vibrates from the rumbling of the garage door closing or from the blood pounding in my veins.

Our fingers lace together, and his other hand smoothly cups my hip. I suck in a breath, surprised that someone touches me so easily and with such care.

“You look nice,” he says.

“I’m in my school uniform.” White button-down blouse, maroon-and-black plaid skirt, and a pair of white Keds. Nothing spectacular.

“I know.” The seductive slide in his voice causes the back of my neck to tickle.

“Hi!”

We snap our heads to the right, and if it weren’t for Isaiah’s hold, I would have stumbled back. Practically on top of us is a girl with long brown hair, a black hoodie and the tightest jeans I have ever seen. I automatically hate her because those jeans make her look good.

Isaiah sighs loudly. “Rachel, this is my friend, Abby. Abby this is my girlfriend, Rachel.”

I have to restrain from dancing. He called me his girlfriend. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“What’s your favorite color?” asks Abby.

“Green?” That is a beyond odd question—I mean it’s normal, yet not.

“Tacos or spaghetti?”

“Tacos.”

“Disney World or Disneyland?”

“Neither.”

“Rolling Stones or Beatles?”

“Beatles.”

She squishes her lips to the left. “Oh, so close, but I can let the last one go.” Abby regards Isaiah with the same familiarity I have with my brothers. “We should keep her, but we may have to set up a visitation schedule. You know, control issues and all.”

My eyebrows rise. “Keep me?” Abby’s words crash in my mind. “Control issues?”

She pokes a finger at her chest. “My issues. Not his. You and I are going to be friends, and I don’t do friendships. Well, I obviously do,” she adds as her finger lazily points to Isaiah. “But he doesn’t count. See, we met inside of a Dumpster when we were ten.”

My eyes widen to the point I start to wonder if I’ll ever blink again.

“Abby,” says Isaiah, interrupting her before she can continue. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Okay.” The Rolling Stones’ “Miss You” plays from her phone. “Shit,” she says. “Hold on a sec.” She answers and heads outside.

“Wow.” It’s the only response I can think of.

“That’s one way to describe her. Look, if you don’t want to deal with her...”

“No,” I interrupt. “She’s your friend...”

And he interrupts me. “But if she makes you uncomfortable...”

My turn. “I like her.” From the moment she said that we’d be friends, I liked her.

I walk away from Isaiah and stand near the open hood of his car. Holy hell, he’s been busy. “You installed a cold air intake.” That will help increase the horsepower in his car.

Isaiah runs a hand over his freshly buzzed dark brown hair. He kept the shadowed stubble on his jaw. If it’s possible, the combination makes him so much sexier and more dangerous.

“I’m serious about Abby. She’s different. I put up with her because I’ve known her longer than anyone else. That type of stuff is important to me, but if Abby bothers you, then I’ll make sure she keeps her distance.”

I touch the curved piece he added to the engine. “Did you really meet her inside a Dumpster?”

When he doesn’t answer immediately, I sneak a peek out of the corner of my eye. His hands are on his hips as he stares at the floor. “Yeah. We were both looking for food.”

I close my eyes as my heart aches. I can’t imagine what his life has been like.

“I don’t want your pity,” he says with a mix of hurt and pride.

“I’m not offering you pity.” Understanding hopefully, not pity. It’s not much, and it’s not nearly on the same level, but it still causes me enough pain that I can’t face him. “I don’t have friends. I have my brothers, and there are some girls at school that I can sit with at lunch if I want to, but they don’t get bent out of shape if I don’t show. I’m...I’m weird.”

His boots tap against the floor as he moves in my direction. “No, you’re not.”

I stiffen, irritated and tired of everyone telling me what I am. “How many girls do you know who work on cars, like speed and can happily tell you what a cold air intake looks like?”

Isaiah places his fingers underneath my chin and tilts my head in his direction. “Only one, and she’s my type of girl.”

A flurry of rose petals swirls in my chest. I swallow and remind myself to breathe. He lowers his head as I lick my lips. His warm breath mingles with mine and right as our lips come close to connecting, the garage door squeaks open.

I flinch as if jolted with electricity and immediately slide a foot away from Isaiah. He softly chuckles. An audience obviously wouldn’t bother him. I toss him a dirty look that only makes him chuckle more.

“You’ve got company,” says Abby. Right behind her is the guy that showed with that girl Beth. My hand goes to my stomach as it cramps. Isaiah and the guy share a short shake. “Logan, remember Rachel?”

He nods at me. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” My eyes flicker from him to the door as I keep waiting for her to show. A strange uneasiness curls between my skin and bones. Beautiful, confident, mysterious Beth: the antithesis of me and everything a guy like Isaiah should want.

This week, Isaiah explained how Logan will race his car while Isaiah drives my car at the dragway. The better parts will go into my car since it’s in better condition.

Isaiah never mentioned anything about Beth helping, and I never asked. After Isaiah announced that she wasn’t his girlfriend, I thought I could let her go, but the uncertainty of what his relationship was with her before I crashed into his life gnaws at my soul.

Isaiah claps his hands then rubs them together. “We’ve got a turbocharger, a cold air intake, an exhaust cutout to install and a girl with a curfew. Let’s move.”

* * *

With anxiety coiled and poised to spring on a moment’s notice, I digress to a bad habit: nibbling on my nails. I used to bite, but then my mother would have an aneurysm when she’d see what I’d done to my manicure.

I should be right beside Isaiah and Logan as they work on my car, but I can’t. Being in the same room is bad enough. How can anyone watch surgery being performed on a loved one, much less hold the scalpel? Isaiah pushes a button and the lift’s ear-crushing whine accompanies the sight of my car floating into the air. The turbocharger is in. Now he’s installing the cutout to the muffler. Once this is done, my baby will never sound the same again.

“So,” says Abby. “What do best friends do?”

Kind of like a cartoon character, I whip my head back and forth from Abby to the lift. She’s been next to me during the whole ordeal, sharing strange broken conversations about nothing. “What do you mean?” By best friends?

“I’ve never been to the mall.”

And she gained my full attention. “Never?”

Abby twirls the string attached to her hoodie. “Well, yeah, I’ve gone for work, but never to hang. Are you one of those girls? The ones that go to the mall? I think I could do it. Wander the mall for no reason.”

“Why haven’t you?” I don’t feel like answering that I don’t hang at malls. Most of the girls I know think my hatred of all things retail is weird.

She wraps the string tightly around her finger three times. “Malls are expensive, and as I said before, I don’t do friendships.”

“Besides Isaiah,” I say.

“Besides him,” she agrees. “And you.”

“Why me?” It’s a bold question to ask, but everything about this girl is bold.

“Because,” she answers. When neither one of us say anything for a while she finally continues, “Because you like Isaiah. If you like him, then maybe you can like me. Besides, I like bunnies.”

I try not to smile. A strange answer, yet normal for her. We watch as the two guys tinker with the underside of my car. Actually, Abby observes, I avoid looking. “Where do you work?”

Abby pulls hard on her string, causing it to become uneven. “What?”

“At the mall,” I prompt.

She scratches her mouth as if attempting to hide the uneven smirk. “I don’t work at the mall.”

I mull over what she said earlier. No, she said...

“I make deliveries to people at the mall.”

“Oh.” She must sell cosmetics or something like that. “So you have a home business?”

“Who’s the guy with Isaiah? Is he a friend of yours? He’s hot.”

“No. He’s Beth’s friend.” A twinge of jealousy rattles my bones. Abby’s sneakers squeak when she kicks at a nonexistent spot on the floor. While I’ve never asked Isaiah about Beth, Isaiah’s also never offered information. Maybe Abby can fill me in on Beth since Isaiah is closemouthed. “Do you know Beth?”

“Yes,” she says.

Not helpful. “Were you friends with her?”

“Hell no. She twisted Isaiah so damn tight even I couldn’t breathe.”

The overhead heater clicks three times as we all groan. Isaiah turned it off earlier, but we all began to freeze. Cold fingers aren’t good for my baby so he powered it back on. Isaiah swears as he yanks off his T-shirt.

My heart trips. Last night, I dreamed of touching his body. “He has a lot of tattoos,” I say, hoping Abby doesn’t notice how I stare at Isaiah.

“Yeah,” she replies. “He got his first one, the tiger, when we were fourteen.”

Huh. “Does it mean something?”

“Don’t know. Isaiah won’t discuss his tattoos. He gets them and moves on.” “Paint It Black” plays from her cell. Abby presses a hand to her forehead. “I’ve gotta split.” And she disappears, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

She had Isaiah twisted so damn tight even I couldn’t breathe. Abby’s words circle in my mind. What was an attempt to make me feel better has progressed to nausea tearing at my throat.

A whistle draws my attention. Isaiah flashes the craziest smile I’ve ever seen. “Almost done, angel. You’re going to love how she’ll sing for you.”

This time when I smile, I have to force the muscles to comply. How can I compete with Beth—the girl who kept, possibly still keeps, him twisted?