Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Sarah
“Look alive!” Lacy yells as three cars pull into the lot, one after another. She uses that megaphone to coordinate where the cars should go. She’s giving strict crossing guard energy—one whistle away from pulling someone over.
She nudges me toward one of the cars, where a group of rowdy tech-bro types sit vaping.
“Close your window,” I say as the smoke drifts out. I cough and wave a hand in front of my face. The driver rolls his eyes and I get closer. “Do you want to keep the window down so I can dump a bucket of water in your lap?”
The guys laugh, and the driver rolls his window up.
I glance over at Lacy, wondering if she’d be so kind as to assign me to a different car, but she’s over there doing her thing and barking orders at people.
As I look at her, I spot my dad’s best friend on the sidelines.
He pulls out his wallet and walks to the lemonade stand.
He takes one of those tiny paper cups and knocks it back in a single sip.
His throat moves with the swallow, sharp and deliberate, and then—crack—the cup crumples in his fist. That single flex of his hand does something to me I’m not proud of.
He turns, strides back to his car, and leans against it like it’s his throne. Arms crossed. Sunglasses on.
He looks around and seems deep in thought, but it feels like he’s sort of… supervising this thing. I can’t tell if he’s scanning the crowd or just me.
He rotates his thick forearm, checking the time on his watch.
He’s probably got someplace better to be.
I finish up the vape-guys’ car and they pay before peeling away.
Lacy directs the next customer toward me. I work the sponge over the car, but my mind is hyper-aware of how I look. I don’t want to bend over to scrub the wheels and let my ass stick out into the air for everyone to see. I move over to the windshield and take a big gulp of air.
When I’m done, Jenny comes over with two cups and puts one in my hand. The lemonade, though watered-down and warm, feels good as the tart sweetness flows down my throat.
“I think I’m going to go talk to him,” she says brightly, tenting her fingers in front of her.
“Who?”
“Your dad’s friend,” she says. “Can you put in a good word for me?”
My heart sinks.
“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I know what she means.
“You know,” she says, biting her lip. She throws a tiny glance over her shoulder at John. I try not to look at him. “Maybe ask if he’d let me give him a really quick wash?”
I try not to look disappointed.
“Girl, you do not need me to put in a good word for you. Your perfect body and your beautiful eyes are worth a thousand words. You’re fucking hot. You’ll be good on your own. Trust me.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’m gonna do it.”
“Go,” I say, handing her a bucket. “And make sure you do a good job. Mama wants a reading nook.”
I give her two thumbs up, even though I wish it were me sauntering toward him instead.
Her lithe steps move with flirty grace, all petite and slender as she gets close to him. I can’t see his eyes through the dark sunglasses, but I can tell he doesn’t seem interested in her.
His arms are across his chest like he’s trying to hold a distance between himself and his surroundings.
He seems guarded, almost like he’s watching me from beneath a shadow.
He shouldn’t look this hot.
I shouldn’t be this turned on.
Jenny gets to him, bucket swinging at her side, and flashes him a smile I’ve seen melt half our econ class. He gives her a polite nod, says something I can’t hear, and then he takes off his sunglasses—and his gaze slides to me, like she was just background noise.
“What happened?” I ask as she comes back.
“He doesn’t want me to wash his car.” A smile inches across her lips. “He wants you.”
The words crash over me, and my feet feel glued to the pavement, like my body doesn’t quite remember how to move now that she’s said it out loud.
I turn the words over in my mind.
He wants you.
The sun beats down, hot and heavy, but his stare is hotter—heavier—burning a hole through me from across the parking lot. I feel his eyes on me. I feel them inside me, like a hum beneath my skin. Like the weight of a hand that hasn’t touched me… yet.
My heart thuds so hard I can hear it in my ears. My palms go damp, and not from the water dripping down the bucket. My breath catches high in my chest and just sticks there. Waiting.
“Make me proud,” Jenny says, pushing a bucket into my arms.
My feet feel as light as feathers, then ice-cold water hits me before I even register what’s happening.
“Look out!” Jenny says, leaping out of the way. She grabs me, but I get the full brunt of a messy cascade of water that smacks me in the face.
It crashes down over my head, shocking and sudden.
I let out a shriek, staggering back as the icy rush drenches me from scalp to sneakers.
My shirt clings instantly—soaked, heavy—and I know without even looking that it’s now see-through.
My nipples are hard and tight against the wet fabric, clearly outlined, my skin flushed from the heat.
A car drives by, and I wrap my arms around myself as a few quick honks on the horn seem to mimic my beating heart, fast and staccato, pounding from inside.
A few lewd whistles sound through the air from the group of frat guys laughing and giving each other high-fives, lodging in my ears, which are already filled with water.
I want to die. This is so messed up.
I never thought I’d join a sorority, but I’ve always been shy, and I saw this as a way to make friends. These girls are my ride-or-dies. My chosen family.
However, I should have known better than to associate with these skeevy frat guys.
Chosen family, my ass!
Jenny steps up to them, her normally cool demeanor going up in flames.
“You motherfuckers think this is funny?” She grabs my arm and pulls me forward. She thinks she’s doing me a favor, but she’s just making me feel more self-conscious. “This girl right here is a poor, helpless virgin. And look what you’ve done to her!”
Please. Scream it louder, Jenny. Let my dad’s best friend hear this.
I feel like I might actually die. My ears are burning. I can’t even meet anyone’s eyes—I don’t know if they’re laughing or staring or pretending not to look, and somehow all of it makes me feel even smaller.
“Let’s just go,” I say, tugging on her sleeve.
“There’s no way someone should have a rack like that and not show it off,” the ringleader says.
Jenny looks at them with narrowed eyes and steps forward.
“What did you just say, you fucking piece of shit?”
“Jenny, please,” I mumble out of the corner of my mouth, tugging on her shirt and wrapping my arm around myself. “It’s not worth it.”
The jeers fade to a murmur, replaced by a shift in the air—hot and electric, like a storm about to hit. A new kind of shiver takes over as I turn around to see John charging right at them.
He rips his shirt off as he walks, like it’s offending him just by existing. He has a white t-shirt underneath his light button-down. Sweat glistens across his shoulders, all hard muscle and thick veins.
His eyes rake over me—wet hair, soaked shirt, tight nipples and bare skin—and something breaks in his expression. Something dangerous.
I see the moment he stops thinking. I can feel it. He steps forward, just a little too close, and drapes his still-warm shirt around me. It’s so big on me that I feel like I’m drowning.
I swallow hard. My whole body is buzzing.
He shields my body, tucking me behind his back as his eyes flash to the guy holding the tell-tale bucket.
“Hey,” John barks at the guy. He still has me tucked behind him. I bite my lip. The proximity to his power is intoxicating.
“Did you do this?” he says.
The guy’s shoulders slump, and he seems to be coming up with an excuse for his behavior.
“It was an accident,” he says, voice breaking.
John doesn’t say a word at first. He just steps toward the guy with the bucket—slow, deliberate, terrifyingly calm.
“Was it you?” he asks, voice low but clear. Not a hint of panic. Just quiet, blistering rage.
The guy straightens up, trying to look casual.
Wrong move.
John grabs a fistful of the guy’s shirt and slams him back against the hood of a nearby car. Not hard enough to injure—just hard enough to make a point. The bucket clatters to the ground.
“You think this is funny?” His voice is still level. Still tightly leashed. “You don’t look at her again.”
The guy sputters, caught between trying to look tough and realizing he’s already lost.
John doesn’t let go right away. He leans in a little closer, the space between them crackling. Heat rises from the pavement. I can almost see it swirl around John, thick like steam.
“Walk away,” he says.
And the guy does. Shoulders hunched, face red, trying not to look like he’s running.
Holy shit.
John wraps a protective arm around me, holding me close to his side. The mix of soap and sweat bears down on my senses, as hot as the air around me. As hot as his chest as he holds me close.
“Get in,” he says in a low voice, opening the car door for me, my wet thighs sticking to the fresh leather. John walks around to his side like he’s a force of nature. A storm rolling in from the horizon. Gray skies with a beam of light breaking through.
He gets into the car, carrying even more heat along with him. He puts his hands on the steering wheel, the huge barrel of his chest rising and falling.
“Are you all right?” he says gruffly, his knuckles turning white.
“Just a little wet.” I give a tiny smile and laugh. “No use crying over spilled water, right?”
I look at his face as his eyes scan over me.
There are beads of sweat on his forehead, sliding down the side of his temple.
His hair’s grayer than I remember—more salt than pepper now—and it just makes him look hotter.
Sharper. Like he’s settled into the kind of man who knows exactly what to do with you.
I don’t know if he’s looking to check me for signs of injury, or if he’s looking at me the way I want him to look at me.
The way he looked at me out there in the wild.
God, I hope so.
His jaw clenches.
“We’ll go to your house and you can change. Then I’ll decide whether I’m bringing you back here or not.”
My core clenches, releasing an army of butterflies doing a tightrope walk in my stomach.
“That okay with you?” he says more softly.
I let out a little squeak and nod my head.
He puts on his sunglasses and shifts into drive.
“Good.”
There’s a tick in his jaw as we peel onto the gravelly street. The air conditioning kicks in and a shiver runs through me. I wrap my arms around myself as my nipples pebble.
He doesn’t look over at me. He just reaches out and turns off the A/C, then presses the button for the moonroof. It slides open with a soft mechanical hiss.
Sunlight spills in through the moonroof, warm and direct. It cuts across his cheekbones, catching in the stubble along his jaw. He shifts slightly in his seat, one hand still on the wheel, the other resting loose beside the gear shift.
It’s quiet for a few moments. Just the low hum of the engine and the soft rush of wind through the open roof.
I settle back into the leather, my skin still damp, my pulse still racing.
“Yeah,” I say, glancing over at him with a tiny smile. “Much better.”