Chapter 2 Amy
I’m a mess, I’m a loser, I’m a hater, I’m a user…”
I flick the stereo down as I cruise onto campus.
I always have the music blasting when I drive, not because I’m trying to act all rebel or anything, and not because I have hearing problems, either.
The truth is that heavy bass soothes me.
That might seem counterintuitive, but that’s just the way it is.
Campus is crawling with people at this time of day, and I’m aiming for low-key.
I’ve been a student at SHU for three months now, and things are going pretty well.
No fights, no problems, no nothing. The dean was crystal clear when he green-lighted my transfer—my grades are solid, but considering my baggage, the smallest slipup and it’s game over for me.
Getting kicked out of college would literally mean my life is over.
Or kind of literally, anyway. He’s got his eye on me, and my sister does, too—though I notice she’s missed her morning check-in.
My phone blares out, and I pull over, suppressing a sigh.
Guess I spoke too soon.
“Hey.”
“Amy, it’s Raven.”
No shit. She realizes I have her number saved, right?
“Oh my God! Raven?” I gasp. “For real?”
“Yup!”
“Raven, as in my-older-sister Raven? That Raven?”
“The one and only!”
She doesn’t seem to get sarcasm today. Pregnancy-brain vibes.
“I didn’t hear you leave this morning.”
“Well, you were snoring like a wild pig,” I protest. “You’d have slept through a nuclear explosion.”
“Hey, apparently you snore louder when you’re pregnant. It’s a thing.”
“It’s an amazing excuse, you mean. Like, ‘Oh, sorry, I forgot to buy milk—I’m pregnant.’ Or ‘Oh, sorry, I left my crappy-ass underwear on your pillow—I’m pregnant.’ ”
I can practically hear her rolling her eyes.
Raven clears her throat. “Where are you right now?”
“Just pulling onto campus. Can’t you tell from the tracker I’m guessing you put on my car?” I tut. “You know you don’t have to stalk me every morning, right?”
“I’m just checking in with my baby sister, that’s all.”
“We live together, Raven. We see each other every day.”
“You didn’t come home for dinner last night.”
I sigh. “That’s because I was working late on a Cadillac with RJ. You know, just downstairs. You literally could’ve stuck your head out the window and said hi.”
RJ is the most amazing mechanic with the most perfect garage—the kind of place I’d love to have in a few years. He owns the apartment we rent right above his shop, and I spend most of my free time working on cars with him. Just one of my little… hobbies.
“Did you call Joey to make sure he got to school, too?”
“I don’t need to. He’s six years old; Charlotte dropped him off.”
“And I’m twenty years old, so you can stop wiping my ass for me now.”
“Nuh-uh. I plan on calling you until the end of our days.”
Frustration flickers at my edges. “You have a kid; you’ve got a second on the way. Don’t you have shit to be getting on with?”
“Can you pick up some barbecue sauce on your way home?” she asks, neatly sidestepping the point. She’s good at that.
“What happened to the three bottles I brought home last week?”
“There’s one left, but better safe than sorry, right?” She pauses. “Remember what happened last time I ran out?”
Hell yes, I remember… Raven was clawing at my door like a wildcat. Somehow it ended in screaming and threats.
I sigh. “When’s your due date, again?”
“Have a great day! Work hard and be nice to your teachers.”
She hangs up before I can tell her she’s impossible.
Why is she so annoying?
Truth is, I know why. If I hadn’t fucked up so badly in New York, we wouldn’t have had to move here to begin with. SHU was the only college that agreed to even look at my application.
That’s not the only reason we moved, I remind myself, but I feel guilty all the same. Still—life is better here. Life is better away from Brooklyn.
I hit the road again, and turning into the parking lot, it doesn’t take long for me to notice three sweet rides—a Camaro, a Road Runner, and a Chevrolet Bel Air.
Nice. I scan the lineup, searching for a glimpse of the Dodge, but it’s nowhere to be seen.
Were you hoping to see the Dodge, or the Dodge’s insanely hot driver?
I can feel all eyes on my Firebird as I cruise by. Did one of them just wave at me? What was his name again? I rack my brain. Lane, I think. It’s the first time any of them has even acknowledged me—and socially awkward me just ignores him.
I noticed them as soon as I arrived, way back in September, before I even knew their deal.
The Campus Drivers. I’ve had my eye on them for a while now, and if I’m being totally honest, I’d say there’s one of the four who unfortunately interests me a little more than the rest. Too bad he’s not here today.
When I drive past them, my stomach does a somersault. There, on the bench… It’s him. Lewis Conley. No problems remembering his name, huh? Every time I see him, I get this weird anxious rush of energy. His eyes slide to my car, and my heart skips a beat.
Focus on driving. Focus on not hitting a pedestrian.
I pull into the nearest spot and kill the engine, steadying my breath as best I can.
I can tell he’s still looking at me, and I hate the unfamiliar, unsettled way it makes my body react.
I’m not exactly lacking options when it comes to men, but that guy makes my thoughts short-circuit every time he enters my field of vision. And that’s a first.
I stare at myself in the rearview mirror, trying to hype myself up.
Stop being such a goddamn mess. You’re Amy Hitman, badass extraordinaire—act like it.
I roll my eyes at my reflection before pushing back my seat, kicking off my sneakers, and slipping on my heeled booties.
I slide out of the car, keeping my back to the Campus Drivers and doing my best to ignore them.
They like classic cars—it’s no surprise they’re drooling over my Firebird, I remind myself.
I bend down and scoop up my bag, slamming the door shut and shooting them a quick glance before I head off to class.
What the…?
Lewis Conley.
Lewis Conley is making a beeline for me, his arms swinging as he strides.
I’m urging my legs on, but my brain is in total meltdown. I nearly twist my ankle in my scramble to get away, and I’m still teetering forward when I sense him moving in behind me.
“Hey!”
It’s a good thing I’ve got my back to him—just that one syllable is enough to give me goose bumps.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m considering just ignoring him, but it’s like my body is freestyling.
Slowly, I turn, and my walls slam up. I take a moment to size him up—the guy’s huge, but with these heels I’m wearing, I’m almost eye level with him.
He’s cut his hair since I last saw him at Thanksgiving, I notice.
It’s shorter now. He looks… Oh my God, enough already!
I exhale sharply. He’s waiting for me to say hey back, I know, but I’m literally speechless.
“Lewis Conley.”
Come on, Amy. Think of something snappy. Or scratch that—maybe just introduce yourself. You know, like a normal person.
He tilts his head. “And you’re…?”
“From Brooklyn,” I say, my voice catching in my throat.
Fuck.
“Okay…” He cocks an eyebrow, and I cringe inwardly. “Your Firebird is unreal. Adam says it’s a 1968?”
“Who’s Adam? The Road Runner guy?”
“Nope. The Bel Air. You’ve been scoping out our rides, huh?” He nods approvingly. “You’ve got good taste.”
“Actually, it’s a 1969.”
“It’s fire.”
He sweeps a finger over the hood, and I flinch. I’ll have to deal with those smears later. Lucky for him, he whips his hand away before I try to break it.
“You heard of the Campus Drivers?”
“Rings a bell.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you on our client list.”
I snort. “I don’t need a driver.”
He laughs, and I don’t get it—it’s already December. Why is he only just introducing himself?
“I need to get to class.” I look at him. “Was there something you wanted?”
Like maybe dinner and drinks?
His brown eyes flick between me and my car, and maybe it’s my imagination, but I get the sense he’s undecided about something.
“My friends think you’d make a great Campus Driver.”
I’m sorry—what?
“We’re all seniors,” he continues. “We’re putting together a team to take over next September. You a freshman?”
“I’m a sophomore, actually.”
“Really?” He frowns. “But you’re new at SHU, right? Where were you last year?”
“You want me to drive for you guys?” I say, ignoring him.
“Not big on answering questions, huh?”
He doesn’t sound offended. Just curious.
I eyeball him. This is the first time we’ve ever been this close, so yeah—I’m checking him out. Sue me. I’ve been wondering what exactly it is about him that gets under my skin, and now that I’ve got a close-up view, I’m still not too sure.
“Let’s just say we’re at the scouting stage right now,” he says smoothly. “So, I’m not saying this is a sure thing, or anything. We’ve set the bar pretty high, you know? There’ll be tests, plus hard-core training.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “Training? You guys genuinely think you need to teach me to drive?”
I’d be willing to learn a bunch of new things with this guy, but changing gears isn’t one of them.
“Nothing to do with learning to drive.” He shakes his head. “Everything to do with learning how to adapt to clients. Embracing the right attitude, customer service. This isn’t a hobby, you know? This is a business.” He shoots me a hard stare. “We have a brand name to live up to.”
He’s talking, but I’m hardly listening. The cogs in my brain are whirring. I need money—facts. And spending the whole day cruising around in my Firebird sounds like a dream come true. Plus, this work would actually be legal, which makes a nice change.
Fuck. This is one side gig Raven can get behind.
“I’m looking for the right trainee,” he continues.
Wait, what?
I swallow hard, raking my fingers through my bangs. The idea of spending time with him makes me feel… a whole bunch of confusing things.
“There are some downsides, though,” he says, his voice sharper now.
“Meaning?”
“You won’t have a life. And the inside of your car is gonna end up looking like a junkyard—think puke on the back seat. Puke with chunky bits,” he adds.
What’s his deal?
“As Campus Drivers, our clients are stressed-out, horny students with minimal bladder control…”
He carries on running me through an endless list of negatives.
If he’s trying to sell this gig, he’s doing the worst job ever.
To make matters worse, he’s fingering my paintwork again. No matter how hot he may be, that’s a step too far.
“Don’t touch my car.”
He ignores the warning, and I can feel my irritation rising.
“The dean makes us do pee tests—so no drugs, obviously,” he continues, and I listen to him rant on about just how shit this side hustle is.
“Also, there’s a high chance of getting groped by total perverts, if that’s your thing. Just one of the perks of the job, you know?”
“You done?” I interrupt, shifting my bag on my shoulder.
“We take turns doing the graveyard shift—picking students up from the clubs, mostly shit-faced guys, you get the idea. I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but I have to level with you.”
I smile to myself. He has no idea. I’m Amy Hitman, and he’s never met a right hook quite like mine. I don’t plan on telling him that, though—don’t want to freak him out or anything.
“I’m good,” I reply coolly.
“So, that’s a no—right? Makes sense.” He shoots me a smile. “It’s a lot of responsibility, so I get it. You—”
“Stop touching my car.”
Finally, he seems to get that he’s pissing me off—but he’s not showing any signs of slowing down.
“Sorry. That glossy red paint, though… It’s turning me on.”
“Are you trolling me?”
He laughs. “Do you feel trolled?”
Okay, the guy is actively trying to piss me off.
Part of me really likes that cute little lopsided smile he’s got going on, but there’s another part of me—a stronger, louder part—that’s cold as ice.
I step toward him and grab his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back, shoving my palm against his cheek to slam him down against the hood.
Hey—he did say he liked that paint. Moving behind him, I lean over.
He smells good, and I like how close we are right now, but I need to focus on what really matters.
“Yes, I feel trolled,” I whisper.
I let the words hover in the space between us. And then slowly, I push back and release him.
People are staring.
Shit, maybe I overreacted.
“Don’t make waves, Hitman”—wasn’t that the plan?
“You didn’t tell me you had ninja moves,” he gasps.
“Just a quick demo to put your mind at rest. You don’t need to worry about wasted students. I’ve got this.”
“I’m starting to get that.”
He slaps his hands together and glances over at his friends. I follow his gaze. They’re all doubled over laughing. The two girls even flash me a thumbs-up.
I guess I did always have a talent for making an entrance.
I suddenly feel exposed. I need to get out of here… Get some space, clear my head.
“You’re—”
“I’m late.” I shrug. “See you around.”
I whip around, my heels clicking as I stride, and it’s only when I’m halfway across the parking lot that it dawns on me—I didn’t even accept his offer.
The truth is, I don’t need to weigh this one up. I’m in—even though I’ve got the feeling he’d prefer me to say no.