Chapter 4 Amy #2
I’m not going to let some guy ruin my day—even if he is tall, dark, and superhot. I give myself a mental bitch slap. You’re Amy Hitman, remember? Badass extraordinaire…
Apparently, my self-empowerment skills are taking the day off. I spent the entire weekend obsessing over these training sessions, to the point where I’ve completely exhausted myself.
“Just get your shit together, and get it done,” I try again. “Focus on the cash. Focus on showing the dean what a great job you can do.”
Focus on all that quality time you’ll be getting with your hot-ass mentor.
No! Absolutely not. I refuse to act like some lovesick preteen.
And yet, I need to face the facts—here I am, practically drooling over what I can only describe as… a crush.
I shudder.
Taking a deep breath in, I start striding across the parking lot, brushing past two guys who recoil like I’m swinging a shotgun as I go, and I make a mental note to lose the resting bitch face.
Someone calls out to Lewis from the other end of the parking lot. He glances up and waves, before suddenly spotting me. I don’t shoot him a smile. He’s not smiling at me, either. Actually, he’s staring at me so intently my throat tightens.
“Right on time.”
I nod in reply, puffing out my cheeks. I need all the oxygen I can get.
“So, what’s the plan?” I start. No point beating around the bush.
“Today, you’ll be driving. I want to see how you handle yourself.”
I slap a smile on my face. I can’t wait for him to see the magic I work behind the wheel.
“I’m parked over there.”
Before he has time to respond, I’m on the move, and I can hear him running to catch up. As trial runs go, this one isn’t off to the greatest of starts, but I’m doing my best here.
I swing open my car door and freeze. On the other side of the Firebird, Lewis mirrors me. We stand there for a moment, staring each other down, and he’s the first to speak.
“Okay, listen. Before we hit the road, let’s get a few things straight,” he starts. “We got off on the wrong foot.”
“You think?” I shrug. “Actually, I thought that was a big, beautiful moment we shared back on that first day.”
“A big, beautiful car, more like. I got a pretty close view.”
“Next time, you might get even closer.”
He shoots me a dark look.
Okay, maybe that was a little too much, even for me.
“You have a point, though,” I concede. “We did get off on the wrong foot.”
“So, let’s rewind—my name’s Lewis Conley.”
As he stretches out a hand, my muscles tighten. The last time he shook my hand, I almost forgot to breathe. I steady my nerves and grip his fingers in mine.
My body zeroes on that single point of contact.
“And you are…?” he drawls.
“Pleased to meet you.”
He rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not the textbook answer to someone asking your name, right?”
“Right…”
“And that as a Campus Driver, being able to introduce yourself is kinda important?”
“Wait, I’m a Campus Driver?”
“Nope.”
“Meaning I still have time to work on my personality.”
“Something tells me that could take a while.”
I sneak a look at him. “I can be pretty surprising, you know.”
It’s childish, but I need to get the last word in.
“I can be pretty stubborn,” he fires back.
Seems like he does, too.
“I can also be pretty violent.”
“Wrong answer, Firebird. You’re just losing points left, right, and center, aren’t you?”
And with that, he ducks down into the passenger seat, leaving me standing there, grappling for words.
Aaaand breathe, Amy.
I take a minute to collect my thoughts, staring into space, breathing in through my nose. I’ve noticed Lewis since classes started, and now here he is, sitting in my car.
“Ready when you are, Firebird!”
Guess that nickname is sticking around.
And the worst part is, I like it.
I’ve just about got my shit together when some student yells out at my mentor from the sidewalk, a grin spreading across his face. I’m instantly suspicious.
“Hey, Lewis!”
The guy trots over to us, waving at me politely while I stand there speechless, dazzled by the whiteness of his teeth.
I must be glaring, because his smile slowly fades as he leans into the passenger seat, a hand resting lightly on my roof.
I’m watching him like a hawk. I can’t say why, exactly, but my hackles are rising.
Get your paws off my car, buddy.
“Amir!” Lewis sounds surprised. “What’s up, man?”
“Life’s pretty good! I just wanted to let you know that I’m ready to roll! As soon as I’ve got my Dodge, I’ll be good to go.”
What is he even talking about?
I bend down and glance at Lewis through the window. He’s frowning, like he’s suddenly confused, and when he looks at me, there’s the weirdest expression on his face. I squint at him, and he raises his eyebrows before turning back to the guy.
“Great! Give me a call in January.”
He’s trying to wrap the conversation up, I realize. I was right to be wary.
“Got it. See you around!”
Amir thumps my car—twice—before sloping off. I’m getting a bad vibe from this guy, and I keep my eyes locked on his feet, willing him to trip or sprain his ankle or something.
I slip behind the wheel and turn to Lewis.
“Who’s the dude?”
“My private Taco Bell bitch.”
Right.
Something tells me Amir is a backup driver, but I know better than to push it right now. I have a better idea, anyway—I plan on running my own shadow investigation. If that guy is the competition, then bring it on—I’ve already got some solid ideas as to how to bring him down.
“So, can we do this?”
Lewis sounds impatient, and so I tuck Amir away in a special file at the back of my mind and refocus. My nerves are fizzing again. Here I am, in the car next to Lewis, my muscles suddenly feeling like Jell-O as I revert to the basic bitch I never thought I would ever be.
I grab my flat boots from the back seat and tug them on before buckling my seat belt and gripping the wheel, the leather smooth and comforting beneath my fingers, the thrum of the outside world filling my ears. I flip down the sunshield to check my lipstick.
“Donovan got his baby back this morning, by the way,” Lewis says. “Amazing job. The seats look as good as new.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Oh my God, Amy. Loosen up a little.
I soften. “I spent most of last night working on it so it’d be done in time. RJ’s getting old—he’s not as fast as he used to be.”
“You guys known each other long?”
I nod. That’s all he’s getting from me. I slide the key into the starter, my clammy fingers slipping as I work the lock. Amir and Lewis have done a great job sending me off the rails today.
“Having trouble there?”
“It’s just a little stiff,” I lie, as the engine rumbles into life.
Get a fucking grip, will you?
It’s early December, but I’ve broken into a sweat.
I feel so awkward, with him sitting there to my right like that.
Nobody rides shotgun with me. Ever. I’ve had too many people giving me too many directions in my life.
There’s no way I’m letting it happen in my car, too.
This is my world, the place where I call all the shots—end of conversation.
But with Lewis sitting there, his face set like stone as he watches me shift into first, it’s like I’ve suddenly almost forgotten how to drive.
“Did you just stall?”
I guess there’s no “almost” about it.