“Horrify them. Maybe even push them to stop treating you like a child. I’m not judging you for wanting out from under their thumbs.”
He’s not wrong about the way my parents treat me, but he’s way off about why I’m sitting here. Is it so hard for him to believe I might be interested in him for reasons that have nothing to do with my parents or my need to be kind? I cling to that unfamiliar boldness. “I’d rather skip the security cameras and go somewhere no one is watching.”
He studies me for a long time, and there’s so much suspicion in his eyes that I expect him to tell me to get away. Instead, he wets his bottom lip and swallows hard before nodding. “Get in.”
I should be nervous about getting into Marston’s car, given how he could easily misinterpret what I just said. And I am nervous, but not for the logical reasons. I’m nervous because I want him to kiss me again. Because I like the way he looks at me and I want more of it.
The car has a beat-up leather interior, but it’s clean and doesn’t smell like smoke. I buckle in as Marston climbs into his side. He turns the key in the ignition, and the car slowly coughs to life. He shoots me a look like he’s waiting for me to comment. When I say nothing, he says, “This is Aunt Lori’s dead husband’s car. It’s been sitting in the driveway for two years, so I’m surprised it works at all.”
“I’m not judging.”
He smirks at this—because he finds that amusing or doesn’t believe me, I’m not sure—but he doesn’t mention it again as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road. The windows are down, and the cool evening air whips through my hair, tugging strands free.
“You know much about the south dock at Lake Blackledge?” he asks.
“Other than that it’s there?”
“It’s a short walk from Lori’s, and it’s nice and quiet at night.” He takes his eyes off the road for a beat to look at me. “I thought we could go there if that sounds okay.”
My body is like a balloon slowly filling with helium. I might float. “Sure.”
“I’m not going to kiss you again,” he says.
And . . . pop. I fall. Hard. I’m not sure if it’s embarrassment or hurt that makes me want to jump out of this car and run home. “Fine. Whatever.”
He smirks at this but doesn’t talk to me again until we pull into a parking spot at the dock. He turns off the engine, but when he climbs out of the car, he leaves the radio playing and the windows down. I stay where I am for a minute, watching him wander toward the water with his hands tucked into his pockets.
His back is broad, and his jeans hang low on his hips. He’s tall but not lanky. He’s got some muscle to him and could easily pass for one of the guys on the OV High football team. I heard the girls joking that he’s so smart and ripped because he spent a year in juvie and all he could do to pass the time was work out and read. I don’t know if the thing about juvie is true. The rumor mill at OV High is more based on entertainment than truth.
I want to shake off the awkwardness he threw over us when he said he wouldn’t kiss me, but I can’t. Not when I want exactly what he’s said he won’t give me. I climb out of the car and follow him into the gravel beyond the parking lot. The night is clear and the lake seems to sparkle in the moonlight.
“You like the lake?” I ask as I move to stand beside him. I shouldn’t read too much into him bringing me here, but last weekend when I asked Liam to take me somewhere special, he took me to the football field and kissed me under the bleachers. Well . . . he probably wanted to do more than kiss, but I didn’t let that happen. Maybe I am uptight. A tease.
Marston nods without looking at me. “Nothing in Atlanta is this pretty. At least not where I lived.”
I have so many questions about his life before he came here, but I don’t want to pry or make him uncomfortable. For some reason, it seems important that I like him without demanding details about his past, so I give him a little piece of myself. “I’ve lived here all my life. Most of my friends can’t wait to leave, but . . .” I shrug. “I’ve traveled a lot, you know, and I like to go places to visit, but I love coming back. I can’t imagine anywhere else feeling like home.”
“You’re lucky. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a place that feels that way.” He turns around, finally, and a thrill washes over me as he devours me with that intense gaze. No one has ever looked at me like he does. And he doesn’t want to kiss me. It’s maddening.
“Where are your parents?”
His lips twist in a sneer. “Mom is probably strung out and mooching off her most recent boyfriend. And . . .” He hesitates as if he’s not sure he wants to share the rest, but then he shrugs. “I don’t know my dad.”
“You never met him?” The idea lights some traitorous fantasy inside me. My father works so hard for our family. He protects us and provides for us, but sometimes, his constant judgment and criticism make everything so much harder.
“My father is nothing more than a blank space on my birth certificate,” Marston says, snapping me from my horrible thoughts. “Mom doesn’t know which of her guys knocked her up and didn’t care enough to figure it out.”
“Oh.” My cheeks are so hot. I shouldn’t have asked. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m just guessing here, Brinley, but there’s a really good chance I’m better off without him.” He studies me, and the silence stretches between us, like a tightening string trying to pull us closer. “I can’t decide if you feel sorry for me or if I’m this train wreck you can’t look away from.”
I step forward. He’s so tall and so warm, and I really wish he would kiss me again. “I don’t think you’re a train wreck. And if I feel sorry for you . . . well, it’s no more than I feel sorry for myself.”
The DJ on the car stereo gives a rundown of the weather, and then James Blunt’s “You’re Beautiful” starts playing.
He shifts awkwardly as he turns to me. “You want to . . . dance or something?” There’s a nervous insecurity in his voice I haven’t heard before.
“You’d dance with me?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted to do tonight? Dance?” He turns up his palm for a beat then seems to think better of it and drops his hand to his side.
Before he can turn away, I rush forward and clasp my hands behind his neck. A soft, surprised laugh puffs from his lips, and his eyes are smiling as he settles his hands on my hips.
His dark hair has grown out since that first night we met. What would it feel like to slide my fingers through it? We barely move. The only dancing we’re doing is more about shifting our bodies fractionally closer and closer.
When I settle my cheek against his chest, he seems to relax. One hand shifts from my hip to the small of my back. “Why don’t you ask me about juvie or my probation? It’s all anyone else cares about, but you haven’t asked me a single question.”
I don’t look at him, sensing he wouldn’t want me to. “Do you want me to ask?”
“I don’t like it hanging between us. It makes me wonder if you’d run away if you knew the truth.”