"I don't care what you did," he says, "but you need to get one thing straight."
"Oh?" I tilt my head and grin. "And what would that be, D-man?"
He scowls at the nickname and just knowing that it irritates him only ensures I'm going to be using it every time I see him from now on. A charged feeling—an electric current—slides through the space between him and me.
"You need to keep stunts like that to a minimum," he says. "In fact, you need to erase the desire to commit them completely unless we order it."
An indelicate snort leaves my lips. "Okay, sure." The sarcasm is so heavy I can taste the sour tang on my tongue.
His scowl deepens. "You think I'm fucking playing with you?" he asks.
I shrug. "Doesn't matter if you are or not," I reply honestly. "If you think you can control someone like me, you've got another thing coming."
He arches a brow. "Really?" Dean turns, leaning forward and pops open the glove compartment in front of him. I lean to the side and my eyes widen when I spot the familiar handle of a gun amidst a bunch of papers and other shit. My heart rate kicks up and I put my hand to the clip, my fight mode kicked into high drive. Another hand lands on mine, stopping me, and I jerk my head up and glare as Brax shakes his head.
Dean doesn't even touch the gun. He grabs a manila envelope beneath it and pries it loose before snapping the compartment closed. It takes a moment, but when he turns back and notices Brax's hand on mine, earning both of us a wicked glare, I start to relax.
"What's that?" I ask as Dean opens the envelope and starts removing papers. He flicks through them without looking up.
"Would you like to know?" he asks.
I roll my eyes. "No, I asked just for shits and giggles," I say snidely.
"They're a work up on you, little miss Ava," he replies, ignoring my comment.
"What?"
"Avalon Marie Manning. Born October 3rd. Eighteen years old. From Plexton, Georgia. No known father. Mother Patricia Manning. Arrested twice, once for shoplifting and another for possession of drugs."
I roll my eyes. "Weed's not really a drug," I say.
He shrugs absently, thumbing through another page. "Not many boyfriends here," he comments. "Five schools in the last four years. Numerous referrals."
“I thought we went over this already.” I yawn. “It’s only four schools.”
“Not according to this.” He taps his file, tsking. “Someone's been a very naughty girl."
"Only when I feel like it," I reply, batting my lashes as he flicks a quick look up before he returns to the papers in his hand.
I try not to let it show, but the more his eyes rove over the sheets, the more I feel my muscles tighten. He's got a fucking work up on me. A whole spreadsheet on my past. It's fine, I tell myself. I don't give a fuck. It's not like I'm trying to hide anything.
That's not what bothers me. What bothers me is that Dean Carter thinks he knows everything about me, and I still hardly know anything about him. That, I'll have to rectify.
"What else does your little workup," I say, popping the last syllable of the word from my mouth as I do, "tell you about me?"
He looks back up at me. "Enough," he hedges.
"Yeah?" I smile. "Bet it doesn't have all the gory details of everything in my life that you think it does."
"You don't think so?" he asks. An underlying pressure fills up the car and I can sense the other two growing just as tense. Abel's hands grip the steering wheel tight enough to turn the skin over his knuckles white. Brax's eyes fixate on the windshield. Neither one of them says a word.
"No, I don't." I hold his gaze as I reach down and unclip my seatbelt. Brax reaches for it again without taking his eyes off the windshield.
"Let her," Dean orders and Brax jerks, finally tearing his gaze from the front to look at his friend in shock. But his hand falls away and I strip the seatbelt back as I lean forward, placing one foot on the floorboard between the seats and arching my whole upper body through the space between the front seats.
"What the fuck?" Abel snaps, his eyes sliding to the side.
"Keep fucking driving," Dean says as I angle my body so that I'm crawling through the space and land in the front seat with my back to the windshield and my thighs on either side of Dean's legs. He eyes me, and I know he's waiting to see what I'll do.
I grab the envelope and the papers with it and toss them into the backseat, letting them scatter across the floorboards. Dean's hands fist at his sides, refusing to touch me and it makes me smile. Abel's head turns repeatedly as he fights his need to watch the road and see what the fuck is going on. I can feel Brax's eyes on both of us. Putting my hand against the back of Dean's seat, I grip it as I hold myself precariously close to his body. I lean down.
"Doesn't matter how many people you pay, D-man," I whisper. "You'll never know my secrets unless I want you too."
"Everyone can be bought," he volleys back.
I laugh. That might be true for normal people, but I'm anything but normal. The car starts to slow and in my peripheral vision, I recognize the buildings we're passing. "Do you want to buy me?" I ask.
"I don't have to buy whores," he quips.
I tip my head back and tap my bottom lip with my finger. "Now, that's not the right word to use," I say. "That's exactly the kind of language that got your girlfriend in trouble." I grin. "You wouldn't want me to come after you the way I went after her, would you?"
He bares his teeth at me, his arm muscles straining as he grips the edges of his seat. From my position, I can smell the musk of his cologne, something dark and spicy. It fills my nostrils with a woodsy scent.
"You're playing a dangerous game," he says, his voice a deep growl as the Mustang turns down a side road.
"No, I'm not," I say. "Because I don't play games. You do."
One hand leaves the seat and grips my side as the car goes over a speed bump. The entire vehicle lifts and falls. Automatically, my hips lower and suddenly, I'm not hovering anymore—I'm plastered right up against him. And damn if I don't feel exactly what kind of weapon Dean Carter is packing.
He arches a brow and a smirk lifts his lips. "You might think you don't play games, sweetheart," he says, leaning forward until the warmth of his breath brushes against my lips. "But that looks exactly like what you're doing right now."
"Dean." Abel's voice is a warning.
The car slows and then stops completely. Dean's eyes center on mine as he ignores his friend, but Abel's not done. He throws the car into park, reaches out and grabs my arm, earning my attention.
"Tonight was a test," Abel tells me. I arch one brow. Like I didn't already figure that out.
I laugh lightly and shake off his hand as I reach towards the opposite side and pop open the Mustang’s passenger door. I don't get out just yet, though. I let myself settle a little more firmly on Dean's cock, grinding just a smidge to see his reaction. His whole face turns to stone, his smirk vanishing in an instant, leaving only the cruel look in his eyes. The one that makes me want to be a little bit more than reckless—that look in his eyes makes me want to do something absolutely fucking savage.