Page 80 of Raise Hell

With one last look around my room, Drake lets out a rueful laugh. “This room is a lot like you. Entirely chaotic and…”

“Completely full of shit?” I ask, eyebrow raised.

“You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, okay. You can go now.”

He looks back one more time, expression speculative. His gaze travels slowly up my body, lingering for a long moment on my bare legs and the long sleeves of my sweater before reaching my face. “Then I guess it’s a date.”

I make a point of turning toward the desk like I’m looking for something so he won’t see me blushing. The logical part of me knows Drake Van Koch isn’t worth my emotional time. Everything about him is bad news, even if he didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Olivia.

But the primal and totally oversexed part of me wants to climb his body like a tree.

As soon as our front door slams shut behind Drake, Anya rushes into my room with a crazed look on her face.

“Did I just hear what I think I did?” she exclaims.

I don’t make it easy for her. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Drake Van Koch just asked you out on a date, you bitch,” she laughs. “And you’re not even dressed. Those Hello Kitty shorts must be your good luck charm.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

A sly smile briefly crosses her face. “Oh, I think it is. And as soon as you get back, I’m going to bug you until you give me every detail.”

I had to promise a dozen different ways that I would give her all the juicy details before Anya finally left me alone to get dressed.

It’s hard to fight the rising tide of excitement.

The Havoc Boys, and especially Drake Van Koch, think that they can handle me.

I’m about to handle them.

* * *

I stand outsidemy dorm building where we agreed to meet, wondering if I’m about to be stood up.

The whole week has been bizarre, and not in a fun way.

Drake is nice to me in class, so nice that people are starting to notice. Although, he has made a point of treating me like a platonic friend.

No flirting or pushing me up against the wall.

No more frantic make-out sessions with an edge of danger.

By Saturday, I’m wondering if I completely misunderstood what he was trying to accomplish by asking me out.

As much as I hate to admit it, if Drake is trying to screw with my head, then he is absolutely succeeding.

It’s even more of a surprise when the Ducati comes roaring up the sidewalk as I step out the door of my dorm. The bike screeches to a stop right in front of me and Drake lithely slides off, pulling off his helmet in a single smooth movement.

He has no right to look as good as he does in a t-shirt and jeans.

Bad boys on motorcycles have always been a particular weakness of mine. That’s the only explanation for why I can’t tear my gaze away from the outline of his rock-hard abs through the tight cotton.

His green eyes are searing as they look me over. “Ready to go?”

“I thought we were going to the movies with your friends.”

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