Page 106 of Rebel Summer

He leaned closer, his eyebrows raised. “It sounds like the Senator’s got your life all planned out for you.”

The bite stung, but I refused to examine why. “No, it’s what I want.”

His brows lifted. “Okay. Let me ask you this. You know what really happened last night. Why does anything else matter? The police didn’t catch us. You know that you didn’t steal it. Why are you mad?”

“Because my dad thinks I did. Or at least thinks that I helped you.”

“Well..technically,” he began to say until I kicked at his foot underneath the table. He rolled his eyes as laughter spat from his mouth.

“You know what happened,” he said again. “So why does it matter what your dad thinks?”

“Because he’s my dad,” I said.

“And the fact that he doesn’t believe you isn’t a problem for you?”

“He doesn’t care who did it. It’s the fact that I was involved at all that makes him mad. It can mess with his public image. It can mess with our public image.” I told myself to stop talking, but the words came anyway.

Understanding settled on Dax’s face. “That explains it. I thought the whole fake persona was just the politician stuff, but looks like it runs in the family.”

We chose two a.m. for our drive time.

Caffeine, Sun Chips, and Dax’s teasing made the wait until the middle of the night bearable. We didn’t talk about the reasons why I was doing this, those would come later. I was certain of it. This was a last hurrah. The perfect ending to my summer with Dax Miller.

After I’d made my declaration, we hung out in the garage together. I definitely put in a few more hours, but this time, I was helping Dax in his shop, filling out invoices while he worked on a fishing boat he’d pulled inside on a trailer from the marina.

“It’s time,” Dax said, as he turned off the lights before hitting the button to open the third garage door. One yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling was our only source of light.

He paused, his hand on the door of the orange car he’d hand-built in this garage. “You having second thoughts, Books?”

“No.”

And I wasn’t, strangely enough. I wasn’t a daredevil by any stretch of the imagination, but nothing was going to stop me right now. After a life of rules and regulations, I was determined to do this. I held my hand out in front of me. There were no shakes, no tremors. No guilt. This could potentially be the biggest mistake of my life, maybe my career, but I knew with absolute certainty that it wouldn’t turn into a regret.

He held open the driver's side door, motioning me closer. “You ready?”

“Obviously, I was born ready.”

He huffed out a laugh, his dark eyes flashing with intrigue, taking in my short overalls and t-shirt with small red hearts all over it.

“Okay, Trouble. Let’s go over the rules.”

“Rules?” I walked toward him, trying hard not to internalize the fact that he looked like James Dean, in his jeans and white shirt with a really cool car behind him. “I’ve influenced you more than I thought.”

“Number one. If you harm one hair on this car’s head, so help me…” he said.

I folded my arms and gave him a look.

“Number two. I drive first.”

“You think because you spent two years of your life building this car, you get to drive it first?” I said.

“No. I just don’t trust you backing out of this garage.”

I glared at him, but since I had smashed into his building earlier this summer, I let it slide.

“Number three. We’re not doing the whole route. It’s too risky with your history of driving on this island, so we’re going to just go up to the resort’s entrance road, and then back down to the north end of the town square, then back to the shop. About one mile total. It should take three minutes.”

“You sure that’s worth it for one hundred hours?” I asked him.

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