Page 8 of Crimson Born

I laughed out loud. “Are you actually talking about yourself in third person?”

Reece’s laughter joined mine. “What? No. Hellion’s my car’s name.”

His tone suggested that should have been obvious.

“Andwhydoes your car have a name?”

He shrugged. “Why not? It’s a Dodge Charger Hellcat, but that license plate was already taken, so I went with the next best thing.”

“It has nothing to do with you then,” I asked, thoroughly amused now. “And your ‘behavioral record?’”

“What behavioral record?” he said with a wicked grin. “This boy is a hundred percent tame.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” My tone expressed my disbelief.

I did sit with him though.

Hours passed as we sat and talked. I was amazed at how much Reece and I had in common, in spite of our vastly different childhoods. We both loved reading, we had the same favorite food—watermelon—and we both dreamed of traveling and maybe one day living at the beach.

Talking with him was, hands down, the best time I’d ever had in my life. He was the most appealing person I’d ever met.

At one point, Reece leaned back and folded his arms behind his head to recline on the hood and stare up at the sky.

I stretched out as well and propped myself on one elbow. “Beer catching up with you?”

The single drink I’d had was making me a little drowsy as well.

“Nah—I don’t drink. Basketball, you know? Gotta stay in shape,” Reece said. “I’m just getting a little tired. I had an early workout and practice today.”

“Oh, I should let you go home and—”

He wrapped a hand around my arm to stop me from moving off his car. “No. Don’t leave. Stay just a few minutes longer—until your friends show up. Talk to me some more, Abbi.”

This time I didn’t correct him about my name. Though I’d never really liked nicknames, I sort of loved how he said mine in that low, lazy voice of his.

“What should I say? My life’s not that interesting.”

Reece closed his eyes, folding his hands across his sternum. “It doesn’t matter what you say. I like listening to your voice. And I’m interested in everything about you.”

A warm, sweet feeling spread through my chest, like eating a bowl of Mamm’s homemade vanilla ice cream on a hot summer day.

It was nice looking at him like this with his eyes closed, where he couldn’t see me studying every aspect of his face—the long, black eyelashes, the strong, straight nose, the full male lips.

Whew. Better not look at those too long.

Shifting my gaze to safer territory, I noticed several large bits of ash had lodged themselves in his thick hair.

“You got too close to the fire,” I murmured.

Reece didn’t open his eyes, but his lips parted in a sleepy smile. “What is that... some sort of Amish wisdom or something?”

Surprised, I giggled. “No. You’ve got ash in your hair.”

Raising one hand to the top of his head, he scrubbed it through the hair. “Where?”

“Stop, stop. You’re just pressing it in farther.” I laughed and reached for him on instinct. “Here, I’ll get it.”

Reece obediently removed his hand and allowed me to finger comb his hair to extract the bits of burned paper and wood.

---