Page 131 of Wicked Pickle

This tends to lead to thoughts of him over me, behind me, standing above me. Every time we came together feels seared into my memory.

I forgot my sunglasses, so I have to close my eyes when the clouds part and the brightness level gets intense. We chill for a while, listening to birds and random conversations passing by on the sidewalk.

Then, Marietta nudges me, and I cup my fingers along my eyebrows, trying to shade my fried retinas.

Everything is hazy and white. “What?” I ask her.

She bumps me again. “Look.”

“At what?” I peer across the grass, my vision slowly adjusting. Objects take shape in the brightness. Buildings. Lamp poles. People moving along the sidewalk.

I see a familiar form. Tall. Broad shoulders. Thick arms. A lumbering, sexy stride.

My chest pangs, and it takes a second to realize it’s because it thinks I’m looking at Diesel.

But then the details fill in.

And itisDiesel!

I sit up, brushing grass off my shorts. What is he doing here?

He spots me and stops walking about ten feet away. He’s wearing normal blue jeans rather than black and a white T-shirt unexpectedly free of skulls.

“Symphony,” he says, and it’s not a question. He nods at us. “Marietta.”

I drag myself to my feet. I touch my hair self-consciously. It’s thrown into a messy bun. I don’t have a lick of makeup on. I took a break from any kind of primping since I didn’t have to go to work.

But Diesel’s looking at me like I’m Sabrina Carpenter in a spangly one-piece.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey.” He shifts a backpack on his shoulder, and I do a double take.

A backpack? Diesel?

He looks so normal, his hair a wave to one side, his gray eyes lighter outdoors. He could be any student in grad school. Even the chaos of tattoos down his arms fit in these days.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. It can’t be for me. It doesn’t make sense.

His gaze holds mine. “Remember that scene at the end ofGreasewhen Danny wears his letterman jacket to appeal to Sandy?”

My heart speeds up. “Yeah.”

He shrugs. “I’m lettering in art.”

What is he talking about? It takes a moment for this to sink in. “You’re taking art class?”

“Yeah. Auditing it. I couldn’t enroll for credit this late, but they’re letting me see how it goes.”

My mouth is so dry, I’m not sure I can even speak. Diesel is … changing?

Like Danny inGrease?

Does that mean I’m his Sandy?

Marietta stands beside me. “What about the Leaky Skull?”

“Merrick will run it while I’m in school.”

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