Page 63 of American Hellhound
His face lit up. “Maggie!” And he launched himself toward her.
He caught her around the waist, face pressing into her stomach. “Oh,” she said with a startled laugh. “Hi, Aidan.”
He tipped his head back, little chin resting against her sweater, beaming up at her face. Nowherewas someone who wasn’t looking at her breasts, or tattling to her parents, or offering to ruin her, or giving her one-dollar cars.
“Maggie, guess what?”
“What?” She resisted the urge to touch his hair like Ghost had; it looked so soft and inviting, like a puppy’s coat.
“I got a pet spider! I found it in the bathtub–”
“Oh Jesus,” Ghost muttered.
“–and Daddy put it in a jar, and he said I could keep it! You wanna come see?”
Maggie risked a glance to Ghost, who was definitely blushing, and then back down at Aidan. “I’d love to, but I have to be home for dinner. I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Aw.” Aidan puffed out his lower lip. He deflated against her, and made to pull back. No whining, no begging. Like he was used to being disappointed.
“Tell you what, though,” Maggie said. “I’ll come another day and see it. Okay?”
He smiled. “Okay.”
~*~
Ghost had a bill of sale already typed up in his back pocket. It listed the car’s serial number and description – he even had a Polaroid photo of it dated in black ink – and the agreed-upon price – which she still thought was insane. They both signed, and then he folded it up and handed it to her. “Show your parents when they ask if you stole it,” he instructed.
“Thanks.” She tucked it into her purse and then stood awkwardly, keys clenched in one hand.
Ghost gave her a little smirk. “You do have your license, right?”
“Yes.” She fiddled with her purse strap; listened to the sound of Aidan’s skateboard wheels behind her on the blacktop. “I still can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“If it’ll make you feel better, we can say you owe me one.”
“One?”
“Favor. Of the non-sexual variety.”
She rolled her eyes and bit back a smile. “You’re terrible.”
“I know.”
And then he cupped the back of her head, pulled her in, and pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth. He was pulling back and letting go of her before she could even process it. “Drive safe, okay. And call me if it gives you any trouble.”
“O-okay.”
His smile was a wicked version of the one his son had given her earlier. “Get going.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”
~*~
Driving home, she kept thinking about his hand in Aidan’s hair, and the way his eyes had shimmered in the late afternoon sun.
~*~
The Monte Carlo handled like a dream – and by that, she meant itdidn’t. She’d learned to drive and taken her road test in her mom’s Mercedes, which was all low purrs and gliding, one-touch steering. The Chevy, though, drove like her uncle Mac’s farm truck: muscular, tight, and rough, jolting over potholes. It was like a wrestling match. And it was an SS, which meant the barest touch of the pedal had the engine roaring.
