Page 48 of The Do-Over

“Here.” He stopped beside Betty and unlocked the passenger door. He pulled it open, and then looked down at me. “You still want to do this?”

I met his gaze and wanted to do whatever he wanted when helooked down at me like that. It was so cliché, but his eyes had a twinkle, a mischievous glint, when he was amused, and I was addicted to that look. I grinned and said, “As long as you have a jacket on the floor of your truck that I can borrow, I am all in.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he said, “It just so happens you’re in luck.”

While Nick went around to the driver’s side, I got in and reached over the back of the seat to grab the coat. When I shoved my arms into the heavy material, it was so familiar that it was like the jacket belonged to me.

Nick got in and did a double take. Fell into a smile and pointed behind me. “Yeah, um, the jacket is behind the seat. Help yourself.”

That made me laugh even more, and as he started the truck, I pulled the hair tie out of my ponytail, shaking my hair and running my fingernails through it while pushing it off my face. I snagged the Ray-Bans from his dashboard and slid them up my nose while propping my feet up on the dash.

“Comfy?” He looked amused and surprised by my actions, so I crossed my ankles and my arms.

I leaned back and said, “Comfier than I’ve felt in years.”

He just looked at me for a second, with that secret smile on his mouth, before giving his head a little shake and saying, “So where are we going?”

“Let’s go downtown.”

“Downtown it is.” He put the truck in gear and pulled away from the school. “Buckle up.”

I wanted to squeal as wild energy floated through me,encompassing me in the thrill of just living for the moment; for my moment. For whatever moment I wanted to be encompassed in, if that made any sense at all. I took over his stereo and switched to FM radio, scanning until I heard the notes of that ridiculous song.

The “Thong Song.”

“Oh my gosh—remember this song?” I glanced over at Nick, and he gave me a look that told me he did and he also regretted that remembrance. “Sing it—come on. ‘She had dumps like a truck, truck, truck.’?”

“God help me,” he muttered.

“?‘Guys like what, what, what,’?” I sang.

He said, “Kill me now,” but he was smiling against his will as I belted out the entire rest of the song, not caring about anything other than the fact that it felt good.

When it ended, he turned down the volume and calmly asked, “Is there anywhere in particular you want to go once we’re downtown?”

“Well, I definitely want to get a tattoo. Other than that, I’m down for just about anything.”

His eyes narrowed and he looked at me like I’d just professed myself an alien.

“What?”

That didn’t change the way he looked at me, so I said, “What?Do you know a good place to get a tattoo?”

Obviously, I knew that he did because he’d told me about his job on the phone last night. But he didn’t know I knew that, and I didn’t want to sound like a creeper.

He said, “Why do you assumeIknow?”

“I’ve seen your tattoo.”

He kept his eyes on the road when he said, “Maybe I did it myself.”

“Nope. It’s on your right arm, and you’re right-handed. That would be impossible. Try again.”

“Okay, creeper.” His eyes darted over to me. “Maybe I got it in juvie.”

“That’s a little more believable.”

“Nice.”

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