Page 28 of Hit and Run
“As they should be,” she states. “You’ve always been great with cars.”
“Thanks, Wren.”
“I’m only sorry I fell asleep and didn’t watch you win,” she admits.
I chuckle. “It’s okay. You didn’t miss much,” I assure her. I’m honestly glad she missed seeing me get chased by the cops. She would have lost her shit.
Wren shrugs. “Regardless, I’m really proud of you. You better tell me when you get invited to another circuit,” she demands. When not if.
“Of course,” I promise her. Wren has always been my biggest fan and my loudest cheerleader, even if it was something she didn’t always agree with. Mom used to be that way too until Pops had something to say about it. “So, tell me about Sienna. Y’all seem so different. How’d you even meet her?”
Tink brings our food out to us and walks away as soon as she knows we’re good.
“Mom and I were visiting before I moved down here. We were touring the campus and came across an announcement board. Sienna had an ad looking for a roommate and I called about it,” she explains to me.
“That’s pretty lucky,” I tell her.
“For me it was. For her, I was the fifth person to call about it. I was so nervous,” she admits. “In most cases, we are complete opposites, but we clicked instantly. Somehow, it’s worked all this time.”
“She seems like good people,” I tell her.
“She really is,” Wren says with a smile. While we finish our lunch, we talk about the classes Wren’s taking and she updates me on how our mom is doing, then we go our separate ways.
15
Sienna
Wren doesn’t getoff work until 5 p.m. today. She told me to meet her at Shade’s house at six and we can eat around seven. Right now, I’m scavenging my closet for the perfect outfit. I choose skinny jeans with a black, flowy racerback tank top paired with rose gold, Greek-style sandals— cute, but casual. I put my hair in a low messy bun and put on a touch of makeup. A couple swipes of mascara, some blush, and a classic red matte lipstick and I’m good to go.
Once I’m ready, I grab my purse and head out the door. It only takes around twenty minutes to get to Shade’s house and I freak out the entire time. I’m back in high school and going on my first date. This definitely isn’t high school and this isn’t even a date. This is me, supporting my best friend as she introduces her boyfriend to her brother for the first time. All that my mind wants to concentrate on is seeing Shade. For the first time in my life, I’ve found a guy who gives me butterflies. I crave more of him and not in a sexual way. Though I do want more of that, I find myself wanting to know more about him. Things he likes and dislikes, everything, but I’m terrified.
After what happened to me when I was younger, I made a point to never get close enough to a guy to where he could get into my heart. I’ve also never slept with a guy more than once and I like it that way. Well, I did like it that way until I met Shade. Some people might think I’m a whore for only sleeping with a man once then moving on to the next. I always looked at it as I was protecting myself and said fuck what anyone else thinks.
I didn’t bother checking the time before I left the apartment. I arrive at Shade’s fifteen minutes early. I can’t sit in my car since I brought groceries with me. I climb out of my car, grab the groceries and head to the front door. The front door opens as I get close.
“You’re early.” Shade is smirking at me.
“I didn’t realize what time it was when I walked out the door,” I admit.
“That’s alright. Come on in. Let me take those.” He takes the bags out of my hands and gestures for me to walk inside. He closes the door behind me. “The kitchen is straight ahead.”
I walk into the kitchen and glance around. It’s a good-sized kitchen. Bigger than the one at the apartment. Shade sets the groceries on the counter and I start unloading them.
“What are you cooking for dinner,” he asks.
“Chicken fettuccine alfredo,” I reply. “Wren told me it was her favorite.” Shade is smirking at me. “What,” I ask.
“That’s my favorite, too,” he says. He glances at the groceries I unpacked. “There’s no alfredo sauce.”
“I know. I make it from scratch,” I tell him.
He gapes at me.“You’re fucking with me.”
“Not at all. Cooking was something I had to learn at a young age. It came naturally to me and I ended up teaching myself all kinds of recipes,” I admit to him.
“It’s a good trait to have. When I moved out of my parents’ house to Arizona, I had to teach myself some things in the kitchen.” he laughs. “I’m still not very good at it.”
“Maybe if you play your cards right, I can teach you a trick or two,” I tease him.
