Page 137 of Soul So Dark
I’m on my way to my car when a voice calls out from somewhere nearby.
“Dallas.”
I jerk my head up, my eyes darting around while I search for the source in the dim light. Finally, they come to a halt on a figure leaning against an orange dirt bike at the edge of the alleyway. But as soon as I see him, I immediately relax.
Jesse pushes off the bike and strolls toward me, his face obscured once again by his black motorcycle helmet.
“Did you get my present?” he asks with a tilt of his head.
“That was pretty good,” I chuckle. “I hear you’ve been banned from the premises.”
“Brutal,” Jesse replies. “Guess I’ll have to find somewhere else to hang out. Maybe we can see another impromptu concert together instead.”
“It’s funny you say that, because I’m actually going to see Shapeshift at Riverside Live tomorrow.”
“That’s convenient,” his voice hitches, “so am I.”
“What?” I exclaim in shock.
“You’ll learn that you can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Apparently not.”
“Here, give me your number,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to me, “so I don’t have to chase you around town for another six years.”
A flutter ripples through my stomach as I take it from him and my fingers fly over the glass.
“Do you need a ride home?” he asks.
“No, I have my car,” I motion to my Civic parked against the brick wall.
Jesse glances over my shoulder at the Civic and then starts strolling across the asphalt. I follow, unlocking the doors with the fob as we approach.
“Look at you, speed racer,” he quips as he admires the oversized rims on their low-profile tires and the lowered suspension.
“I’m not.” I open the driver’s side door and toss my purse into the seat. “My brother was, but he upgraded and I got his old car.”
“Lucky you.” He tilts his head, admiring the after-market intake on the hood. “What’s he drive now?”
“An old Bronco,” I snicker.
As much as I complain about it, the Civic’s not a bad car. Even though racing is the last thing I’d ever want to do, it still looks cool and it’ll probably run for another 100,000 miles even with how hard Colson tried to grind it into oblivion.
Finally, Jesse’s eyes meet mine again. “Can I drive it?”
I arch one brow. “You race cars, too?” Just what I need, some arrogant gearhead like my brother.
He glances at his bike across the lot. “I race a lot of things. But if you won’t ride on my bike, let me take you on a ride in your car.”
I gaze at him skeptically, studying his dark eyes in the shadow of his helmet.
“OK, fine,” I shrug.
As if I’d let him walk away this time.
I round the car to the other side, where he’s holding the passenger door open. Then he returns to the driver’s side, shedding his black motorcycle jacket and then his helmet, tossing his hair out of his eyes before he slides behind the wheel. Then he sets his helmet and jacket at my feet and flashes his eyes at me before starting the engine.
I’ve seen that look before, and my only response is to fasten my seatbelt and reach for the grab handle. As soon as Jesse pulls out of the lot, he guns the engine, making my stomach flip as he flies through campus like a fucking bat out of hell. Somehow, we don’t hit one red light and I don’t even realize we’re at the highway until Jesse’s sling-shotting off the ramp. He shifts and punches the accelerator, weaving in and out of traffic until every car is behind us and the only light comes from the poles lining the road.
