The voice in my head screams at me—telling me she would never go for it; that she would never say yes to someone like me.
And inspiration hits: I know what to do. I know how to remedy this, to stop this—whatever it is—between me and Jaden McEntyre.
It's stupid. It's stupid and risky and dangerous. But it'll work. I know it will.
It takes twenty-five minutes to get home from the school. Twenty-five minutes under pitch black night. Twenty-five minutes of wind cutting at my body. Twenty-five minutes to stay convinced that this will solve my every problem.
I flip on the lights inside the apartment, hurry to the bedroom closet, and pull that spare helmet off the shelf. Callie's helmet. The one she has yet to wear.
I grab my backpack from the couch and dump its contents on the floor. Books thud against carpet. Papers scatter. I shove the helmet inside. If my own fiancée won't climb onto the back of a motorcycle with me, there's no way in hell I will ever convince Jaden. When she says no, then this—all of this—will be over.
My world will return to normal.
I make my way to Guido's pushing every speed limit posted, from city miles to country miles and back again. They'll finish soon. I have to get there before they leave. This has to happen tonight. I can't waste another day on this girl.
The parking lot is nearly empty when I arrive, but her white Civic is still there, still sitting under a streetlight. I exhale relief and steer my bike toward the pharmacy across the way, stopping at a darkened corner at the side of the building.
There, I wait.
And wait.
And wait. And when she finally emerges she's flanked by Blake and Savannah, Tony bringing up the rear. They stop mid-lot, talking, happy laughs echoing through the quiet streets.
A single ride. That's all I'll ask. She'll take one look at me, then the bike, and say no thanks. Then I'll know, without a doubt, this girl isn't worth thinking about.
Savannah and Tony climb into his pickup, leaving Jaden and Blake alone to say their goodbyes. He leans in to kiss her.
Brilliant thinking, Whalen. Now you get to sit here and watch Mr. Perfect stick his tongue down her throat until curfew.
I swallow back the God-awful taste in my mouth, but they don't keep me waiting. Within minutes, Blake climbs into his SUV and leaves her sitting alone in her car.
This is it.
I turn the engine, ease across the street, and park in the empty space next to her. She recognizes me. Or the bike. Either way, she opens the door and steps back into the night.
"Hey, you," she says. I swear there's the hint of a smile in her voice. She doesn't seem surprised to find me here at all—almost as if she was expecting me.
I remove the helmet, run fingers through my hair, fixing it. "What's up?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"Just out for a late-night cruise," I say, shrugging casually.
"If I knew any better I'd think you were following me."
Shit.
Mental note: never try to pull a fast one on the Harvard bound.
I force my eyebrow to lift, eyeing her skeptically, to keep my tone as level as possible. "Are you implying I have nothing better to do on a Friday night than follow you around?"
"Knowing that you fantasize about my room and all...of course not," she says, moving closer.
Ouch.
Jaden: Four.
Parker: Two.
She touches my bike handle, brushing fingers across the chrome, curious. I can almost feel the movement along my skin. I shiver back a chill.
"I saw you at the game," she says. "Savannah thinks you're stalking me."
"That's good to know, I guess," I reply coolly.
They're girls. Let them gossip. Let them think whatever they want about me. It fits the stereotype, at any rate: Parker Whalen, troubled stalker.
"She also thinks you're hot."
My breath catches at the words, cheeks growing warmer—the warmest I've been all night.
Did she really just say that her friend thinks I'm hot? And does that mean she agrees?
"Anyway. I'm glad you're not a stalker," she continues. "I don't know how you knew I was here, though."
"Like I said. Friday night. You're fairly predictable."
She eyes me strangely, disbelieving, and suddenly our roles are reversed and I'm the criminal who can't keep his mouth shut. In the quiet that descends, I exhale the remaining air in my lungs for what might amount to a confession. Of sorts. "I was riding by and recognized your car."
"You cut it kind of close. I was actually getting ready to leave."
I smile at this. "I didn't say it was the first time I've ridden by."
She steps back, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "So you are following me."
"Free night. So...pizza any good?"
"You know. More of the same."
This is it—what I've been waiting for. I can prove, once and for all, that Jaden McEntyre isn't right for me.
"Wanna spice things up a bit?"
Her head tips sideways, eyes assessing, hesitant. "Are you serious?"
"You know, that's not very polite. Here I am, offering to show you a good time and you have the nerve to ask questions?"
She laughs. "Does this spice have anything to do with Mattie Silver or Ethan Frome?"
"Not unless you want it to. I was thinking more along the lines of Parker Whalen and Jaden McEntyre."
Just the two of us.
"What do you have in mind?"
"A late-night cruise."
"On your bike?" she asks.
"Yeah, that's kind of the idea."
"But it's freezing!"
Good. Another reason for her to say no. Because I'm not going on like this a second longer. I'm not waiting until it's warmer. She can ride tonight or not at all. She can say no right now, and we can both move on with our lives. "Could be colder. Besides, cold is good. It reminds you you're alive."
She shakes her head, uncertain. "On your bike? With you?" she repeats.
Not just me—with a guy, for all she knows, is exactly like her brother. "Yeah." I unzip my backpack and remove Callie's helmet.
The fact that I am offering my fiancée's helmet to my half-attractive English partner so we can go for a midnight ride speaks volumes—and not very highly of me as a person. Or a boyfriend. I suck. On multiple levels—I suck. But then I remember there's no way in hell Jaden is going to say yes, so there's really nothing to worry about.
Say no, Jaden. Go ahead and prove you're the second girl unwilling to climb on the back of a motorcycle with me.
Her eyes narrow to slits. "You planned this," she accuses, arms crossing.
I'm not giving her any reason to say no other than she doesn't want to. That's the only way this will work. "You're not scared, are you?" I tease.
"I'm not scared," she mutters.
Liar. The girl is terrified.
Like I'd actually let something happen to her. I'm the safest possible person she could ever be with. The first person people call when they need help.
"A quick ride." She eyes the helmet, curious, but doesn't move to take it. "Don't worry. I can't be seen with you any more than you can be seen with me. It's late. It's dark. The helmets will hide us. It doesn't get much safer than this."
She bites into her lower lip, eyebrows pulling together, frowning. And I know she doesn't intend it this way, but it's one of the sexiest things I've ever seen her do. And I know it shouldn't, but it tempts me even more. And I know that I should stop here, that I should take the no she's offering, but I don't. "Ah. I see."
"What?"
"I just remembered who I'm talking to, is all. You know, the Jaden McEntyre everyone knows. Safe, boring, not stepping out of her comfort zone...."
Her jaw tightens. "I'm not in a comfort zone."
A low wind sweeps through, two little words carried with it: "Prove it."
She turns on her heel, opens her car door, and shuts off the engine. She sp
ins back around, eyes on fire, and rips the helmet from my hands.
And it dawns on me, as she lowers it over her head, as she adjusts the straps, that she's really going to do this. I know I should tell her to stop. I know I should tell her the whole damn thing is a joke—that I didn't really think she would say yes, but the words—I can't find them. They don't exist. They don't want to be spoken.
I turn the engine, revving it as she climbs onto the back of the bike. She eases her body forward, pressing it against mine, every part of her connecting to every part of me, fusing like we belong together—like this is how we were meant to be from the moment we first laid eyes on each other.
My heart crashes in my chest, bouncing with the hum of the motor as she wraps her arms around me, each beat confirming what, deep down, I knew all along:
I didn't want this girl to say no.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Oh my God. I can't believe we just did that."
Holy shit. I can't believe we just did that.
Jaden unstraps the helmet and lifts it off. The evidence from our midnight ride is everywhere—in her flushed cheeks, bright eyes. She runs fingers through her hair, catching tangles, shallow breaths smoking in the cold.
In my head I rush over to her, wrap my arms around her and pull her into a kiss—the longest and deepest kiss ever shared by two people. The kind of kiss that would rock her world, because God knows she just rocked mine.
In reality I remain still, shivering at the fantasy. Against the cold.
This girl is nothing like I thought.
She is...freaking amazing.
She smiles at me, as if reading the hunger in my eyes, knowing my thoughts—like she knows exactly what I'm thinking.
I hope to God she doesn't know what I'm thinking.
"Come on. I'll let you borrow my heater," she says.
We move to her car. Jaden turns the key, adjusts the vents. "I can't believe I actually rode a motorcycle," she mutters, sobering.
"Was it everything you imagined?" I ask.
"Imagined? I never imagined that. Ever."
"So you're saying it was one of the most awesome things you've ever experienced."
Her eyebrows furrow. "I'm saying that I can never, ever do something that insane again."
I laugh. Now she feels guilty? "Come on, Jade. You loved every second of it," I tell her, matter of fact.
She shakes her head, insistent. "No."
I nudge her with my elbow, desperate to feel her, to touch her one more time. My body craving hers. The softness. The curves. "Admit it. You had a great time."
"Whatever."
I ease closer, teasing. "You know, for someone who supposedly has all her morals in check, you cave awfully fast to peer pressure."
"Shut up."
"Say it. You had a great time."
"No."
I reach across the console and pinch her side, tickling her. "Say it!" I demand.
She laughs, squirming away from me, grabbing my fingers and holding them tightly. "No!"
Her hand feels...unbelievable. Smaller than mine, but not too small. Her fingers are long. Slender. And she's so warm and perfect. I don't want to let her go. I want to hold on, to steal the heat from her body.
She pulls away from me, and, even in the dark, I know she's blushing.
I like this Jaden—this brilliant girl with the infectious laugh who climbs onto the back of motorcycles without hesitating.
"You should get out more often," I tell her, easing away. "You need to live a little. You're too safe."
"What's so bad about being safe?" she asks.
"Nothing, but you're missing out on a lot don't you think?"
She sighs, defeated. "My family thinks I'm a control freak."
I move my hands to the vents, warming them in a more appropriate way. "Why?"
"I'm just, kind of obsessive, I guess."
"About what?"
"Harvard, my schoolwork, my causes." She turns the heater down a notch. "I mean, you saw it. I went ballistic because I forgot one meeting."
"That was you going ballistic?" She tosses me a dirty look. "There are worse things to obsess about," I point out.
"Yeah, but you're so right, you know? I'm boring...and predictable. And yes, I'm safe. Everyone and everything around me is safe. My decisions are completely calculated."
I'm sorry for ever uttering those words—for being so wrong about...everything. "That's not entirely true. Because tonight—that was pretty unpredictable. I didn't think you'd go for it. Peer pressure and all."
"Yeah, well, I shouldn't have," she admits. "If my parents find out I rode around town on the back of a motorcycle with you they'll freak out. I'll be grounded forever."
I think of her family. Her brother. His history. They have to know who I am—who I'm pretending to be, anyway. They can't be okay with Jaden spending time with someone like me. "What are they more concerned about? Me or the motorcycle?"
Our eyes connect. "Honestly?" she asks.
"Honestly."
"You." The confirmation hurts more than I anticipated. "But that's because I don't think they know you ride a motorcycle," she clarifies. "And because they don't know you, obviously."
Obviously.
"You know, people say an awful lot about you behind your back. I wish you'd at least come out and clear up some of the rumors. They're annoying."
The rumors
My spine stiffens. She has no idea. No clue that I'm nothing like those rumors.
Well, not anymore. Because even as I sit here, pretending to be someone I'm not, I remember that I'm not as far removed from those rumors as I'd like to be. "People believe what they want to believe. That's not something you can change, whether you want to or not."
"Yeah, well, you thought you knew me, and you didn't."
"I do know you. You're safe and boring."
"Tonight I was unpredictable."
"We all have our moments."
She laughs. But it dies. And I know she's thinking about.... Shit. I have no clue what she's thinking. And suddenly she's turning toward me, tucking her hair behind her ears, facing me, eyes searching mine. "Come on, Parker, Who are you?"
The blood in my veins turns to ice. I may as well be back outside, standing in the winter dark. This. This is exactly why you don't get close to people when you're undercover. It's bad enough to lie to an entire school. An entire town.
Don't make me lie to her, too.
"What do you mean?" I mutter.
Her shoulders lift in a gentle shrug, voice softening. "I just wanna know who you are."
"Why?"
Why? Why does it even matter? I can't be real with you.
"Because I feel so transparent around you," she confesses. "I feel like you have me all figured out. Like you know everything about me and it drives me insane. And forgive me, but the only thing I know about you I had to sneak around to find out. Just give me something to go on. Anything."
"Like what?"
"Like...what's your favorite color?"
I laugh. That's it? That's what she wants to know about me? "That is so elementary. I have to be defined by a color?"
"Yes."
A color. Wow.
I exhale a shallow breath and adjust the sleeve of my jacket. At least I can be straight about this one. "Black."
She nods. "I could've guessed that."
"So why didn't you?" I ask, stealing a glance at her.
"Because I wanted to hear it from you. Where are you from?"
Shit.
I swallow hard, flipping through mental notes, remembering the story crafted for me—the details recorded should a conversation like this ever arise.
Tell her the truth. No one has to know.
But the rational, more level-headed side of me prevails. One wrong answer—one misstep, and it's over. My job is on the line. I'd like to know where this "level-headed" side was an hour ago, when I planned this whole thing.
"Michigan."
> "Why are you here?"
"Does anyone really know why they're here?" I ask.
"Parker," she warns.
Of course she wants a real answer. "It's, um.... It's kind of a long story."
"I have time."
Sure she does. "Okay. Well. I'm, um, here because my parents got divorced. I lived with my mom for a while. But a few years ago she started dating this guy...total asshole. There were some problems...and they sent me to live with my dad, who I hadn't seen in years, and who didn't want to deal with me."
Memorized. Exactly how it appears on my notes at home, at the station. It's probably written in my student file just like this. Verbatim.
Jaden frowns. "Were you kicked out of school?"
"Yes."
No. I was only suspended for a few days.
"Why?"
"I was caught with some guys, and there was marijuana in the car."
True.
"So those rumors are true? About the drugs?"
Yes.
"Which rumor?" I ask, playing idiot.
"You had a drug problem."
"I did drugs occasionally. I didn't see it as a problem, really." True. Just one too many parties. "I mean, I wasn't an addict," I clarify. I hesitate before continuing. "I was lucky that day. Because the guys I was with? We were dealing. And none of them ratted me out."
True. No one ratted me out, but we were still caught. I spent half the night in jail with my best friend and my girlfriend.
"Why were you selling them?"
"The thrill. The rush. Because I was tired of being broke. Because I couldn't afford a car and I needed something to drive. Why does anyone do anything?"
"Do you sell them now?"
"No."
True.
"Do you do them now?"
"No."
Not unless I have to. Unfortunately, it comes with the job description.
"Are you lying?"
"I don't lie," I lie.
She leans back in her chair, frowning. "That's stupid. Everyone lies."
And I wonder, what could Jaden McEntyre possibly have to lie about? But she's right. It is stupid. She shouldn't trust me. She shouldn't believe a fucking word I say. "Yeah, well, it's a waste of time. The more lies you tell the more stories you have to remember. Believe me. It's easier to just be honest."