He looked like he could use a friend. I knew I could too. There weren’t too many genuine, honest people I surrounded myself with. A lot of them were fake, superficial. But when I looked at Aiden, I could see he was one of those genuine ones, that he didn’t have a lot of bullshit he spewed. He probably said things and made no apologies for being honest.
And I liked that. I wanted a person like that in my life.
I grabbed my books and shoved them in my backpack before standing and heading to the library. I had study hall this period, so I made my way down the long corridor, took the stairs to the lower level, and just as I rounded the corner, I nearly ran right into Braxton. He grabbed my arms to steady me, this slow grin spreading across his face.
I didn’t miss the way he dipped his gaze down to my chest. The V-neck T-shirt I wore would’ve showed a slight hint of the tops of my breasts from his angle, and given the fact that I knew Braxton had been trying to get in my pants all this year, he was probably having one hell of a look at the moment.
I quickly took a step back and muttered an apology for nearly slamming into him.
I could feel that he didn’t want to let go right away, but he reluctantly did, shoving his hands in the pockets of his letterman jacket, that grin still on his face.
The truth was, I didn’t like Braxton. Not at all. He was cocky in the worst kind of way, slept with just about every female in school that was junior year and above, and had this air about him that he was better than everyone else. He was rich, which meant on his sixteenth birthday—two years ago—his father had bought him a BMW. And Braxton threw parties every other weekend at his parents’ lake house.
And he made sure everyone and their mom knew just how loaded he and his family were.
He was obnoxious, and no amount of me turning him down clued him in that I just wasn’t interested. In fact, I almost felt like it made him try even harder.
He placed his hand on the wall a few inches above my head, caging me in on one side. I really didn’t have time for this, but before I could move away or tell him that, he leaned in close. I smelled his expensive cologne, and it was a scent that made my stomach clinch in disgust.
“Harlow, when are you going to come to one of my parties?” His voice was sweet and coaxing. No doubt he used this tone to get what he wanted. But it was the fake kind, the kind that would give you a cavity.
I was about to tell him never, that parties weren’t really my scene, but he started talking before I could even get a word out, clearly not interested in me actually answering his question.
“I’m having one after the game next weekend. You should come. Bring whoever you want.”
The very idea of going to one of Braxton’s parties filled me with distaste.
“I’m not sure,” I said instead. I didn’t like confrontation, and Braxton could be very aggressive in the way he spoke and in his mannerisms.
He crowded me, almost pressured me into answering him. I liked to think I was an independent, strong girl in my own right, and that I didn’t really put up with a lot of shit if I didn’t have to. But men like Braxton didn’t get told no very often, so when they did hear it, I was pretty sure it pissed them off to whole new levels.
That’s why I was sure he kept insisting on talking to me, even though I made it clear I wasn’t interested.
“Just think about it. Bring a couple friends if you want.” He pulled his hands out of his coat pockets and held them up in mock surrender. “I promise it’s all in good fun. We drink, bullshit, and listen to music. That’s it.”
I found that hard to believe, but I just smiled and nodded. It was easier to end the conversation than engage more.
“Don’t you two have somewhere to be, Ms. Bradshaw?”
The sound of Mrs. Pushin’s voice was a thankful interruption and I nodded, muttering I had to go.
“I hope I’ll see you there,” Braxton shouted out, but I kept walking, not bothering to respond. There wouldn’t have been a point.
And even as the distasteful thickness of Braxton’s presence tried to cling to me, I focused on Aiden. And for some reason, that really did help. I didn’t even try to decipher why. I just went with it at the moment, because that was better than the alternative.
Chapter Four
Aiden
I pushed the front door of the school open and headed toward the parking lot. I was using my mom’s old 1990 Pontiac Firebird, one that could have been a “classic,” but it needed so much work done to it, a complete overhaul really, that it was just a sad piece of metal. But it got me to where I needed to go, and that’s all that mattered.
I pulled my car keys out from the front pocket of my jeans and kept my head down as I walked toward the car. Everyone was filing out of the school, and the noise was deafening with car horns honking, guys shouting, girls giggling, and the screech of tires in the near distance.
I’d parked at the far end of the lot, as far away from everyone as I could get. I lifted my head and spotted my mom’s faded red and white Firebird. And when I would start the engine in a few moments, the fucker would rumble so loud it’d vibrate the asphalt.
I could hear the car beside our Pontiac trying to turn over, the engine sputtering. A second later, the sound of the hood being popped came through, and then the driver side door opened. As soon as I saw the mop of auburn hair atop her head, I knew who it was.
Harlow.
I felt this unusual tightening in my belly at the sight of her.
She hadn’t noticed me yet as she made her way around the front of her car and lifted the hood of her little Honda Civic. She stared at the guts of the car for so long I knew she didn’t know what to make of it.
“Trouble?” I asked and made my way toward her. She looked up, and I saw her eyes widen a bit before she masked her expression and ran her hands up and down her jeans.
“Yeah. I have no idea what’s wrong with it.” She looked down at the engine, and I saw the way her brows knitted in confusion.
I found it cute as hell.
“Do you know anything about cars?” She sounded so hopeful.
I nodded. “A little bit.” That was a lie. I knew a hell of a lot about fixing cars. I had to in order to fix the Firebird every time the fucker broke down, which seemed to be every month.
“I’m Harlow by the way.”
Oh, I knew, but she didn’t know that.
“Aiden,” I replied.
“I know,” she said softly, and again, I felt this pleasurable twinge consume me. “The new guy who has everyone curious about him.” She gave a nervous laugh, maybe embarrassed she’d said that out loud. “Sorry. That was weird.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “You’re good.”
She moved to the side so I could stand beside her. I braced my hands on the frame of the Civic and looked at the engine. I messed with a few things, checked wires, made sure nothing had gotten loose. It took me a good five minutes of checking shit under the hood before I finally found what the issue was.
I straightened and wiped my hands on my jeans, looking over at her. Damn, she was tiny, probably about a foot shorter than my six-foot-three height. And I couldn’t help but notice how cute her expression was as she stared at the engine again, a look of concentration on her face.