Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(21)

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” she asks, her eyes lit up, glowing silver. She’s smiling. She’s smiling because she’s happy to see me.

I…make her happy.

“I missed you,” I admit. Those words hit my chest the second they leave my lips, and I feel both free and terrified at the same time. My hands go deep into my pockets on instinct, and my legs feel numb.

And then her lip ticks up on one side.

“I missed you, too,” she says, her voice soft, not wanting to wake anyone. “Let’s get out of here.”

I don’t hesitate, running to the passenger door and working it open so she can get inside. The sight of her actually in my passenger seat is so much better than the version I had going on in my head. I close the door and run to my side, getting in quickly and shutting the door carefully. I know the engine is going to make a loud sound, so I wince when I crank it, but pull away slowly, hoping I didn’t disturb her parents.

“I hope I don’t get you in any trouble,” I say, looking in the rearview mirror, as if I could tell by looking in the one-inch reflection if her parents were awake and catching her escape.

“Me too,” she giggles.

She’s wearing this plaid shirt with long sleeves, and it’s big on her, like it’s her father’s. Her legs are in a pair of tight black jeans, her feet wearing the pink Converse that I use to track her in PE. She’s holding her hands over the vent in front of her, warming them, and I wish I didn’t have to drive this car so I could reach over and warm them within my own.

I drive until we get to a forest preserve, pulling off into the parking lot, not really knowing what I’m doing. I have no plan. I just had to see her. And when she told me to go, I went.

“So…” I say, then let my breath fall into a nervous laugh. I’m gripping the steering wheel for strength, knowing I can’t just kiss her now, but god do I want to.

“So,” she says, pulling her seatbelt off and turning sideways in her seat. She pulls her knees up into her body, her feet flat along the center console. She looks cramped and uncomfortable.

I stare at her shoes for a few seconds, thinking of my life a few hours ago, when an older girl wanted to hook up with me and draped her legs over my lap without invitation. This scene—it’s a million times sexier, maybe because I have to work for it.

With timid hands, I reach to the heel of one shoe, my eyes moving to hers briefly before coming back to her foot. She’s watching me, but she isn’t stopping me. I cup the back of one shoe in my hand and lift her foot from the console and pull it toward me. I let my hand move from her shoe to the back of her leg, my fingers shaking nervously, as if I could break her leg if I were to drop it.

Emma gives in easily, giving me complete control, her muscles relaxing, and I move first one leg then the other to my lap. She eases into the side of her door slowly, her hands clinging to one another in her own lap. I let out a short breath when the weight of her sinks into me, and I rest my hands along the soft denim over her legs, sliding them up and stopping at her knee. That knee. I squeeze it once, and she twitches with a giggle.

“Ticklish,” she smirks.

“Good to know,” I say, my head tilted to the side, my eyes unable to look away from her.

There are so many things I want to know, so many little facts I need to memorize about this girl. But I can’t take my eyes from her lips; I know I can’t kiss them yet, so I look back down at my hands, letting them run down the length of her leg to her ankles. Her ankles to her knees—that’s my line.

“What brought you to Woodstock?” I ask, rapping my fingers a few times along her legs to work out more of my nerves. “I hear it’s the hot bed for dog-catching and telemarketing careers, but…”

She lets out a breathy laugh, then stretches her hands out flat along her thighs. I watch her move, wishing I could touch her there.

“Sort of a family thing. We…we needed to be closer to Chicago,” she says with a lopsided smile and a shrug.

“Woodstock is so not Chicago,” I chuckle, thinking about the ways my hometown is so small compared to the city. There are things I love about being here. The smallness is comforting at times. But the older I get, the more I sense how suffocating it is too.

“No,” she laughs. “But it’s also not Delaware.”

“Good point,” I say.

“What’s your favorite food?” I ask. She tilts her head and offers a suspicious smile.

“Pancakes.”

I nod, then look out to the blackness in front of me to think of another question.

“Have you ever had a pet?” I ask after a few seconds of silence.

“Lots of them. But never very long. I told you…my dad is always rescuing things,” she laughs.

“I’ve never had a pet. I always wanted a dog,” I say, leaning my head back again and looking at her.

“They’re a lot of work,” she shrugs.

“Yeah, but I think I’d be okay with that. I’m good at working hard. And I don’t want a small one; I want one of those big breeds, like a mastiff,” I say, lifting my hands and measuring a wide distance with my arms in front of me.

“You know that means their poop is bigger.”

“The bigger the better, baby,” I joke.