His Reverie (Reverie #1)(15)

She shakes her head, her fingers tightly gripping my hands. “I don’t want to go home,” she whispers. “I don’t want to go to that stupid party. She said I couldn’t if I wore the dress. We got in a huge fight and Daddy yelled at me for making my mom mad. They think I’m still locked up in my room pouting.”

Her words put all sorts of crazy ideas in my head. Ideas I have no business suggesting. “They won’t worry about you?”

“They don’t even know I’m gone.” She lifts her head, her damp eyes meeting mine. Her nose is red and so are her cheeks. She’s beautiful despite the lingering sadness that clings to her.

I want to be the one who wipes it away and helps her forget.

“So. You want to get out of here then?” I ask, my voice hoarse. What am I doing? I should take her back home. Deposit her in front of her house where she’ll be safe with her mommy and daddy and then I can drive away with my dirty thoughts. I shouldn’t even be touching her right now. This girl screams off limits.

I wonder if that's what makes me want her more.

Her eyes light up. “With you?”

I nod quietly. Worried I’ll ruin the moment by saying something stupid. I’ve never been great with words. And I won’t lie. Reverie Hale intimidates the hell out of me.

A tremulous smile curves her lips and I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. “Yes, please.”

9

Rebel: to resist or rise against authority, control or tradition.

July 3rd, later that night

Reverie Hale is sitting in the passenger seat of my car and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with her. How I’m supposed to act. This is crazy, what I’m doing. Her parents could accuse me of kidnapping their daughter and they’d probably be right. I could get tossed right back in jail for taking Reverie away from her house.

But here I am, turning onto the highway and heading toward town.

“Where do you want to go?” I ask, keeping my voice nonchalant. I don’t want her to know I’m nervous.

“The beach maybe?”

I glance at her and catch her watching me. Her long hair covers most of her chest and the red skirt of her dress hits high, stopping about mid-thigh. I remember seeing all of her thighs. Her panties. My breath comes a little shallower at the memory and my skin tightens.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“Yes. Um. Sort of.” When I look at her again she shrugs. “Probably not,” she says weakly.

If she’s saying that sort of thing because she thinks I don’t like it when girls eat, she’s wrong. “I’m starving,” I say pointedly. “We could go to the shit shack if you want.”

Her brows rise so far they look like they’re gonna disappear in her hairline. “The what?”

I grimace, feeling like an idiot. “Sorry.” I shouldn’t have said that in front of her. That’s what we used to call the burger place at the public beach when I was younger. I bet they still call it that. Not that I have any friends to hang out with anymore. “The Snack Shack, down by the pier.”

“I’ve never been there,” she admits, then glances away from me so she can stare out the passenger side window.

I’m surprised. I know she doesn’t live here year round but most everyone who comes around for the summer has been to the shit shack at least once in their lives. “You like hamburgers?”

She turns to look at me once more. “Maybe?”

I hate how unsure she looks. And sad. I want to cheer her up. Make her forget why she’s so upset in the first place. “They have good ones. But their fries are killer.” I wince the moment the word falls out of my mouth. Killer. If she knew what I’d been accused of, she’d run back to her house screaming. I shouldn’t even joke around and use a word like that. At one point, most everyone thought I was a killer.

“Killer as in good or killer as in bad?” she asks.

“Good,” I say, pushing my grim thoughts out of my head. “Really good.”

“I am a little hungry,” she admits and I smile at her.

“Then I’m taking you to the Snack Shack.”

We’re pretty quiet as we pull into the pier parking lot, not too far from the restaurant. The place is packed. There are a lot of people waiting outside and there’s a line at the take out window. I put the car in park and cut the engine, reaching for the door handle when her voice stops me.

“Can I just…wait here? In your car?”

I let go of the handle. Dread makes my movements slow as I turn toward her, my gaze meeting hers. “You want to go home?”

“No!” She shakes her head, her eyes wide. The skin around them is still pink and puffy. It’s pretty obvious she’s been crying a lot. “That’s the last thing I want to do. It’s just…I look terrible.”

“You don’t look that bad,” I say, wanting to reassure her.

“Please.” She rolls her eyes and I appreciate the show of sass. “My head hurts. And my eyes sting from all the crying, which is so stupid.” She whispers the last word, her frustration clear. “I just…I don’t want people to see me like this. And in this dress.” She tugs at the skirt, her fingers pinching the fabric tight before letting it go.