Down and Out(24)

It’s dark by the time we step out into the grocery store’s parking lot. The September air is still warm and slightly humid, but that won’t last much longer. Soon winter will roll in and I can kiss Savannah’s short-shorts goodbye. The thought has me feeling petulant, but I instantly perk up at the notion of us trying to find ways to stay warm in the harsh winter.
For the first time ever, I’m actually looking forward to winter in Boston.
Our cart is filled to the brim with white plastic sacks as I maneuver it through the parking lot. I stop at the back of my car and fish out my keys from my pocket. Savannah trails her fingers along the glossy black metal, over the gentle curves arcing up the side near the backseat window.
“What kind of car is this?” she asks. “It’s beautiful.”
I love a woman who can appreciate a beautiful car. “Sixty-seven Chevy Impala,” I say as I unlock the trunk and lift the lid. “Fixed it up with my pops before he passed.”
“Really?” Her brows lift as she studies the car and I start to load groceries into the trunk. “You guys did a great job.”
“Thanks. We went to a lot of junk yards trying to find authentic pieces to fix her up with. It was not easy.” I set the last bag in and Savannah puts the cart away while I shut the trunk and unlock our doors.
She climbs in as I start the car. Instinctively I turn on the radio, forgetting that I was listening to a CD the last time it was on. Loud guitars and heavy drums blast through the speakers. “Sorry,” I say, turning it down to a non-earsplitting level.
Her brows furrow as she buckles her seatbelt. “Who is this?”
“Atreyu.” I reach across me to grab my own seatbelt.
“I like it.”
My hand pauses as I glance at her. I wouldn’t have pegged her as the type of girl who’d like metal. “This is one of their tamest songs. Everything else has a lot more screaming.”
I cock my head to the side, watching her as she listens to the heavy guitar riffs. It’s a beautiful sight. Most girls can’t stand the heavy stuff, but Savannah doesn’t flinch or make faces at the occasional scream and pounding drums coming through the sound system. No, Savannah slowly smiles as the song progresses. I stare at her mouth, mesmerized, as the overwhelming urge to kiss her damn near overtakes me.
This girl’s an enigma, I swear. She never reacts how I expect her to, and for every puzzle piece I solve, I discover ten more that have taken its place. At this rate I’m never going to figure her out and I think I’m okay with that. In fact, I kinda like it that way.





“Oh my god, that was so good.” Declan’s eyes glaze over in a blissful, almost drunken expression as he rubs his stomach, looking damn near comatose after finishing a plate of my fettuccine alfredo. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
I’m so glad he likes my cooking. It’s literally the only thing I have to contribute to this very odd, very one-sided . . . partnership? Friendship? I don’t even know what we are.
“Told you making it from scratch is way better.” I stand and grab our empty plates, but Declan takes them from me.
“I got it.”
My brows arch. “You’re going to do the dishes?”
Perfect teeth and dimples flash as he says, “If by ‘do the dishes’ you mean stick these in the dishwasher, then yes.” He nods to the couch peeking out of the living room. “Go. Sit. Relax.”
You don’t have to tell me twice. . .
Picking up the remote from the coffee table, I sink into the black leather and turn on the behemoth flat screen. A minute later, Declan walks in and sits next to me. I offer him the remote, but he just shakes his head and says, “Whatever you want to watch is fine.”
My gaze flits back to the channel guide on the screen, but I feel him watching me. “What?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking that it’s probably not your lifelong dream to work in a gym, so . . . what do you want to do with your life?”
“That’s a pretty deep question.”
He shrugs, his lips curving up. “I’m a pretty deep guy.”
I roll my eyes—something I find myself doing a lot around him. “I don’t know. I thought I’d have time to figure it out my freshman year, but college didn’t quite pan out.”
His brows knit together as he leans forward. “Why not?”
My eyes wander back to the TV. I don’t like talking about this. It reminds me how close I came to getting out of this stupid, poverty-stricken rut I seem to be doomed to spend my entire life in. “What’s with all the questions?”
“Just curious. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
Something in the way he says it makes me feel bad. Like I’ve just kicked his puppy, or something. I sigh and say, “The scholarships I had lined up to pay for college kind of fell through when I dropped out. I might be able to qualify for financial aid now, but it doesn’t really matter since I don’t have the money to cover what it won’t.” I see him in my peripheral vision, but I can’t make out his expression. I’m willing to bet I won’t like it, though. “I swear to God, if I look over and see you feeling sorry for me, I’m gonna punch you.”
He chuckles. “All right. I’ll keep my feelings to myself, I promise.”
“Good.”
“Have you considered being a chef? You’re a genius in the kitchen.”
“Thank you. And no, not seriously.”
“How’d you get to be so good?”