Blinded: A High School Bully Romance (Del Sol High Book 1) Page 8

  By the time we get to the top, my lungs are burning like they did in the water.

  “Tough walk, right?” he says, grinning at me when we pause at the top.

  I nod, out of breath. “Yeah.”

  We stand there for a minute, getting our wind back. My hands are clasped behind my head and I'm taking slow, deep breaths. After a bit, when we both are breathing normally again, we cross the deck, walk through the house, and head out to the front of the property.

  Heath's car is a silver Chevy Tahoe and he opens the passenger door for me. He gets in on the driver's side, turns the car on, and punches the button for the heat, then pushes a button next to my seat.

  “Heated seats,” he says. “You look cold from the water.”

  The leather beneath my legs and behind my back immediately starts to warm. “Yeah, I guess I am. Thanks.”

  He makes a U-turn out of his parking spot and the Tahoe crawls slowly between the two lines of parked cars. Archer's mansion is lit up brightly against the black background of sky and ocean.

  “What did you think?” Heath asks.

  “About what?”

  “About everything.”

  I shrug. “I don't know. It was a party, I guess.”

  He chuckles and leans back in his seat, glancing at me. “I don't think that qualifies as just a party.”

  I laugh. “I guess not. But it was fine.”

  “But, what?”

  “I just don't like drama,” I tell him. “It's really not my thing.”

  He nods. “I hear you. But that's sort of high school, isn't it?”

  “I guess.”

  “You just need to hang with the right people,” he says. “Like me.”

  I know he's trying to be nice, but I'm just not in the mood. “Yeah, probably.”

  We wind down the road a ways and then slow to a stop. He points across me. “Did you check out the point view on your way up here?”

  “No,” I tell him. “I came with the girls.”

  “It's killer,” he says. “You gotta see it.”

  Before I can object, he veers off the road onto a narrow, dirt road. We drive about a hundred feet and the road widens into a dirt lot perched on the edge of a cliff. The ocean and most of Del Sol is down below in the distance.

  Heath shuts the car off. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  “Yeah. But I'd really like to get home if that's cool with you.”

  “We'll get you there,” he says. “I just thought you might want to see this. Since we were here anyway.”

  I look out the window. “Yeah, it's pretty awesome.”

  “Are you hung up on Archer?”

  I turn back in his direction and he's leaning closer to me. I get a strong whiff of beer from him as he smiles.

  “I'm not hung up on anyone,” I say. “And I'd really like to go home.”

  “I told you we'll get you there,” he says, reaching over and putting his hand on my shoulder. “Don't be in such a rush.”

  I shrug his hand off my shoulder as a knot forms in my stomach. “I wanna go home.”

  “You already said that,” he says, reaching for my shoulder again. “I heard you. But, come on. I'm taking you home. Don't you think you should thank me?” He grins. “Just a little bit?”

  “I'll thank you when we get there,” I say. “Let's go. Please.”

  His hand drops down my arm and rests on my thigh.

  He leans closer. “Come on, Nola. It's just us up here. I know you're into me and I'm totally into you.”

  “I'm not,” I tell him. “I'm not. Take me home.”

  His fingers press harder against my thigh. “I will. When we're done.”

  The knot hardens in my stomach as he leans further across the console.

  “Don't,” I tell him, sliding toward the door. “Don't do this.”

  He's already lifting himself up and coming up over the console. “Just chill. It's gonna be fun.”

  I wait until he's fully upright, and then I make a fist and aim for his balls. He chuckles as he swats my hand away. “Just chill, Nola. It's gonna be good. You're gonna love it.”

  I'm twisting in the seat, trying to find the door handle as he throws his weight on top of me. He smells like beer and smoke and the ocean, and it turns my stomach. I grab the door handle and pull hard on it, but the door stays closed. The locks are down. I reach for the button and he grabs my arm and twists me around in the seat so I'm looking at him.

  Beneath him.

  His eyes are bloodshot and he's still smiling at me. “Just chill.”

  I wrench my wrist free from his grasp and slash at his face with my nails. They catch his cheek and I flex my fingers and drag them across his skin as hard as I can.

  He yelps and jerks backward. I bring my knee to my chest and shoot my leg straight into his gut. He gasps and tumbles back into the driver's seat.

  I get myself up in the seat, find the lock button on the door, and jam my finger against it. The locks pop up and I shove the door open, tumbling out and to the ground.

  “You fucking bitch,” he says, gasping in the car. “You fucking bitch.”

  I get to my feet and stumble backward. I'm afraid he's going to come out of the car after me. The cliff is behind me and I'll have to get around the car if he gets out.

  But he doesn't.

  “You fucking bitch,” he mumbles, getting himself upright. He's glaring at me through the open passenger door. “I'm not gonna forget this. Enjoy the fucking walk.” He leans over and pulls the door closed. The engine starts with a roar. The tires spin and he cranks the wheel hard to the left. Dirt and pebbles spray my face and I turn away as he maneuvers the car out of the lot and back onto the narrow road, leaving me alone.

  Chapter 23

  I stand there for a few minutes, hoping that my heart will stop racing and that I can get the shit out of my eyes. I manage to clear my eyes after about thirty seconds of wiping at them, but it takes a bit longer for my heard to settle down.

  I stare at the entrance to the lot, sure he's going to drive back into it and try to keep me from leaving. I'm looking around for other ways to escape if he does come back and I even wander close to the edge of the cliff, checking to see if there are steps I might be able to use to get down to the beach.

  There are not.

  But he doesn't come back.

  I'm able to catch my breath and start my walk home.

  I hug the side of the road as I make my way down the winding hill, stopping to watch every time I hear a car coming behind me. I squint into the lights each time, worried that one of them will belong to Heath. But the cars pass and I keep on walking. I use my phone to give me a little light and directions back to my grandparents’ house. The map tells me it's going to be a 45-minute walk to get home.

  Great.

  I'm maybe fifteen minutes into the walk when I hear a car coming around the corner I've just navigated. I turn and squint into the bright lights.

  And it slows down.

  My heart starts hammering and I turn around and keep walking, moving quicker.

  The car crawls slowly behind me and I squeeze as far to the right as I can.

  The car stays behind me, its engine growling and rumbling.

  I squeeze my phone, ready to call 9-1-1 if I need to.

  Then the car pulls even with me.

  It's a black Ford Mustang and so clean it looks like it was just driven off the lot. The chrome wheels shine against the moonlight. The windows are tinted and I can't see inside.

  Until the passenger side window slides quietly down into the door and Archer stares at me from behind the wheel.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  I look away from him. “What does it look like?”

  “Are you seriously walking home?”

  “Wow. Perceptive.”

  “Get in,” he says. “I'll take you home.”

  “No fucking thanks,” I say. “Tried that once already.”

  “What?”

/>   I shake my head. “Nothing. I don't need a ride.”

  The Mustang continues to crawl next to me.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” I ask, glancing through the window at him. “Isn't Megan wondering where you are?”

  He smiles. “You'd have to ask her. No one knew where you were and I thought maybe you left. I didn't think you'd be dumb enough to walk out here—”

  “I'm not dumb enough to do anything,” I tell him, then realize that doesn't sound right. “I didn't think I was going to be walking.”

  “And you shouldn't be,” he says. “People are leaving my house and they're going to drive like assholes, going down the hill, back into town. You're hard to see out here and I'd put even money on one of them clipping you and they might not even know it.” He pauses. “So will you just get in and I'll take you wherever you want to go and then I won't have to worry about someone getting killed leaving my house?”

  I know he's right about the danger of walking alongside the road.

  But I've already had one bad experience in a car with a guy I don't know. I don't want a second one.

  “Jesus Christ,” he says, exasperated. “Okay, look. You don't want me to drive you? Fine. I'll get out and you can drive my car home. I'll get it from you tomorrow. I'll walk home. At least I know the road.” He pauses. “But I'm serious, Nola. I don't want you getting hit and you're hard to see out here.”

  I stop walking and he stops the car.

  I look in the window. I don't want to take his car. But I also don't want to get drilled by some car hauling ass down his mountain.

  “If you fucking touch me, I will gouge your eyes out,” I tell him.

  He squints at me, unsure of why I'm telling him this. “Uh. Okay? I'll keep both hands on the wheel at all times.”

  “I'm fucking serious.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “So am I. Jesus. I'm just trying to give you a ride home.” He makes a big show of repositioning his hands on the wheel. “I swear, my hands will not leave the wheel for any reason.” He looks at me. “Now will you get in the fucking car before someone runs into the back of me and kills both of us?”

  I hesitate for a second, then reach for the door. It doesn't open.

  “It's locked,” I tell him.

  “Permission to remove my hands from the wheel in order to unlock your door?” he asks, the corner of his mouth turned upward.

  “Fuck off,” I say. “Open the door.”

  He chuckles, the doors unlock, and I get into Archer's Mustang.

  Chapter 24

  My seat is warm when I slide into it and I hate to say it, but it feels good. I pull the door closed, but stay as close to it as possible. I pull the seat belt across me, glancing at him as I lock it into place.

  He's staring back at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I need to know where we're going,” he says. “I don't know where you live.”

  “Oh,” I say, embarrassed. “Right.”

  “Are you alright?”

  I'm not. I'm still rattled and I'm tired and it's late and I just want to be home. But I don't want to tell him any of that.

  “I'm fine,” I say, pulling out my phone and switching the map from walking to driving.

  The phone starts talking, telling us where to go. Archer nods, checks the mirror, and starts us moving forward.

  The interior of the car smells new and it's like what I imagine sitting at the controls of the space shuttle feels like. White and red lights glow across the dash and there's a small computer screen in the middle of it. The car buzzes quietly as we drive and it's like it's just waiting to explode if he presses on the gas pedal. But he doesn't, and we move slowly down the twisty road, back toward town.

  “Why exactly are you walking?” he finally asks.

  “To get home.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  I shrug. “I was just done.”

  “And you didn't want to wait for your friends?”

  “I didn't think they were ready to leave.”

  “They weren't even sure you had left,” he says. “Maybe next time let them know.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I'll try and remember that.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “So angry, Orleans. Why?”

  “I guess you just bring it out of me.”

  “I'm not trying to. Just in case you were wondering.”

  “I wasn't,” I tell him. “But thanks.”

  “And I wasn't trying to piss you off about the drinking thing, either,” he says.

  I look at him. “What drinking thing?”

  He glances in the rearview, then at me. “I asked if you wanted to have a drink. After we won. I forgot you weren't drinking.”

  I'm glad the interior of the car is dark because I can feel blood rush to my cheeks. “What are you talking about?”

  “Look, I don't give a shit if you drink or not,” he says. “I don't care. I didn't mean for it to sound like that's what I wanted to do.”

  “How do you know I don't drink?” I ask.

  He slows as we come to a stop sign at the bottom of the hill. The rumbles quietly beneath us.

  “I was drinking tonight,” I say. “Or did you not see the cup in my hand?”

  He looks in both directions, then eases us away from the stop sign. “Okay.”

  “Okay what?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Never mind. Forget I even said it.”

  “I don't forget much.”

  “Yeah, I'm getting that,” he says, chuckling. “Whatever. Sorry I said anything.”

  I look away. I'm not sure how he knows I wasn't drinking and it bothers me, like he saw something I didn't want people to see. Which is exactly what it is. I didn’t take a sip all night.

  How did he know?

  We drive for a couple of minutes in silence and the quiet is driving me insane.

  “Okay, look,” I say. “I wasn't drinking tonight. I didn't feel like it. That's all.”

  He nods. “Okay.”

  “And I just had a cup because I know sometimes it's a big deal if people aren't drinking and I didn't want to deal with any bullshit,” I say. “Because I feel like I'm already dealing with enough of it already.”

  He nods again. “Okay.”

  “Can you say anything besides okay?”

  “Do you need me to?” He glances at me. “If you need me to say something, I can. Just tell me what to say. So I don't say the wrong thing and set you off. Again.”

  My face warms again, but I don't say anything.

  A few minutes later, he eases the Mustang to the curb in front of my grandparents' house. He doesn't shut the car off and it idles quietly, like a racecar waiting for the green light.

  “I don't mean to be a bitch,” I say.

  “Okay.”

  I turn to say something to him, but he's smiling and it disarms me. He's teasing me and I probably deserve it. I can't help but laugh.

  “But it is okay,” he says. “For real. You don't owe me an explanation.” He lowers his head and looks past me. “This is your house?”

  “My grandparents, yeah.”

  “You're one of those Murphys?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I just mean I know them,” he says. “Your grandparents. I think my dad has done some business with your grandfather.”

  “I don't know. Maybe.”

  “I didn't know you lived with them,” he says.

  I don't say anything because I'm not sure what to say.

  “I get it,” he says.

  “Get what?” I ask.

  He leans back in his seat, looking at me. “Family shit.”

  Butterflies move around in my stomach. “What does that mean?”

  He looks past me at the house again. “It means, I get it. Sometimes shit goes left, you know, and you end up somewhere you don't expect.”

  If I kept a diary, I would think that he was reading it.

  “My mom died,” he say
s before I can object to whatever it is he's getting at. He looks straight ahead. “Shit got super fucked up.” He turns back to me. “Shit went left.”

  “I'm sorry,” I say.

  He shrugs. “Is what it is. Can't change it.” He stares at me for a long moment. “But I get it.”

  I push open the door and get out. The window lowers and he's looking at me.

  Damn damn damn.

  He really is incredible looking. I've been too pissed off all night to remember that. Probably a good thing.

  “My parents wanted me to come here,” I tell him. It’s partially true.

  “What?”

  “You asked why I was living with my grandparents.”

  “Didn’t ask, was just making an observation.”

  I forge ahead. “For school. My school in Florida wasn’t great, and if I established residency here, it would mean my tuition wouldn’t be nearly as expensive if I decide to go to a state school.”

  He nods. “That sounds like a good reason. Still. I bet it wasn’t easy to leave your mom and dad behind.”

  I just shrug. The less I say, the better.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say.

  “Thanks for swimming with me,” he says.

  I laugh. “Sure.”

  “I'll see you, Orleans,” he says, then pulls away from the curb before I can tell him not to call me that.

  Chapter 25

  “Nola. Nola! You need to get yourself up!”

  My eyes are heavy and thick and it takes a moment for me to open them.

  My grandmother is standing there, her hands on her hips, and she doesn't look happy.

  “What?” I croak.

  “Nola,” she says, frowning. “We need to leave for breakfast in twenty minutes. Why aren't you up?”

  Good question.

  I shift under the covers and squint into the sunlight streaming in through the window. “What time is it?”

  “8:30,” she says. “We need to be in the car in twenty minutes.” She frowns again. “How late were you out last night?”

  “I...I really don't know.”

  And that's the truth. After Archer dropped me off, I went into the house, had a glass of water, and crashed into bed. I didn't check my phone or the time.