Collateral Damage (17 page)

"You got this when it came out?" the guy asks, circling it.

I keep my eyes trained on Vince, watching him inspect the ride with the rest of them. "Right off the showroom floor. I know guys who've gotten to one-eighty-two on this thing."

He swings his leg over, straddling it. "You ever taken it that fast?"

"Made it to one-twenty on the freeway in Hamilton one night."

Lie.

Truth is, I respect my bike. One of the joys of being a first responder is that I'm privy to what, exactly, happens when you
don't
respect them. And while Callie doesn't trust me at all, I'm actually one of the safest drivers I know.

One-twenty is not an option.

"You street race?" he asks.

I shrug casually. "Sometimes."

"Man. We've probably seen you down that way, then. There's a group that hangs around I-four-forty."

I know all about the guys who race illegally after hours. They're very hard to catch.

"I've been down there. You know Justin Raitt?" I ask. "He has a seven-fifty like this. He's the reason I got mine."

"Don't recognize the name."

"So what do these things run?" Vince finally steps up to speak.

"Twelve base, but I knew a guy."

He eyes me curiously. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No. We've met, actually. At a party the other night. You needed a cigarette."

His eyes narrow, but he nods, remembering. "Bedford by way of Michigan. I know you. You go to school here?"

"Unfortunately. I'm Parker."

"Vince," he replies.

"Gianni," the guy sitting on my motorcycle says. "That's Dave." The other guy nods.

"So, your dad must be a nice guy," Vince says, eyes flicking over the engine, the dash.

"My dad sucks," I reply. "I earned every dollar I paid for this."

"That's a lot of birthday cash."

I laugh. "You can start her if you want," I tell Gianni.

We spend the next twenty minutes hanging in the parking lot, talking motorcycles, until we hear that final buzzer, signaling the game's end.

"Come on," Vince orders. "We gotta head out."

Gianni gives me a half-handshake half-hug. "Thanks, man. She's gorgeous."

"Any time."

"We're hanging in Trenton tonight, if you're interested."

"What's the address?" I ask.

"Six-six-seven East Elm."

Same house as before.

"By campus, right?"

"Not too far."

"I might make an appearance later."

I get a handshake from Dave. And then Vince.

And, just like that, I'm in.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

People pour out of the gymnasium, crossing the lot, making their way to their cars. My eyes remain peeled for Jaden, but I don't see her anywhere. Even after half the parking lot clears, she's nowhere to be found.

I need to get to Trenton. But her car is still here—the little white Civic parked on the second row.

I'm here. She's here. I'll just say hey.

They finally emerge: Jaden and Blake, Savannah and Tony.

Shit.

Of course they'd leave together.

I back away from her car, away from the streetlamp, slipping into shadows.

"Guido's, right?" Tony calls.

"Yeah. Jaden, we'll meet you and Savannah over there," Blake replies.

Double date at Guido's? I force my eyes not to roll.

Jaden climbs into her car, fastens her seatbelt. I watch her back out of the space and pull out of the parking lot. I watch until her taillights disappear.

And again I can't believe she's dating Blake Hanson. Athlete or not, star basketball player or not, safe or not—the guy is clueless. Guido's?
That's
the best he can do?

I don't know why this matters—why this bothers me so much. I'm with Callie.

But…what if I
wasn't
with Callie?

And for the first time, standing alone in that icy parking lot, with the moon sliding in and out of clouds above, I let myself imagine what it would be like. If I wasn't tied to anyone else. If Callie wasn't in the picture. If I met Jaden at some other time, in some other universe....

I would've asked her out.

I would've asked her out in a second, and I wouldn't have taken no for an answer.

The voice in my head screams at me—telling me she would never go for it; that she would never say yes to someone like me.

And inspiration hits: I know what to do. I know how to remedy this, to stop this—whatever it is—between me and Jaden McEntyre.

It's stupid. It's stupid and risky and dangerous. But it'll work. I know it will.

It takes twenty-five minutes to get home from the school. Twenty-five minutes under pitch black night. Twenty-five minutes of wind cutting at my body. Twenty-five minutes to stay convinced that this will solve my every problem.

I flip on the lights inside the apartment, hurry to the bedroom closet, and pull that spare helmet off the shelf. Callie's helmet. The one she has yet to wear.

I grab my backpack from the couch and dump its contents on the floor. Books thud against carpet. Papers scatter. I shove the helmet inside. If my own fiancée
won't climb onto the back of a motorcycle with me, there's no way in hell I will ever convince Jaden. When she says no, then this—all of this—will be over.

My world will return to normal.

I make my way to Guido's pushing every speed limit posted, from city miles to country miles and back again. They'll finish soon. I have to get there before they leave. This has to happen tonight. I can't waste another day on this girl.

The parking lot is nearly empty when I arrive, but her white Civic is still there, still sitting under a streetlight. I exhale relief and steer my bike toward the pharmacy across the way, stopping at a darkened corner at the side of the building.

There, I wait.

And wait.

And wait. And when she finally emerges she's flanked by Blake and Savannah, Tony bringing up the rear. They stop mid-lot, talking, happy laughs echoing through the quiet streets.

A single ride. That's all I'll ask. She'll take one look at me, then the bike, and say no thanks. Then I'll know, without a doubt, this girl isn't worth thinking about.

Savannah and Tony climb into his pickup, leaving Jaden and Blake alone to say their goodbyes. He leans in to kiss her.

Brilliant thinking, Whalen. Now you get to sit here and watch Mr. Perfect stick his tongue down her throat until curfew.

I swallow back the God-awful taste in my mouth, but they don't keep me waiting. Within minutes, Blake climbs into his SUV and leaves her sitting alone in her car.

This is it.

I turn the engine, ease across the street, and park in the empty space next to her. She recognizes me. Or the bike. Either way, she opens the door and steps back into the night.

"Hey, you," she says. I swear there's the hint of a smile in her voice. She doesn't seem surprised to find me here at all—almost as if she was expecting me.

I remove the helmet, run fingers through my hair, fixing it. "What's up?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Just out for a late-night cruise," I say, shrugging casually.

"If I knew any better I'd think you were following me."

Shit.

Mental note: never try to pull a fast one on the Harvard bound.

I force my eyebrow to lift, eyeing her skeptically, to keep my tone as level as possible. "Are you implying I have nothing better to do on a Friday night than follow you around?"

"Knowing that you fantasize about my room and all...of course not," she says, moving closer.

Ouch.

Jaden: Four.

Parker: Two.

She touches my bike handle, brushing fingers across the chrome, curious. I can almost feel the movement along my skin. I shiver back a chill.

"I saw you at the game," she says. "Savannah thinks you're stalking me."

"That's good to know, I guess," I reply coolly.

They're girls. Let them gossip. Let them think whatever they want about me. It fits the stereotype, at any rate: Parker Whalen, troubled stalker.

"She also thinks you're hot."

My breath catches at the words, cheeks growing warmer—the warmest I've been all night.

Did she really just say that her friend thinks I'm hot? And does that mean she agrees?

"Anyway. I'm glad you're not a stalker," she continues. "I don't know how you knew I was here, though."

"Like I said. Friday night. You're fairly predictable.
"

She eyes me strangely, disbelieving, and suddenly our roles are reversed and
I'm
the criminal who can't keep his mouth shut. In the quiet that descends, I exhale the remaining air in my lungs for what might amount to a confession. Of sorts. "I was riding by and recognized your car."

"You cut it kind of close. I was actually getting ready to leave."

I smile at this. "I didn't say it was the
first
time I've ridden by."

She steps back, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "So you
are
following me."

"Free night. So...pizza any good?"

"You know. More of the same."

This is it—what I've been waiting for. I can prove, once and for all, that Jaden McEntyre isn't right for me.

"Wanna spice things up a bit?"

Her head tips sideways, eyes assessing, hesitant. "Are you serious?"

"You know, that's not very polite. Here I am, offering to show you a good time and you have the nerve to ask
questions
?"

She laughs. "Does this
spice
have anything to do with Mattie Silver or Ethan Frome?"

"Not unless you want it to. I was thinking more along the lines of Parker Whalen and Jaden McEntyre."