Page 2 of Love at First Ride
Just before zero, Amber throws open the doors to the closet. I shift my weight to the other foot, craning my neck as I spy Dariel and Melanie making out, their lips locked together, Dariel still blindfolded. When they break apart, I note the apples of her cheeks are tinged pink.
Gracefully, Mel reclaims her seat. Amber leads Dariel back out and removes the blindfold, placing one hand on her hip. ‘So, D-man. Take your pick. Who’d you think you were smoochin’, sweetheart?’
I can’t help but smile because Dariel looks wildly pleased with himself.
He has a sweet southern accent. ‘Dang it, I can’t get it wrong, because, man, I wanna do that again!’ He punches the air.
There’s laughter. His eyes narrow on the small crowd. I hear whispers, giggling and cajoling.
His lips twist. ‘I’m going with Mel Solis,’ he says hopefully, pointing, and the room erupts. Mel gets to her feet and gives him a hug, the two of them beaming at one another.
When the room quietens, Amber moves on. ‘All right, next victim!’ she announces, her beady gaze back on the crowd. She smooths her hands along the blindfold and her tone shifts. It’s breathy. She cocks her head. ‘AJ, come on. You’re up.’
I hear his voice before I see him, objecting to this stupid high school game. The others shout him down and as he gets to his feet, I find myself shrinking back into the shadows near the doorway.
I watch him. He wipes his hand through his dark hair, then across his back and sides. I’m struck, as ever, by his lowkey casual swagger, his understated confidence. Yet there’s an air of mystery about him. He’s tall, but not like Dariel with towering height. He hands his bottle of beer to somebody.
‘Let’s get this on you,’ Amber says, delighting in blindfolding him.
When she’s done, she turns him, guiding him into the closet, then returns, closing the door behind her. She addresses the group. ‘So, hunnies. Who wants to lock lips with Eastvale High’s hottest stud, inside my mom’s closet?’
I glance around. Every female hand has shot into the air, and a couple of the male ones too.
Just as before, Amber’s gaze journeys the room. She takes her time. Her pointed gel nail circles continuously, until it settles.
On me.
‘You,’ she says, and people turn and look.
I freeze. I didn’t even have my hand up. For a moment, I check behind my left shoulder, in case there’s someone standing behind me, only there isn’t.
Amber dips her chin and curls her finger in my direction, signaling me over.
At first, I can’t move. Then I take one step, then another.
I don’t know what’s possessed me. And I’m not an idiot. I hear the snickers when I move further into the room, the barely-concealed laughter at my presence, and the likely look of terror on my face for all to see.
Amber’s smirking, as though this is a cruel trick. And maybe it is, but my legs disobey my brain, the part that’s still thinking coherently.
When I reach Amber, there’s whooping. Or maybe it’s jeering. That would be more apt. ‘Have you ever even been kissed?’ Ambers sneers at me under her breath, so at least a few others can hear her.
My heart starts to pummel my ribs.No, I haven’t, I want to tell her, but I don’t. The next thing I know, I’ve been thrust inside the walk-in closet, and the doors are slammed shut behind me.
My cheeks burn hot as I hear every single partygoer in the room behind me laughing and baying. I hear them counting down too. One minute. Panic wells in my chest. I’ve kissed my pillow a few times and the back of my hand in my bedroom. That’s the extent of my experience.
It’s a big closet. There’s a light on inside. AJ’s stood there in his shredded, distressed Levi’s, fitted black T-shirt covering broad shoulders and scuffed biker boots, his hands pushed inside his front pockets. Blindfolded.
‘Well, come on over, don’t be shy,’ he says to me in a low voice.
Fifty! Forty-nine! Forty-eight!
He takes a slow step forward. Mine is more guarded. To my alarm, AJ reaches out his right hand and blindly finds the cotton material of my top, just below my breasts, gripping it in his fist and tugging me further toward him.
My heart races. His scent fills my nose, laced with the aroma of engine grease. He always rides his motorcycle to school.
He dips his head, and instinctively, I pull back.
Thirty-seven! Thirty-six!
