Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [47]
“You goin’ on to college somewhere?” he finally asked as they drove past the McDonald’s where she had picked up her Coke earlier in the day.
“Yeah—oh, turn here, up this hill,” she said, and he hung a left, shifting down, avoiding oncoming traffic and gunning the old engine as the street angled sharply upward. With a click of gears he shifted again, and she gave him directions, pointing out where to turn as they wound through the intricate web of hedges, rock walls, electronic gates, and narrow, curved lanes.
He eyed the neighborhood, and, for the first time in her seventeen years, she was acutely aware of her father’s station in life, of the status of her address, that to someone like Thane Walker, the very social prestige her mother and father had scrambled so hard to achieve was of no importance. In fact, he might consider it a detriment.
“There—” she said, pointing to the driveway. Mitch’s Mustang was parked near the garage, flanked by long planters filled with petunias. The gate was open. Thane steered his truck into the drive. “Thanks,” Maggie said as he slowed to a stop. “I, um, appreciate it.”
“Anytime.” He turned to face her, and one side of his mouth lifted into a smile that, to her horror and surprise, touched a part of her she hadn’t known existed—a part that frightened her.
Her heartbeat quickened a bit, and, when his gaze dropped to the wide neckline of her T-shirt, she felt her pulse throb at the base of her throat. “Uh, yeah…” Oh, God, she sounded like such a ninny as she fumbled for the door latch. Such a high-school kid.
“Here. Let me. It’s stubborn.” He leaned across her and reached forward. She was suddenly gazing down at shoulders that were strong, muscular beneath his shirt; tanned arms that had ropes of veins running beneath his skin, a T-shirt that was stained and faded, wet with sweat. His head, facedown, was nearly in her lap, and she felt his warm breath against the bare skin of her thighs where her cutoffs didn’t quite cover. “Damned door.”
Her stomach did a slow lazy roll, and her skin prickled. Inadvertently, she sucked in her gut, held her breath, and ignored the warm tingling sensation that started somewhere deep inside her as he gave the door handle a hard shove and, with a metal groan of protest, the door swung open.
“There ya go.” He straightened, and the smell of smoke and male sweat assailed her nostrils as she nearly tumbled out of the truck to put some distance between her body and his. She felt flushed, her skin hot, her legs rubbery. “See ya around.”
“Y-yeah.” She swallowed hard, and, though she told herself to go into the house, she stood as if rooted to the driveway. Biting her lower lip, she watched his battered truck coast down the street.
“What was that?” Mary Theresa appeared from the far side of the garage. Wearing a short coverup and thongs, she took off her sunglasses and sucked on the part that was supposed to wrap over her ear.
“You mean, ‘Who’,” Maggie clarified with a lift of her shoulder. For a reason she didn’t understand she felt a need to protect Thane from the questions and prejudice shading Mary Theresa’s eyes. “Just a guy who works at the stables.”
“Ahh.” Mary Theresa nodded, as if suddenly wiser. “So now you’re slumming.”
“I just took a ride with him.”
Little lines appeared between her twin’s perfectly plucked eyebrows, and she stared at the open gate as if she could somehow divine exactly why Maggie would deign to ride in the horrid old truck. “You’re lucky it made it.”
“Maybe.”
“No ‘maybes’ about it. That pickup is on its last legs or tires or whatever.” Turning suddenly, she slid her shades back onto her nose. “So…did you hear any more messages from me today?”
“No.”
“Well, I was sending them like crazy,” Mary Theresa said sarcastically.
“Oh, yeah? Why?”
“Just testing.”
Maggie rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Look, I don’t know why I heard you last night, okay? But I did. Don’t do this…testing