Beware of Boys (13 page)

T
hey had only been feet apart for a matter of seconds, and Charly's stomach was already starting to churn. M
kel, her arch nemesis, was half standing, half leaning on the hood of a luxury convertible car. His arms were defensively crossed, and his long legs were stretched out in front of him. The dimple in his left cheek was deeper than she'd remembered, reminding her of a bowl of hot fudge. He was a tall, rich, and delicious dessert—good in small doses, but too much of him couldn't be healthy. Not if a girl didn't want to fall for him, Charly thought, fighting an urge to smile, which only confirmed his natural ability to attract. She couldn't stand him, yet, here she was battling herself not to be nice. She blamed it on his natural swagger, which commanded respect, and his bigger-than-life presence, which was only rivaled by his gorgeousness. He was obscenely cute. Charly put on her sunglasses and shook her head. It made no sense for a guy to be so tempting, and she was glad that she didn't have to be in his company on a regular basis.

“Are you just going to stand there? Or are you coming?” he asked, making Charly stare at his mouth. He had the most perfectly even, straight, gleaming white teeth she'd ever seen, and every time he spoke, he looked as if he were about to smile. But she knew better. His serious tone and ambiguous expression told her he wasn't overcome by glee. Still, his dimple deepened and danced with each syllable he uttered.

Charly blinked behind the sunglasses, glad that he couldn't see her eyes. She didn't like that she couldn't read him. She expected him to spit on the ground, call her a name, say or do something that would give away his feelings. But he didn't. He was just as cool and calm as he'd been in the sneaker store, and she wondered if he possessed feeling at all. The way he just stood there, staring into her soul without blinking, caused her uneasiness. “I'm not happy about riding with you either, M
kel,” Charly answered, then wished she would've thought before she spoke. “And can't you close the top on this car? I've been baking in this sun all day.”

M
kel walked to the driver's side. He got in the car without reply, making her feel small from lack of recognition. He glanced sideways when she got in next to him, then quickly turned his attention back toward the street. He put on his seat belt, started the car, and revved the engine, while he drummed on the steering wheel and bounced to a song that must've been playing inside his head. He also ignored her request to close the top.

For seconds, Charly watched him move his neck back and forth like a gobbling turkey to a beat she couldn't hear. She grew tired of waiting for the song that played in his head to end. She cleared her throat as loud as she could, trying to interrupt him, but he didn't budge. “Well? Are you going to keep bobbing your head like you're in the studio? Or are we going to ride to whatever this emergency is?” she snapped, then looked up. She took off her sunglasses. The sky had quickly gone from vibrant to dull as the clouds moved in front of the sun.

M
kel held up his thumb in the air, wagging it in her direction. “You're not in.”

“What?” Charly asked, redirecting her eyes at him and throwing up her palms, frustrated. “I am in! Let's go.”

He really looked at her then. “Do you always have to be so disagreeable, Charly?” he asked coolly. “Being bossy doesn't make you a boss; being in control does. You need to learn control.” He unfastened his seat belt, then moved toward her.

“What are you doing?” Charly asked, sucking in her already flat stomach and tried to meld with the seat as M
kel reached one long arm across her. He grabbed the passenger seat belt and tried to slide it across her midsection, but it kept locking in place. While he pulled, released it, then tugged on it again, she held her breath to prevent herself from inhaling whatever scent he wore. It wasn't that he didn't smell good, because he did. It was that she didn't want his essence lingering in her memory like his songs remained in her mind. A loud click, and it was over. He was back in his seat again, fastening in, and she began breathing.

“Which way?” he asked, moving the car's gearshift to DRIVE, and putting on his own pair of shades as the sun reappeared.

Charly shook her head in disbelief, and put back on her sunglasses. How could he not know where they were going? “You mean you don't know how to get there?”

The way he turned his face toward her answered for him. He put the car back in park, hopped out, then disappeared through the gates. Charly dug in the shopping bag that held the contents of her purse and the high heels she'd worn earlier. She took out her phone, deciding to call Eden, then rolled her eyes. She hadn't programmed Eden's info into her cell. “Or Lex's or Faizon's,” she was chastising herself, when the driver's door opened.

M
kel slid back into the seat with his cell phone in his hand. He scrolled to something, touched the screen, and put it to his ear. “No one. I can't get in touch with anyone. Can't get a single person on the line, and all I remember are three numbers: mine, my sister's, and my mother's. I just upgraded my phone yesterday, and I didn't have time to transfer my contacts,” he said, then ended the call. He rubbed his palms over his face. Charly assumed that was a sign of frustration for him, but she couldn't be sure because he still seemed emotionless. He looked at Charly. “Nobody's back there who can direct us, and the others don't know Lex's new address.” His hands were on the steering wheel again, but there was no drumming. He shook his head, then shrugged. “I don't know how everybody disappeared. It makes no sense.” He was still shaking his head when he went through his day. “I got here. They were running out. Some kind of emergency. ‘Wait for Charly. She knows how to get there,' ” he said. He looked at her. “That's what Whip said. He said you knew how to get to Lex's.”

Charly nodded. “I was paying attention. Street names, landmarks . . . I can get us back. Make a U-turn,” she said, sure of the direction. “Then at the second light, take a left, then turn at the first right. Go straight until I tell you when.”

The car pulled off slowly, then crawled down the street. M
kel turned up the music, and his beautiful voice belted through the speakers. The melody was fantastic, but the artist was a piece of work, and not a good one, she decided, losing patience. M
kel drove like he was afraid of the speed limit, and their moving like a turtle was irritating her. What was the point of driving a car that could reach race-car speeds if you were afraid to open up the engine?