Blue Horizons (A Horizons Novel Book 1) (7 page)

“Okay, great. Which one is yours?” She lets go of the door and starts walking toward the parking lot. I’m thankful we came out the back door; last thing I need is someone flashing a picture of the two of us together. I walk behind her and notice that she drops her head so her hair hides her face as we approach a few people.

“The black one-fifty in the back.” She slows down, looks at me hesitantly, and then loosely loops her arm through mine, still keeping her face down. I’m beginning to wonder who this girl is because only people who are followed or watched regularly behave this way.

I pull my keys out of my pocket, unclick the locks, open her door for her, and she quickly slides in. As I walk around the front of the truck, I feel her eyes on me.

Shutting my door, I see her jump out of the corner of my eye. Tension fills the truck. I toss my hat onto the backseat, run my hand through my hair, and turn to look at her; she’s gripping the door like she wants to escape. “You sure you’re ready to go?”

“Yep.” She gives me a small smile. Well, okay then.

As soon as I turn the truck on, music blares from the speakers, and I inwardly cringe. Her gaze jerks over to me and she starts laughing.

“I can’t believe you’re listening to Blue Horizons! What are the odds? No wonder you asked me about my shirt.” Her eyes are sparkling and my breath catches in my throat. I really want to freeze this moment. I go to turn the sound down, but she stops me by placing her hand on top of mine. Warmth radiates across my skin. I’m so affected by this girl, it’s insane.

“Nah-uh . . . leave it loud!”

I don’t drop my arm; I don’t make a move. The tension in the truck turns to electricity, and her chest starts rising a little faster the longer we look at each other. I could look at her forever. She blinks and licks her bottom lip—what I wouldn’t give to do that for her. A few seconds pass, but that’s all it takes. I’m determined to find out more about her. Even if she doesn’t tell me tonight, Clay will know something from her friend.

She moves her hand and the moment is over. We both let out a sigh at the same time and I grin at her.

As I pull out of the parking lot, she shoots her friends a text letting them know she left. The song changes and she relaxes. Rolling down her window, she sinks into the seat, and slightly leans her head out as the wind whips across her face and through her hair. I open up the sun roof and my window as well. The stars are out and it’s a perfect night.

We ride in silence as the tracks change from one to another. I look over at this girl with the wild blonde curls and the tiny nose piercing, and it occurs to me, I don’t even know her name. Her eyes are closed and she looks completely content. I’m trying to think back to when was the last time I felt that way, when she starts to sing along with the song. My mind goes blank. Here I’m thinking that the sound of her laughter is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard . . . man, was I wrong. My heart is actually fluttering in my chest.

Propping my left elbow up in the window, I run my hand through my hair. As we drive down the road and head back toward the lake, I stick my hand out the window to feel the wind like she is and for the first time in a long time, I feel free. It’s then that I decide to take the long route home.

I CAN’T BELIEVE he’s currently listening to Blue Horizons. I was so nervous about getting in the truck with him—after all, I don’t know him—but as soon as I heard the lyrics to “That Place in Time”
echo throughout the truck cab, all of the uneasiness just melted away. Inwardly smiling, I’m proud of myself for trying to let go and do things that a normal twenty-five-year-old would. He’s a good-looking guy, he’s been kind to me, and my creep radar isn’t going off. Catching a ride home just seems nice and normal.

I don’t remember the last time I was in a truck, but his is really comfortable. The dark leather seats quickly warm, and without thinking, I roll down the window and let my hair whip out into the cool breeze. The air has a scent to it that is a mixture of clover and grass; it smells clean, sweet, not at all like the city. It reminds me of my childhood home, and a familiar ache washes over me. It’s then that I realize I’m remembering a good time and not a bad one. My eyes close with contentment and that inward smile breaks free.

The song changes to “Why Can’t the Future Be Now,”
and I begin to sing along. I’ve only seen this band play three times, but it’s their two albums containing all of their own original pieces that I love. On stage, they sang covers of other bands to keep the crowd entertained, but it was when the lights dimmed and they sang their own work I felt internally moved. I’ve written songs my entire life, but I don’t feel as if I’ve ever written any as soulful as those. Their songs speak to me, and as strange as it sounds, I have always felt like they were written for me. Whoever thought of mixing the blues with rock was a genius. Toss in an acoustic guitar, it gives off that country feel, and it’s a unique sound that was only theirs. It’s a shame they never went on to pursue something bigger. The talent was incredible.

Time passes as the truck coasts down the road. There’s a comfortable silence between us and I’m grateful that he isn’t being inquisitive for the sake of useless small talk. Enjoying this time, I keep my eyes shut because I don’t want to see him watching me. Maybe he isn’t, but right now, I feel at peace. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. I have no obligations to be anywhere or anything to someone else, no assistant calling, no emails to be checking, and no flights to be boarding. It’s times like this I wish I could quit and just be me.

The truck slows and turns. The tires crunch along the rock driveway of Emma’s parents’ house and my heart sinks knowing the drive is over. He puts the truck in park, the inside light brightens the cab, and I look over at him. His gaze collides with mine and my breath lodges in my throat. Wow, he really
is
a good-looking guy. His dark brown hair is mussed up from being under his hat all night, the line of his jaw looks smooth with just the hint of a five o’clock shadow, and his lips are full, but it’s his eyes that capture me, just like at the bar. They are pale blue—lighter than mine—soft and kind. Heat floods my cheeks. It’s been so long since I’ve been under the obvious perusal of a guy. I blink several times to regain my composure.

I can always tell a person’s character by looking them straight in the eyes. It doesn’t matter what they say or how their body language is perceived, the eyes will tell you everything. I’ve looked into so many sets of eyes in my short lifetime, I’ve seen it all: excitement, contentment, love, kindness, greed, fear, sadness, anger, disgust, lies, lust, hatred, evil, and guilt. If I look long enough, the truth will always be glaring right back at me, and with this guy I see a gentleness mixed with curiosity.

Glancing over at the house, I notice there are several lights shining through the windows. I’m so glad, because if the house had been dark, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to go in it. With this thought, anxiety trickles into my veins and my heart starts beating faster. Why didn’t I think of that before when I asked him to bring me home? At the time, I saw an opportunity and just wanted to leave. The bar was officially packed full, I’d put my time in so Emma and Cora were happy, and I was ready to leave. I can’t handle people putting their hands on me, and if I had stayed, with the crowds, it would have been inevitable. I chance another glance at him; he’s probably wondering why I’m not getting out of the car. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and count backward from five to one as I exhale, willing my heart to slow down.

Peeking over at him, he’s still looking at me; he hasn’t moved. “So, I hate to ask you to do something else for me . . .” My fingers are tapping quickly against my leg, a nervous tic I’m sure he’s noticed and I’m thankful he hasn’t asked. “But I was wondering if you would mind coming in and just looking around for a sec before you head home.” I stretch my fingers to get them to stop, my hands starting to sweat at the possibility he’ll say no.

“What do you mean?” He blinks, looking at me curiously. Oh my, does he think I’m trying to invite him in for something more? Instead of calming, the anxiety flourishes and thousands of little nerves race through my chest and down my arms, my fingers clamping down on my leg.

“Let’s just say I’ve seen one too many scary movies and I never go into an empty house by myself.” I give him a small smile hoping to ease the strain that had quickly formed between us.

Slowly, the corners of his eyes crinkle as one side of his mouth lifts to a grin. That little dimple makes its appearance just before he chuckles. He’s assessing me—that would definitely be the word—and he isn’t sure what to think of me.

Looking back toward the house, he runs his hand through his hair. “Sure, come on.” He turns off the truck and we both climb out.

“You know if you were looking for a little . . . fun . . . tonight, you could’ve just come out and asked.” He looks over his shoulder, his eyes drop down to my legs, and he smirks at me as he walks ahead.

What?!

Oh my God.

I’m sure he’s just trying to be playful, but I can’t tell and on the off chance that he’s not, his words seep under my skin, freezing me on the steps heading up to the front porch. What was I thinking asking him to go into the house? Of course he would read between the lines and interpret my question differently. I mean, look at him—he’s gorgeous! Girls probably throw themselves his way all the time, but that’s not who I am. What am I supposed to do now? I can’t go into this house with him. I can’t believe I put myself in this situation.

He realizes that I’m not following him up the stairs and turns to look at me. Just a couple of steps separate us, but I can’t be this close to him. I can’t. Desperate for escape, I spin around quickly and start walking toward the road to put distance between us. I don’t know where I’m going, but at this point, it doesn’t even matter. I have to get away. Now. My arms are wrapped around my stomach and I’m squeezing my ribs as hard as I can, but the panic won’t stop.

Don’t go in the house! Get away from the house!

My skin is on fire, my eyes have blurred, my ears are ringing, and my chest is so tight I’m afraid I might pass out.

I’m being irrational, but I just can’t help myself.

I hear and feel the thudding of his footsteps as he comes up behind me,
that sound
. From when I was running down the dark hallway away from
him
. There’s a deep murmuring—he’s talking to me—but the noise is so loud in my ears I can’t hear him.

A light sprinkling of rain settles on the windshield as he puts the car in park, and we sit in the driveway of my parents’ home. I never should have gone out with him tonight. As much as it breaks my heart, I’ve been trying to pull away from him, but he doesn’t seem to be catching on. When he asks me out, I tell him I have homework. When he tries to hold my hand at school, I shift my books so he can’t touch me. And last week after he won his wrestling match and drove us to the water tower hoping to “relieve some stress,” I told him I had my period. At what point does he lose interest in me and start looking for someone else?