Cover Your Tracks [HS][2014 VERSION]

28. Ready to Run

"There's a lightning in your eyes I can't deny . . ."

I jolt awake as my head slams into the bus window, a result of the large vehicle traveling over a bump. Pain similar to a headache sears through my skull and I wince, bringing my hand up to rub at my head. Two girls snicker behind me and I roll my eyes before leaning back against the seat, letting my eyes travel to the window and the world outside.

I hadn't gotten much sleep last night. After waking up to find Harry's note and text, I couldn't calm down enough to continue my nap. My body wouldn't slow down enough for sleep because every time I thought about him, everything inside of me seemed to wake up. And whenever I thought about why I couldn't go to sleep, I found myself smiling, which only made the problem even worse.

It was not until this morning that I realized the consequences of my actions. I had a rude awakening when my alarm clock finally decided to go off, and I wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and sleep. I was warm underneath the covers, all of the body heat I had produced throughout the night trapped inside. And when I buried my face in my pillows in an effort to drown out the obnoxious beeping, I could faintly detect Harry's scent lingering in the fabric.

The day at school had seemed to pass at a glacial pace, time moving slower than normal. It had been hard to stay awake during my morning classes, but I found that as the day went on, I began to wake up to the thought of going home.

And when I finally step off the bus, I venture into the backyard to find Harry bent down by an old four-wheeler. It had spent the past few years locked away in a shed, needing repair but never getting it. I put it down to my father's lazy nature when it came to the outdoors, but now that Harry is here, he gets to do all of the dirty-work.

Harry wears a white tank-top that's been stained with soot and grease as a result of his labor. Marks run down the fabric in the shape of his fingertips, no doubt a result of him using it to wipe his hands off every now and then. His skin is dirty as well, a mixture of mud and sweat coating his arms.

He doesn't notice me as I approach, and I use it to my advantage.

His arms are bulging, his muscles straining beneath his skin as he works. The tattoos on his left arm contort with his movements, the dark black ink shimmering beneath the sun. I open my mouth to say something, to make my presence known, but then he moves to lie on his back, shuffling his head beneath the four-wheeler, and I immediately close it.

His legs are outstretched, knees bent as he slides underneath the vehicle. Blindly reaching for a tool, he arches his back, stretching his hand out in search for the part he's looking for. My mind goes blank at the sight, my imagination forming a mental image of what it would look like to have him hovering above me, his skin coated with a thin layer of sweat.

Before my imagination can go any further, I shake my head and close my eyes, ridding myself of the vulgar thoughts.

When I reopen them, I see Harry poking his head out from underneath the four-wheeler, his eyes searching for the tool he needs. His gaze finds me instead, and he frowns in confusion at first, but then a smile begins to tug at his lips.

"Could you hand me that?" he asks, the grin on his face turning into one of charm. I roll my eyes at his gesture and walk forward to pass him the wrench laying in the grass just a few feet from his head.

"Thanks."

"No problem," I say, lowering myself to sit on the grass. He lets out a grunt as he wriggles even further underneath the four-wheeler.

"Bloody hell," he seethes between his teeth. I let a smile slowly stretch across my lips as I watch him try to fit in the small space between the vehicle and the ground, his tall frame putting him at a disadvantage. "I would have been done hours ago if I could just fit-"