Spitfire in Love

Chapter 2

Cameron

"Shit."

I stood in the street in front of my house and looked up at the bright morning sky. Closing my eyes as the heat of the sun pounded against my lids, I tried to find my calm. Counted to five.

One. Two. Three—­

Didn't work. I lowered my head and took a deep breath before I opened my eyes.

There was a deep gouge on the fender of my motorcycle.

Curling my hand into a fist, I bit my knuckle.

A quick inspection found more scratches all over the side fairing and the engine cover was completely busted. Hit-and-run, I thought, grinding my teeth. Someone had crashed into my bike, and whoever hit it took the time to put it upright before fleeing the scene.

Thank you very much, motherfucker.

I crouched in front of it, stroking the once-­smooth surface, now all banged up—­the metal felt ridged and sharp under my fingertips. I'd had this ride for so long it felt like a piece of me.

Someone was going to pay.

I stood up slowly. When my phone rang, I didn't even look to see who it was and grabbed it like a lifeline.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Cam."

It was Caleb.

I probably should have said something nicer, but all I could grit out was another sharp "Yeah."

I tamped down the anger and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

"You know, it completely slipped my mind," he began. He sounded like he just woke up. "It's not Saturday today, is it?"

I kept rubbing the scratches, hoping they'd disappear. "You're such a genius."

"I hear that all the time." He paused. "Give me a ride to school?"

"You dying?"

"Don't think so."

I blew out a breath when I spotted a rip on the leather seat. "Then no. I'm not giving you a ride."

"My bike's at the shop."

Where mine was going to be very soon.

He cleared his throat. "And I left my car at the club last night. Took a cab this morning."

He sounded guilty. That meant he had slept at some girl's house again, took a cab to get back to his place, and hadn't bothered picking up his car.

"Actually, I changed my mind," he drawled. "I am dying and—"

Whatever he was saying was drowned out by a series of horn honks blaring behind me. I turned around just in time to see a beat-­up Honda Civic speeding toward me like a bat out of hell.

It happened so fast. I yelled, jumping back to avoid getting clipped, and bumped into my bike in the process. I could only watch in horror as my motorcycle fell over with a loud crash.

There was a sound of metal bouncing against pavement. I looked to my right. It was my side mirror.

My mouth opened in shock, but nothing came out.

I stood dumbly and watched as the Civic came to a full stop, brakes screeching like a banshee, two houses down, across from my place. It idled for a few seconds before it reversed like a jet to the house across the street from mine.