Float

Original Edition: Chapter Twenty-Three

Alissa Hasting's obscenely large white Range Rover pulled to a stop in front of Blake and me. One of his hands was still resting on my hip, his index finger pressed against the tiny sliver of skin bared between the waistband of my shorts and the hem of my sweatshirt. His sweatshirt, I reminded myself with a great deal of chagrin. As if our little parking lot escapade could look any worse.

"On a scale of paraplegic turtle to Usain Bolt, how fast are you?" I demanded out of the corner of my mouth.

"What?" Blake hissed back.

"Here's the game plan. On the count of three, we turn and go for the car. You do one of those cool over-the-hood slides and get in on the driver's side, and I'll—"

"We're not running away," Blake whisper-shouted.

I shifted my weight between my feet, trying to shake off Blake's hand so I could give into my instinct and run the complete opposite direction of the ex-girlfriend of the boy I'd just kissed. But his fingers just tightened resolutely around me, as if to say we're definitely about to die, but dammit, we're gonna die together.

The tinted passenger-side window of Alissa's car started to roll down at an excruciatingly slow pace. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath, not ready to face Blake's ex-girlfriend like this.

"Dude, you pick the weirdest places to hang out."

Funny. Alissa sounded a lot like a teenage boy.

I peeled open one of my eyes. Jesse Fletcher's sunburnt face grinned back at me from the passenger's seat of the Range Rover, his golden curls pinned back by a hot pink elastic headband. Behind him, Alissa sat upright in the driver's seat, her face hidden by a pair of oversized sunglasses.

"Where's Lena?" I asked, frowning.

At this inquiry, the rear passenger's side window started to roll down. Lena was slouched, her bun of wild golden curls perched on the top of her head like a strange hat, with her arms folded across her chest and her eyes narrowed at the back of the seat in front of her.

I turned to Jesse, confused.

"Don't mind Lena. She's just bitter I got shotgun," he explained, his grin smug with triumph.

"Only because you cheated," Lena snapped, extending a tanned leg to kick the back of her brother's seat.

Jesse lurched forward from the force of her kick. He let out a cry of outrage and twisted in his seat, jabbing himself in the face with his own seatbelt before he managed to get a clear view of his twin.

"I did not!"

"Yeah, you did. You broke shotgun rules. You called shotgun before the car was in sight. Everyone knows that's a violation."

"Your mom's a violation."

"We have the same mom, idiot."

I shot a wary glance towards Alissa, wondering if she'd seen more than the incredibly oblivious Fletcher twins had. But her face was impossible to read behind those stupid hotel-heiress-slash-part-time-model sunglasses, and since she wasn't getting out of the Range Rover and demanding for someone to hold her earrings while she punched me out, I was starting to think maybe none of them had seen Blake and me kissing just a minute ago.

Blake seemed to realize this at the same moment I did. His hand dropped from my side, and he cleared his throat.

"So, um, what's the plan?" he asked.

Jesse abandoned his attempts at defending himself to turn to us.

"We have work, dude," he said. "Lissa was going to drive Lena and Waverly home and you can take us to—"