The Anti-Delinquent System

T e n : Delirious

Meet the new characters, Seth and Zola! <3

T e n : Delirious 

Chase Thatcher drives fast.

Pin you back in your seat while you struggle for air kind-of-fast. Miko when she hears the microwave timer go off kind-of-fast. Or when she spots something polka dotted.

It's probably a combination of the speed we flew down those country lanes and the sheer volume of The Wombats blasting from Chase's speakers that make me so unsteady as I leave the car. My legs wobble, my head feels oddly airy and it takes all my effort to click the car door in place before I lean against it. Crikey. Next time I'm in a car with Chase, I'll remember not to be. I close my eyes, but even blind, I can sense his warmth as he ambles around the bonnet to examine me.

"Well," he says smoothly. "It seems I finally broke Erika Monroe."

"Of course, you didn't," I say with a sigh, keeping my eyes closed and tilting my head back for ample comfort against the cold window. "I'm just trying to diagnose your problem."

His voice is closer this time. "My problem?"

"Yeah, whatever made you like..." I wave a hand around blindly. "This."

"My hotness isn't due to a fever, gorgeous."

I finally open my eyes to see that Chase is standing directly in front of me. "Well, deliriousness is clearly a symptom. Useful to know."

Chuckling, he places a hand on the glass above my head and leans in closer, his warm chest hanging tauntingly close. He smells fresh, clean and masculine- like limes and coconut with woodsy, sexy undertones. From under his unkept, messy hair, his honey eyes glow with playfulness.

"Well, I must be a little mad to hang out with you."

Lovely.

I roll my eyes and stand up properly, stretching my arms behind my back to expand my shoulders. Once I'm certain that I'm not going to topple over, I utilise my proximity with Chase's hard chest to reach my hand up and lazily trace a finger over his collarbone. The cotton of his t-shirt is soft under my fingertip. I hear the noticeable hitch in Chase's breathing and smile.

"Or maybe," I say, rolling my head up to look at him coyly. "I just drive you insane."

His lips part, but his retort is stolen by surprise.

"Now, come on," I say brightly, slipping out from under his arm and dancing away. "You're not a dog so it's not considered socially appropriate to drool."

A second passes before Chase responds, but I finally hear his noise of amusement. He removes his hand from the car window and strolls over to me with a neutral expression. "My bad. I must have been confused by the bitch in my presence."

"Very funny."

"I know."

I turn my attention to our surroundings: an inconspicuous industrial road lined with intimidating grey fencing and fir trees. I lost all sense of direction about halfway through our journey, but it appears that we're in the middle of nowhere. With Chase involved, that's cause for unease.

"Well, this bitch wants to know why we're here."

Chase brushes past me. "Come on. It's just around the next corner."

I follow him obligingly, unsuspectingly.

I never thought that my mood could change so starkly in the space of thirty seconds, but any happiness bleeds out of my parted lips the second we reach the street corner. In it's place, a cold rush of anxiety that plummets through my chest into my stomach like an anchor. The Admiral bar stands ahead of us on the right, it's parking lot thrumming with lively chatter and the vibration of engines that reverberate through the soles of my sneakers as we approach.