"And it took me a while to realize it, but everything I've had to go through in this life, all the pain and sadness I've had to bear . . . well, its led me straight to you."
• • •
After tragedy strikes Mo...
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I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a lot of attention as soon as I pulled into the school parking lot. Well, technically, I'm not the one getting the attention. It's my car.
I pretend not to notice all the students eyeing my car as I step out, walking toward the school's back door. My hair blows back behind my shoulders with the wind and the attention must be getting to my head, because for a second I feel like I'm in some sort of movie scene.
I'm just about to walk through the school door when a voice stops me in my tracks, making me pause in place.
"Scott!" I hear someone cry. "Wait up!"
I turn around to find no other than Jack Crawford running toward me. I could pretend I didn't hear him and move on with my day, but for some reason I don't do this. Instead I cross my arms over my chest and walk toward him, wondering what on earth has gotten into me.
I should have just walked through the door.
"You called, Crawford?" I ask sarcastically, tugging on the drawstring of my sweatshirt as I make eye contact with those light green eyes of Jack's that never fail to mesmerize me.
"Is that your car?" Jack questions almost incredulously, gesturing to my Mustang in the parking lot. I bite my lip, not wanting to grin over my car in front of Jack.
It doesn't work. "Yeah," I admit proudly, unable to hide my smile.
"Damn," Jack mutters, shaking his head appreciatively. "You gonna take me for a joyride soon, Scott?"
"Only in your dreams, Crawford," I tease in response to his ridiculous question, smirking at him mockingly.
"Then I can't wait to go to sleep," Jack counters, totally catching me off guard. Suddenly, he doesn't seem so interested in my car. He gives me a once-over, making me feel a little self-conscious. I'm wearing a sweatshirt, torn jeans, sneakers, and my hair is no doubt messy from the wind. Yet Jack doesn't seem to notice. His gaze meets mine, and I find myself wishing I knew what he was thinking as he looks down at me.
Why do I even care?
"Where's Lacey?" I blurt. Because that's what I do when I'm nervous. I blurt stupid things that totally ruin the moment. Not that Jack and I were having a moment or anything. That would be ludicrous, considering Jack has a girlfriend. A girlfriend that, for the briefest of moments, I find myself envying just a tiny bit. Because Lacey can get away with losing herself in Jack Crawford's beautiful light green eyes; can stare at them all day long if she wants to. Because she is his, and he is hers.
Jack's taken, I remind myself when my thoughts get too weird for my own good. He has a girlfriend.
Jack shrugs with one shoulder in response to the question I've already forgotten I had asked. "She's not here yet." He pauses, rolling his eyes before adding, "She's probably still getting ready. Lacey's big on appearance." He sounds annoyed, and I find myself wondering how many times he's waited for her to get ready just so they could go out.
