CRUEL SUMMER

CHAPTER 2 - KIAN

2

~ Kian ~

It took Miss Pissed about ten minutes to get to the shop, though trying to maintain small talk with the walking apron was a new level of hell for me. He went on and on about bands I’d never heard of, ice cream flavors that I’d never taste, and the infinite joys of living by the beach.

When he rolled into a monologue about how totally wicked the surfing at Cahoon’s Hollow was, I nearly thought about killing myself. Nearly.

But then I pictured backing the Auburn over him as soon as it was running, and felt instantly better.

As he began describing the new graphics he was getting added to his board, a beaten-up four door roared into the parking lot, sending dust and dirt scattering.

“Oh good! She’s here! She’s amazing with cars!” proclaimed the kid who had turned his attention to the new arrival, whose vehicle seemed to yack up a piston as it sputtered and died.

In the momentary silence, I could hear the bass beat of the radio playing inside the car. I braced myself as the door began to open, sure I was going to be hit with 100 decibels of angry chick rock. Instead, it was Green Day who blared through the empty parking lot.

Okay – so she had good taste in music. That didn’t mean she could identify a screwdriver.

I watched as a riot of black hair twined with purple streaks appeared from the door, quickly followed by a faded green tank top and grease-covered cargo pants encasing an entirely feminine frame. As she turned I finally got to see her huge, blue eyes lined with black eyeliner, and lush pink lips that seemed to sparkle in the street lamp’s light. She looked me over, crossing her arms fiercely over her chest, effectively enhancing her delicate cleavage and ramping up her mean-girl attitude to a stellar level of sexiness.

I let my eyes drift over her, taking in the barely-there curve of her body, the graceful arch of her shoulders, and the rope bracelet that hugged her sun-kissed skin. A golden belly-button ring winked at me from her navel as she tossed her hip to the side, leaning against the car she rode in on.

She was Tinker Bell’s bad-ass, smoking hot, alter-ego. And granted, she was technically a walking meal ticket to me, but damn. For a moment I thought that humans might actually carry more potential than simply snack-value.

But then I dragged my gaze back up to her face and all lustfulness that I’d been entertaining, shriveled.

The look she was giving me could crack a windshield.

I straightened and began to approach her, but she shoved off her car as Apron Boy tried to introduce me to her. She ignored him and walked right past me, headed for the Auburn.

She stopped at the front of the massive car and began running her fingers under the lip of the side hood, searching for the latch. As she did so, she glared at me. “So – what did ya do? Raid the museum?”

Raid the what?

“Hey – Kennedy. I asked you a question. Where’d ya get this thing?” she demanded again, jutting her chin toward the Auburn as the hood finally gave a click, releasing.

She began to lift the massive slab of steel and I snapped out of my momentary confusion. “Here – I got that,” I said coming to her aid.

“I don’t need your help. Me and my delicate fingernails are just fine without your over-dressed muscles.”

 As if to prove her point, she raised the huge hood above her five-foot tall frame, pulling up the hood stand to prop it open. As she stretched on her tip-toes, the top rode even higher . . . and those damn cargo shorts slid dangerously low on her lean hips.