Because my night didn’t suck enough.
“Are you broken down?” he says loudly.
No, I’m fine, I want to yell back. Go ahead and leave me here.
I push the button to roll the window down, but the motor makes a sad little noise, and then nothing happens. I have to unlock the door manually to open it.
He backs away to give me room, then catches the door in one hand. Cold air streams into the car.
“Did your tire blow out?” he says. “I saw all the rubber in the road.”
“I’ve already c-c-called someone,” I say, hating how I can’t control the shivering now. I wrap my arms around my midsection. “He should b-be here any m-minute.”
His eyes are dark and inscrutable. “So you don’t want any help?”
“No.” I suck a shaky breath through my teeth. “I’m fine.”
He studies me for a long moment, standing there in the rain, his eyes as ice cold as they were behind the school.
“Suit yourself,” he finally says. He swings my door shut and turns away.
I can’t believe my options are sitting here all night or asking Declan for help.
He’s about to get back into his car. I can see him in my rearview mirror.
Damn it.
I swing my door open and step out of the car. “Wait!”
He stops and looks at me across twenty feet of rain and darkness. His door isn’t open after all, and he was already facing me. Was he coming back to my car? The thought throws me.
We stand there and stare at each other. Rain trickles into my dress.
“Is your battery dead?” he finally says.
I nod. “Yes.” I hesitate. “I didn’t replace it.”
“Shocking.” He jerks his head toward his car. “Come sit in mine so you can warm up.”
I’m halfway to his car when I realize this could be a trick. So you can warm up sounds like the worst kind of double entendre. My steps slow as my instincts kick in, but it’s so cold outside that the rest of me doesn’t give a crap about innuendo.
His car is black—or gray. I can’t quite tell. It doesn’t shine at all, which makes me wonder if it’s been covered in some kind of matte paint, or it’s in desperate need of a paint job. From what I can see of the body, it’s an older vehicle. A long, flat hood leads to a two-door body and a short trunk. Dropping into the passenger seat confirms the age, though the interior is in better shape. Leather seats that are too wide to be modern, no headrests. It’s a stick shift. The radio is old, with silver dials and big white numbers. The windows have crank handles.
I expected the car to smell musty, like rotten foam padding and too many cigarettes, but he must not smoke in here. It smells like old leather with a faint undercurrent of some guy-brand cologne.
Declan slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. It roars to life, and he spins a few dials. The center vents immediately shoot warmth at me.
I was sitting as close to the door as I possibly could, but when I feel the heat, I shift forward and press my hands over the openings.
Declan moves toward me, his hand reaching for mine. I jerk back and pull my hands against my stomach, sucking back into the seat.
He gives me a look, then finishes his motion, twisting a dial to flick open the vent closest to the door. “That one sticks,” he says.
Oh.
I still wait for him to shift back to his own space before putting my hands over the vents again. We sit in silence for the longest time, listening to the thrum of the motor, hushed by the loud whisper of air through the vents.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asks suddenly.
I can’t read his voice, and I’m not sure how to answer. His question makes me feel ridiculous—but it sounds like he might be genuinely curious, not cocky.
I chance a glance at him. He hasn’t moved since opening the vents, and now he’s lounging back in the driver’s seat, lit by nothing more than the lights on the dash.
I have to clear my throat. “If I say yes, are you going to use it against me?”
“No.” His voice is even. Almost a challenge.
I look at him. “Then yes. A little.”
Headlights fill the car, a vehicle approaching from behind. I twist in the seat to look. The car doesn’t even slow, sailing past on Generals Highway.
I sigh and rub my arms and put my hands over the vents again.
Declan turns the heat dial even farther to the right. “How long were you out here waiting?”
“I don’t know. Awhile.”
“Why are you all wet? Did you try to change the tire?”
I snort. “I don’t know how to do that. I was just trying to figure out what happened.”
“From the look of your tires, you’re lucky it wasn’t all four.”
“You’re kidding. I was so busy memorizing the latest copy of Car and Driver before showing up at Homecoming.”
He looks amused. “I’m talking about basic maintenance. You’re the one stranded on the side of the road. I’m scared to ask if you’ve ever bothered to change the oil in that thing.”
I scowl—but he’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever had the oil changed. Headlights fill the car again, and I crane my neck around. Another car goes flying by.
Declan stares out the windshield. “What kind of car are we waiting for?”
I hesitate. “It’s a friend from school. I don’t know what kind of car he drives.”
I expect Declan to give me a hard time about that, but he doesn’t. His jaw looks set, and he keeps staring out the window.
I slide my finger across the screen of my phone, hoping The Dark has sent me a message.
Nothing. I sigh.
“What are you afraid of?”
I look at Declan, but he’s still staring out at the rain. His voice has gone quiet, and he’s not half as threatening as he was.
“I don’t know,” I say.
He gives me a look that reveals flickers of icy judgment. “Liar.”