My mouth was in a tight line as I hung up. I’d heard people from New York weren’t very polite, and now I knew it was true. How could someone who didn’t even know me insult me so casually, like he was ordering a smoothie or something? I couldn’t believe his nerve.
I followed the signs to the east gate, my purple rolling suitcase trailing behind me as I weaved in and out of hurrying people. I’d packed lightly because my mom had mostly new stuff for me at the new house. My dad, angel that he was, had helped me pack up my dorm room. I looked down at my suitcase. My whole life was in that bag, and I wished I had packed more because I felt so unprepared.
My heart thudded a bit louder than usual as I searched for the sign, and I wasn’t exactly sure why. His voice had struck a chord in me. Finally, I saw my name, messily scrawled on a sheet of eight-by-ten-inch printer paper. Holding this makeshift sign was a tall guy with shoulder-length brown hair. He wore sunglasses, and in one hand, he held a cigarette. I hurried over to him. He towered over me. I was five-foot-two, and he must have been at least six-foot-three.
He looked down at me and took a puff of his cigarette. “You must be Amy,” he said, the smoke trailing out of his mouth.
“Nice to meet you, Ashton,” I greeted. I tried to shake his hand, but he just looked at it, raising an eyebrow. He gave me a gentle pound on the shoulder.
“’Sup, sis? Let me help you put this in the car.”
Dumbstruck by his casual rudeness, I let him take my bag. I walked to the car without speaking to him again. He got in and grinned at me.
“Took you long enough. I thought they were going to kick me out because I was parked here for a while.”
“I came as fast as I could. I’ll let that comment slide, though, since I know people from New York are impatient,” I replied, throwing some sass at him. He damn well deserved it.
He took his sunglasses off, and I got a glimpse of his honey-brown, almost gold eyes. I gaped at his sexiness. He had the most beautiful face I had ever seen on a man. His jawline was chiseled, and his lips were full and symmetrical. He had long eyelashes and flawless, slightly tanned skin. His eyebrow was pierced, and I could see a mermaid tattoo on one of his arms, halfway concealed by his long black sleeve.
“All right. Settle down. We have a bit of a ride ahead of us, so I hope you like rock music,” he informed me.
I turned sharply in my seat, trying to keep my eyes focused ahead and off the beautiful man sitting next to me. “I don’t mind rock,” I replied, my voice quivering a bit.
My voice always quivered when I got nervous. My heart pounded again, and I felt myself getting wet. This person was going to be my stepbrother? Some sexy, bad boy, east coast, rude asshole was my future stepbrother? Ugh! He blasted rock music and pulled roughly out of our spot. I fastened my seat belt nervously, gritting my teeth.
“Mind driving like a normal human?” I bellowed, then added, “And can you please turn the music down?”
He laughed softly. His sexy laugh sent chills up my spine. It was even sexier than his voice. “Chill. We do things faster around here. You’ll get used to it.”
He did as I asked, though, and lowered the music to a reasonable level. I pulled out my phone and texted Sarah.
Amy: You’ll never believe this.
Sarah: What?
Amy: My stepbrother-to-be just picked me up. He’s a hunk.
Sarah: LOL. Seriously?
Amy: Yeah, but he’s rude and he drives like a dipshit.
Sarah: He’d better be careful! I don’t want to have to come to New York and beat him up!
Amy: I’ll keep you posted.
Sarah: Please do!
His music made my ear drums vibrate, and they began to pop from the change in altitude. I clutched my purse close to me and tried not to look at him. I feared that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop. After about five minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I stole another glance at him. He was looking at me, too. Crap.
“My dad told me a lot about you. He says you’re an English major,” he commented, then took another puff of his cigarette. He opened the window to the car and let some of the smoke trail out.
My face was red. “I am. It’s my passion—writing, that is.”
“Do you take out loans for that?” he asked.
“Yes. I do… Why do you ask?”
“Well, you won’t be able to get much of a job with that degree. It’s not very practical.”
I couldn’t believe his audacity! What right did he have to tell me about my future? “Oh yeah? Well, what do you do, Mr. Informative?”
“I fix shit. Something that makes a lot of money.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bunch of rolled up twenties.
I knew he was right. My father fixed things for a living. I looked down, and my heart sank as I thought about my dad. “My dad does HVAC, and he does make a very decent living.”
“See? Told you.” He grinned, displaying his perfectly white smile.
The city faded into suburbia as we grew closer to New Rochelle.
“Do you drive?” Ashton asked.
“I got my license when I was eighteen, and I have a car at home.”
“Can you drive a stick shift like this?”
“No,” I said.