1642734778_punk-57-pdf

“I don’t know, man,” Finn Damaris muses, smirking. “She looks like
she wants something. What do you think?”
“Yeah.” The one with the Mohawk whose name I don’t know nods and
bites his bottom lip, letting his eyes fall down my body. “She definitely
wants something.”
Masen watches behind them, amusement in his eyes.
“She’s so clean,” Finn comments, turning to his friend. “I’ll bet she
likes to get dirty, though.”
Mohawk laughs. “Oh, yeah.”
I roll my eyes, waiting. I’m sure they’re loving this. The stuck-up girl
playing with one of their own…
“You guys take off,” Masen says. “I got this.”
I walk over, fall gently into his chest as his friends disappear,
snickering.
“So where are we going?” I hover over his lips.
He inhales a deep breath and plants a quick peck on my cheek, standing
up straight. “Come on. Get in.”
I cross my arms over my chest to keep from fidgeting. “I should’ve changed
my clothes.”
Masen peers over, driving past my neighborhood and deeper into the
countryside. “Why?”
“Because if we’re seen doing whatever it is we’re doing,” I explain, “I
won’t be hard to identify in a Falcon’s Well cheer uniform.”
He smiles to himself and looks back at the road. “You won’t be seen.”
I take in a deep breath and reach over and turn up the radio, trying to
drown out the worry in my head as Breaking Bejamin’s “So Cold” plays.