Burnout (Jack 'Em Up Book 0) Read Free

of the group and pointed them out. “This is Judge Martin . . . and Councilman Hughes and his son, John.”
    We shook hands politely before they made their way to the formal living room for cocktails, my mom’s heels clicking on the shiny bamboo floors. But I didn’t miss the way young John Hughes kept sliding glances toward me and my sister as he followed. He was about our age, maybe a little older, with platinum blond hair and piercing green eyes. Kinda cute if you liked the clean-cut, choir boy type.
    Danielle seemed to be eating it up, but in that moment, I realized that Blake hadn’t left my mind. That messy, too-long hair, those mysterious eyes, that long, lean body . . . what the heck?
    God, Daddy would have a fit if he knew I was fantasizing about Blake Travers.
    I guess that’s why I was so tempted.

    The rest of the week passed mostly uneventfully after my dad’s meeting. Other than having to sit next to Blake every day in Government and pretend not to notice him. And seeing his dented up car every single day in the parking lot. Guilt was really eating at me.
    I overheard him talking in the hall with a couple of his friends, and froze. He was with another good looking blond guy and a darker one with raven hair and eyes nearly as sad as Blake’s—Micah Christian I think.
    “Man,” Micah said, his expression somber. “Your car is fucked!”
    I ducked to the side of the hall, behind a row of lockers to stay out of view, bumping into another girl on the way. I mumbled an apology and kept listening.
    “Yeah,” Blake agreed, resting his weight back on one hip, hands tucked in his pockets. “But it’s not as bad as it looks.”
    The blond one murmured something I couldn’t make out and Blake cringed.
    “Seriously.” Micah smiled, his eyes tracking a cheerleader as she passed. “Why don’t you just ask her for the money? She’s just a girl, and she hit your Camaro . . . why are you intimidated by a spoiled little rich girl? She’s probably got the cash in her piggy bank or something.”
    Blake’s gaze snapped up, defiance rippling off of him. “I will not ask Delilah Jackson for a dime. And I’m not intimidated. I don’t need her money.”
    His friends stared at him with the same shock I was feeling. What? Why wouldn’t he . . .?
    “I just don’t, okay?” Blake reiterated, his firm, nearly angry tone daring anyone to contradict him.
    “But you can’t afford it, dude,” his other friend said in a soft, nearly sympathetic tone.
    Blake shook his head and spun away without a word, the look of defeat on his face nearly breaking my heart.
    And right then, I made a decision. If he wouldn’t accept my money, he’d have to accept my help.

    Early that Saturday morning, I yanked on an old pair of jeans, one of my dad’s Yale sweatshirts, and tennis shoes, and beat a path toward the high school after telling my mom I was meeting a friend. I wasn’t going to correct her if she happened to assume it was Rachel.
    I cruised around the back of the main building, and sure enough, I found the auto shop bay doors open, a bright blue Camaro pulled inside. I didn’t see Blake, but I knew he had to be there.
    My heart pounding against my ribs, I parked and gave myself one last cursory glance in my visor mirror. No makeup, but it didn’t matter, hair in a quick ponytail. Perfect for a day working on a car, I supposed.
    Before I could chicken out, I jumped out of the car and strode toward the shop. As I neared, a noise to the side stopped me.
    Blake was in the far corner, a backwards baseball cap perched on his head, bent over something at a workbench as he quietly sang along with the classic rock playing on the radio next to him.
    I stopped and simply watched. His T-shirt was stretched along his back and his forearm muscles moved with strength as he twisted and rubbed on some kind of shiny metal thing. Alone and unaware of me, he appeared relaxed; his usual rigid stance and cockiness gone. He seemed calm,