*
I waited out front of the dance studio with my back against the car, arms folded. My eyes were glued to the entrance, waiting impatiently for Elise to appear.
I immediately straightened when she walked out of the studio alongside Cindy. I felt instantly alive, like adrenaline had been shot up my veins. My eyes trailed her body, like it’d been deprived of it for years. She was in those sexy black tights and a damp white tank top. Her hair was up in a loose bun, a couple curled strands tucked behind her ear.
“Hey Aston,” Cindy called out, grinning mischievously at me. “Looking good!”
“Hi Cindy,” I forced out. God, I can’t stand her.
“Take care of my girl!”
As if I wouldn’t? I just nodded. It saved me from talking. The problem with Cindy was she latched on to words and never stopped moving her lips. If you said nothing, then she had nothing to work with.
Elise parted ways from her and hurried to me. She was flushed and breathless, a sight that knocked me speechless every time.
I smirked at her as she approached. “How was it?”
She raised her arms out and spun backwards in a circle on one foot. “Invigorating!” she shouted, giggling when she nearly lost balance at the end.
“Calm your shit. You’re not a ballerina.”
“We integrated some ballerina pirouettes into the dance, so I’m part-ballerina now, asshole.”
I chuckled and opened the passenger door for her. “Such a gentleman,” she said sarcastically before skimming me up and down. “You just come out of the gym, hulk?”
“As always.”
“How was it?”
“Painful. I’m starved. You want some pizza or something?”
“I was thinking a huge ass quarter pounder.”
I groaned. “Fuck yeah.”
We rode down main street, her feet up on the dashboard, the radio cranked up all thanks to her. She danced carelessly, windows down, her terrible voice screaming out lyrics. She butchered music. The words were always wrong, and if you corrected her, she wouldn’t have it. She just shook her head in denial and kept rattling the same shit. Drivers looked at her with smiles, pedestrians laughed as they caught fragmented seconds of her torturous performances, and she didn’t give a shit.
I loved it.
I grinned at her as we stopped at a red light. She had these aviator glasses on, and she thought she was so fucking hip in them. And there I was, just staring at her craziness, at her feet bobbing with the music, at her butchering lyrics with those playboy specs on, and then flashing me a duck face when she caught me looking. The girl was mad. Absolutely fucking crazy mad.
A cop car pulled up beside us. I saw Adrian first on the passenger side, and then I met Dad’s eyes. He honked once at us and angrily pointed at Elise. “Put your seatbelt on!” he shrieked. “I swear to God, Elise! Swear. To. God!”
I laughed as Elise immediately straightened in her seat and turned the volume down. “Sorry!” she yelled back, throwing on her seatbelt. Her cheeks were flaming red. She looked adorable scrambling to please him. Her old man was the only one that could get this kind of reaction out of her.
“We’re going to have a talk later!” he promised sternly.
The light turned green and he turned the corner, disappearing out of sight. We drove straight ahead, the music so low it was a whisper now. I smirked at her and she slapped my arm. “Shut up,” she hissed at me, biting at the inside of her cheek.
“Didn’t say anything,” I muttered cheekily.
She rolled her eyes. That was always a sign of protest. Rolling her eyes at everything that didn’t please her. “You don’t have to. Your smartass face does all the talking for you.”
“What does a smartass face look like exactly?”
“Like Aston Turner. Stop smiling.”
That just made my smile grow. “Just keep your seatbelt on from now on, El. If that was another cop, he might have given me a ticket.”
“Dad would never have allowed that.”
“You know as well as I do he’d never come to the rescue. If I deserved the ticket, I’d damn well have it.”
She made a grunting sound and looked out the window. She knew I was right, but she wouldn’t admit it. Typical of El.
We went to the nearest McDonalds and ate in a small booth by the window. The place was packed with people our age, sitting in their booths in packs. On our way in, she’d stopped to wave hello to a few of them, but the guys weren’t as friendly when I was standing behind her, glaring at them.
She got distracted for several minutes at a toddler sitting in the booth behind her. He couldn’t have been older than two, and he stood there and swiped at her hair. She made a show of gasping and turning, and he ducked down and giggled like he was the biggest secret around. Sadly, the mother was unimpressed, and a few hisses later, the boy was gone.