Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book) by Reinhardt, Liz (knowledgeable books to read TXT) 📕

I use my elbows, knees, head, whatever I can to break through the insane, crazed stampede and finally get back to Winch's car. I tug the keys out of my pocket and slide in, then back down the nearest side street as quickly as I can while checking for darting, panicked spectators on the run, praying the cops are coming from the other direction and that no one is coming down the one-way I'm illegally driving on like a lunatic. Part of me is scared shitless, and another huge part of me feels like a badass cowgirl living on the edge.

I whip the car around and bump the back fender into a cement planter full of tiger lilies. The bump jars all thoughts of badassary out of my head and makes me grimace with the realization that I almost definitely dented Winch's car.

I make a more careful circuit to the back of the ring of buildings where they were fighting, and Winch runs over, dragging Remy under the shoulders.

I reach across the car and push the passenger doors open, and the guys fall in. I'm pulling out before Winch has both legs in, and he slams the door shut as we negotiate our way down a long, quiet, shady, up-and-coming street that borders back-alley fight clubs, apparently, but doesn't attract much police attention. I keep a decent speed, don't rack up any traffic violations, and glance over at Winch.

"Where do you need to go?" I ask, trying not to let my eyes linger too long over his sweat-soaked muscles.

This is pervertedly sexy. Like Googling "sexy, sexy, sexy man" and gazing at pics for hours sexy. My hormones are officially out of fucking control.

"Why the hell didn't you stay in the car?" Winch demands, his nostrils flared in fury.

And it's like he just ignited the spark against the propane tank of my temper.

"This isn't a game, Evan. This is exactly what I was afraid would happen. Girls show up at this stuff, and it's like porn for them. They can't resist it." He squirms in the passenger seat, obviously uncomfortable not being the one behind the wheel.

I grip the steering wheel and try very hard to come up with something not entirely vulgar to say to him, especially considering I was just ogling his muscles a second ago. I’m not about to acknowledge that, though.

"Porn? Are you kidding me? You think I wrestled through that big-ass, scary-ass crowd so I could see you with your shirt off? If you think your muscles are worth all that trouble, your ego needs some major taming."

Remy, head leaned on the back seat, lets out a scratchy chuckle. "I like this girl." He lifts his battered face and squints. "This the one that made you all antsy at dinner? I get it now. I so get it now."

"Shut up, Remy," Winch growls.

"Make me, Muhammad Fucking Ali." Before they can get into a spat, Remy's phone plays the Stormtrooper March from Star Wars.

"Hey Mama," he answers, and I have an instant fit of the giggles. Winch doesn't drop his glare for a single second. "Fight? Not at all. I mean, we were there, but we didn't fight. Well, you know those guys can get a little rough, so we had to defend some girls-- Uh-huh. Okay. Yeah. Twenty minutes."

He slides his phone back in his pocket and winks in the rearview mirror at me. "Guess who's coming to dinner? Take the next left and make a u-turn. We're off East Taylor."

Winch massages his temples, and I look at Remy in the mirror in frantic panic, made extra upsetting because their house is off East Taylor, one of the oldest, richest streets in Savannah. Which means that I will be judged based on how I look and talk and carry myself from the moment I walk through the doors.

"I'm not dressed for dinner!"

I have on my black 'have your way with me on the beach' sexy cover-up with my scandalous red bikini under it. I glance in the mirror and see that my makeup is a smudged wreck and my hair needs more than a brush; it needs a fresh wash, deep condition, and style.

And Winch, bloodied, bruised, exhausted, infuriated, and tricked, looks up at me and meets my eyes for a brief second across the interior of the car. When he speaks, his voice is solid with an unquestioning conviction.

"You look perfect, Evan. You look completely fucking perfect, you are completely fucking perfect, so stop worrying. Now."

And I listen to him and drive to East Taylor with a blush and a smile on my face.

Winch 9

Evan is coming to my house.

I've never been so fucking pissed off at my brother in my life. My adrenaline is pumping like a drug, and punching him a few times in his fat head definitely occurs to me. And it doesn't seem like a bad idea at all.

The only thing that stops me is the look in Evan's eyes when we pull up to my family's monstrous house. Like she's scared. Like she shouldn't even bother. Like she's not ready for all this.

Remy rolls out the passenger door. "I'll go in and let them know you two will be in in a minute, okay?"

I glare at him and he stuffs both hands in the pockets of his pants, flecked with blood, and whistles like a fucking clown while he walks to the house.

"You can take me home, right?" Evan's voice has this wavery quality I never imagined coming from her before. "Because I know I asked for this, but joke's on me. Hardy har har. I'm ready for you to tell me what an ass I am and drop me back home now." She taps her fingers in a quick, vicious beat on the steering wheel.

"You look unbelievably beautiful."

I mean it when I say it, but I know she's seeing herself the way my mother will see her. And I know my mother will disagree with me