Christmas with a Rockstar (Rock Revenge Trilogy 3.50)

“Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Sam has always been better at socializing, but something tells me her usual moves aren’t going to be enough here. My new neighbor has shifted his eyes to look at her sideways, his body not moving a muscle and his mouth still curled in that strange smile that feels full of suspicion and arrogance. He doesn’t respond to her and after a few seconds, he flits his gaze to me. I, of course, look down at my feet, instantly feeling too big for the shirt I’m wearing and too small to act anything like a grown woman.

“Who are you?”

His question is pointed, and I look up under my lashes to check who he’s asking. He’s staring at me, and his smirk has shifted, now lifting the other side of his lip. It’s less of a smile, too. It’s more of an…annoyed scowl, I guess.

“I live on the corner. We broke into your house last year, so I know what it looks like. You’ll like it.” I shrug, strangely proud of my answer. I’m normally the quiet one, but there’s something about him that makes me bold.

He slides one leg forward and leans back on his palms, the other knee still up. He tips his chin enough that I get a clear look into his eyes, and the way his lashes match his hair, like dusty golden flecks that pick up the bits of brown mixed with the blue of his eyes. He breathes out a short laugh that pulses in his chest. I let my eyes dip to the necklace hanging over his T-shirt, and I nod at the old coin that hangs from the end.

“Is that Canadian?” It looks like one of their dollar coins, a mix of silver and gold. I still have a few of them from the vacation we took last year.

“It’s fake, and I asked you who you are,” he answers fast.

My friend shifts at my side, thrown by his attitude I’m sure.

“I’m Samantha. We both go to Vista,” she says, trying to get his attention back on her. It works for a second, but not in a good way.

“Yeah, I was asking her,” he says, leaning his head to one side and lifting a brow.

My gut flutters like mad, and for a brief second, I forget my name. Hell, I forget how I got to the opening of this garage. I’m a little defensive for my friend because he’s being a jerk, but I think more than that, I’m a little excited that he’s paying attention to me instead of her. It’s weird.

“I told you. I live on the corner,” I say, half out of panic. It gets my mystery neighbor to flinch a little, though, and I can’t tell if he’s amused with me now. I pull my lips in tight, weighing the pros and cons of speaking more, and decide to be less abrasive. “I’m Arizona. Wakefield…my family, the Wakefields.”

His eyes narrow slowly, and that wicked smile from before starts to smear its way across his lips again.

“Well, Arizona Wakefield…” He says my name slow and condescending-like, which I’ve heard before. My name is unique, which makes some people act like assholes. “You have an enormous brown stain on the front of your shirt.”

My heart stops and a lightning bolt burns through my body, and not in a good, excited way. It’s the destructive kind that instantly flares up my blushing, sending a rash of red up to my ears and down my chest. I pull the bottom of my shirt out to look at it and feel sick when I see he’s right. It’s ice cream…from two days ago. I remember now.

Fuck.

“Thanks.” I swallow.

He stands, and I can barely look up to take in the sight of him, which sucks because I wanted to. I see enough to gather that he’s tall, like maybe six feet, and his broad shoulders are in fact wide like a swimmer’s, and his arms are toned, probably from playing the drums. I want to ask about them, and tell him that I play—snare, in our school drumline. I’ve tried the set, and I think I’d be good. I like it, and I want to play more. I want to nerd out and ask him about the rest of the things he loaded into his garage, then come inside and meet the rest of his family, and maybe find out where they come from and how old he is. But I have chocolate on my shirt, and my best friend is done flirting. And mystery man has gone back to moving shit around his garage.

“Come on,” Sam whispers, looping her arm through mine. I suddenly feel like one of those Girl Scouts who roams our neighborhood with a wagon full of cookies. I’m off to go skip my way home and play dollies.

“What’s your name?” My eyes widen before he can turn to look at me because I’m stunned I spoke those words.

“Ari,” Sam whispers a growl. She wants to go, but I’m not satisfied. I’m sure my friend can feel me trembling at her side, but I’m pushing through fear and nerves. For whatever reason, I’ve decided that I’m going to be stronger in front of this guy. He’s going to get to meet the new version of me—the one I just decided

to invent. She’s a lot like the old Arizona, only she isn’t going to let a little embarrassment over an ice cream stain ruin her stride.

I hope.

He runs his palm along his pant leg to wipe away dirt from moving all day, then holds his hand out for me as he turns and steps closer. I grip his hand with the same firmness my dad does when he’s meeting a client. It makes his lip sneer for a short second, but he holds my hand for our short, but oh-so-slow-motioned exchange.

“I’m Jesse. Maybe I’ll see you around. Like at school or whatever.” His fingers slip through mine and draw a ticklish line against the inside of my palm that makes my fingers curl when he lets go. His touch is like a dose of venom, and I’m mildly paralyzed.

“Nice to meet you, Jesse,” I manage to get out. Sam jerks at my arm again, so I turn to walk with her.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you did that,” she whispers at my side with a giggle as we wander our way down his driveway and into the street. I bite at my lip and try to suppress my smile, because holy crap, I can’t believe I did that.

I also can’t believe I’m about to do this.

“Hey Jesse?” I let go of my friend and walk alongside her but backward, looking at the new boy of my dreams.