Donovan (Face-Off 3)

My best friend, Silvia Barker, rolled down her window, her middle finger dangling in the breeze, as I blew through the red light. As a minivan pulled onto the street, I parked in its space in front of Jefferson Hall.

I opened the door of my M Series Coupé, desperate to peel my legs from the leather seat and grabbed my Diet Coke bottle from the cup holder. Twenty yards away, even in the glaring summer sun, I spotted my next mistake. Shirtless eye candy threw footballs across the front lawn, dirt smeared on their sweaty bodies. I flipped up my sunglasses and leaned on the hood to get a better look.

Silvia slid out from the passenger side, a complaint on her lips. “Damn, it’s hot out here. I bet you could fry an egg on the pavement.”

I tugged on my canary-yellow tank top to fan myself. “I know. It’s at least ten degrees hotter than in the burbs.”

“The worst part is the humidity,” Silvia groaned.

I clicked the trunk release.

Silvia jumped off the curb to retrieve her black-and-gold studded purse from the trunk. She rifled through her bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “The Weather Channel is predicting a heat wave over the next few days.”

“A little weather won’t hold me back.” I chuckled, turning away from her as she lit a cigarette, the smoke assaulting my lungs. “I’m like an inmate on death row with just a few more days of freedom until my life is officially over.”

“Get a grip. It’s just a job, not the end of the world.”

“Just a job,” I moaned. “That’s easy for you to say. You’ll be off to California next year and I’ll be stuck working with Grandfather.”

Around a giant fountain, a group of girls in bikinis propped themselves up against a replica of the Liberty Bell. Water trickled down from the top of the cracked bell in the center of the quad, spraying them. They were the main attraction, and boys were tripping over their toes to get a second look. Returning students flocked from the well-preserved brownstone that lined three sides of the rectangular field. Strickland University had the pristine shine of an Ivy League college with skyscrapers serving as the backdrop. Even the statues of famous Philadelphians sparkled like fresh paint on new car.

“C’mon, Izzie Bear, let’s get a move on.” Silvia took a few more drags and then knocked the fiery ash off with the bottom of her sneaker.

I snickered, now walking toward her, as I ignored her previous comment. “I was waiting for

you to put that out. You know those things will kill you.”

“Well, I like my cancer in the form of menthols, thank you very much.” Silvia slung her purse over her shoulder and laughed. Her black hair, fashioned into a bob resting below her chin, was stuck to a thin sheen of sweat on her cheek.

A punk rocker to the core, she wore a faded Warped Tour tee and jean shorts with holes in them. Our tastes were similar, except I’d pay for the ripped look where Silvia would make her own clothes. It wasn’t because she couldn’t afford them. She was one of those artsy chicks who enjoyed torturing her parents, a plea to get them to pay attention to her.

As the daughter of a former beauty queen, she didn’t look the part—although she did inherit her mother’s long lashes and perfect complexion—but her mother never glanced up from her martini glass long enough to notice. We were born into families with too much money and zero emphasis on human interaction.

I was about to open my soda when a car swerved next to me, its back tire just missing my foot. Blinded by rage, I gripped the plastic top and lunged my soda at the white Honda Civic.

“Watch it, asshole!” I screamed, my hands above my head.

The car screeched to a halt twenty feet ahead of us as Silvia stood at my side in shock. First, the blinkers turned on, and then a stocky twenty-something boy flung open his door. Dark tattoos covered his forearms that were corded with muscles. He ran his hand through his shaggy auburn hair, spiked up in different places, as he grinned at me.

“Oh, shit.” Silvia slapped her hand over her mouth, her voice full of laughter. “That dude’s gonna murder us. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

I shut the trunk and followed Silvia across the lawn. I ran so fast that my heart pounded out of my chest, the adrenaline coursing through my veins, igniting a fire under my skin. It gave me such a rush that I couldn’t hide a satisfied smile as I peeked over my shoulder.

The thrill of doing something wrong, waiting to be caught in the act, always seemed more exciting than sex. Maybe there was something wrong with me, an inner sickness that I needed to address. For whatever reason, those small victories would get my juices flowing.

We yell-laughed, skirting around innocent bystanders, as we made our victory lap. Oblivious to my surroundings, my celebration ended faster than it had begun as I crashed headfirst into a thick wall of hunky man flesh. It happened so fast that I hadn’t had time to brace myself for impact, doing a half flip along with him. He landed on his back with me face-planting on top of him, my breasts pressed against his chin.

Of all the people to bump into, it had to be Luca Marchese. His cocky grin made my lip curl with revulsion even though he seemed to have the opposite effect on my nipples. One glance from him, and they betrayed me.

“Hey, princess.” His voice was deeper, sexier, than I remembered from class.

I blushed ten shades of pink from my cheeks to my neck, distracted by denim-blue irises set under dark brows. I rolled my eyes, attempting to peel myself off his bare chest, but he grabbed my wrists.

“Not so fast. I think you owe me an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

I wiggled free from his grasp, straddling him without meaning to. I held his arms flat against the grass. Our faces were inches apart as I hovered over him, the sexual tension burning between us like a lit match. We shared a short-lived moment until his eyes found my breasts again, and he winked.