“So what do you think?” Chris
stood with his elbow leaning casually on the open door of his jet black panel
van. He looked up at me expectantly. “Pretty sweet ride, huh?”
“If you’re a
serial killer,” I said, cautiously descending the steps.
Chris’s head
snapped around with surprise, his eyes almost as dark as the van itself. He
slammed the car door and folded his arms, glowering at me as I approached.
“I’ll have you
know, Toby and I have spent the better part of six months fixing this old girl
up.”
I wrinkled my
nose. “Really?”
“It’s got a 308
and a four barrel carby.”
“Why, it could be
grease lightning,” I smirked.
I didn’t think a
death stare could vary in so many ways, but Chris had mastered a variety of
pissed-off stares like no other. The one he was now casting me was a whole new
level of anger.
Oops.
I cleared my
throat and looked away, suddenly super aware that the last thing I should do
was alienate my ride, but then the thought did occur to me: did I want to be
trapped in a car with Chris Henderson for three days? Three long, insufferable
days – could I subject myself to any more death stares, sneers, scoffs and deep
sighs? Maybe I would be doing myself a favour if I gave him good reason to
leave me behind. Before I fully acclimated to the idea, my attention was
snapped back to the present and the duffle bag that landed at my feet.
I frowned toward
the verandah where Chris had moved and was readying himself to turf my other
bag down.
“Hey! Watch it,”
I snapped. “You might break something.” It was a possibility, though I didn’t
know exactly what. Maybe Mum had slipped in a crockery set? Who could honestly
guess?
“Let me guess,”
Chris said with a smirk as he slung my beach bag over his shoulder and trotted
down the steps. “Hairdryer?” He threw a cocky smile and grazed my shoulder as
he passed, heading for the van. My eyes burned into his back as he opened the
double doors to chuck in my bag. He turned to me expectantly, his hand out for
me to pass him the duffle. I snatched it up, trying not to let the strain of
its weight show as I lugged it over and carefully placed it into the back. I
attempted to, anyway. With a rather inelegant lack of grace, I hitched it up
onto my knee, trying to be all cool and casual, as if I was totally in control
…
I so wasn’t.
Chris plucked it
from me as if the bag weighed nothing and turfed it into the back.
“Careful!”
“Relax, it landed
on the mattress.”
Mattress?
I peered into the
back. Sure enough, a mattress lined the whole floor up to the front bucket
seats. The windows were blacked out and the inside walls were lined with black
carpet. Oh, ick. All it needed was some leopard-print cushions and a disco
ball.
It would seem
that black was a common theme throughout Chris’s van, and the colour matched
his mood.
Chris slammed the
back shut. Viewing time was over.
I half expected
him to say, “Let’s get this show on the road,” or “We’re burning daylight,” but
instead I got a rather lacklustre, “Get in.”
Yep! Three long
days.
About the Author:
C.J Duggan is a Number One Best Selling Australian Author who lives with her husband in a rural border town of New South Wales, Australia. When she isn’t writing books about swoony boys and 90’s pop culture you will find her renovating her hundred-year-old Victorian homestead or annoying her local travel agent for a quote to escape the chaos.
The Boys of Summer is Book One in her highly successful Mature Young Adult Romance Series.
The Boys of Summer is Book One in her highly successful Mature Young Adult Romance Series.
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