Read Online TORCH by Yvonne Collins, Sandy Rideout - Free Book Online Page A

the hood, as before.
    There is no beauty in this fire. The flames are low and sporadic, although they are doing enough damage to cause smoke to billow from several locations in the massive pile of tires behind Leo’s. Even from here, the faint stench of burning rubber reaches my nostrils.
    A damp, cool breeze makes me zip up my hoodie. The chill only gets worse, and I realize it’s coming from inside me. A cold rush to my head sinks like thick icy sludge to my stomach.
    Kai Seaver. It has to be.
    Reaching into my pocket, I grab my phone and keys, ready to make a getaway before he sees me.
    Too late.
    “Leaving so soon?” he says, coming out of the darkness and hopping onto the hood beside me.
    The fire at Leo’s isn’t throwing off much light, so I direct my phone flashlight at Kai. As before, he’s completely soaked. His track pants are sending rivulets down the hood of my car, and his T-shirt is transparent. I wonder if he wears white on purpose.
    My phone light obviously lingers too long, because he says, “Want a better look?” He pulls off his sodden T-shirt and lets it hit the hood with a wet slap.
    I turn off the light, embarrassed. He must think he’s pretty hot, or I’m pretty desperate. Or both.
    “Thanks,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “I need a good description for the cops. The scar on your shoulder should tag you.”
    He unlaces his shoes, pulls them off with loud suction noises, and drops them to the ground, one by one. Then he peels off his socks. “You’re not going to call the cops.”
    “I will if you keep stripping.”
    “You won’t.” Leaning on his elbows, he lifts his butt and yanks off his sodden track pants.
    “Oh my god,” I say. “You’re disgusting. Get off my car.”
    He laughs, but there’s no real humor in his voice. “I think you’d let me stand on my head naked if it meant I’d talk to you.”
    “Are you kidding me? Exactly how huge is your ego?”
    “Just average. But I know I have something you want.”
    “All I want from you is to get off my car and leave me alone.”
    “You want something,” he says. “I can feel it coming off you in waves.”
    I flick the phone light at him. “You’re the one giving off waves.” I point to the puddle forming around him. “You’re leaking.”
    He smirks. “I'm just excited to see you.”
    Okay, that’s it. If I prolong this discussion, his briefs might come off, too. “I'm leaving before you rust out my car.” I slide off the hood and back toward the driver’s door.
    He jumps down and follows me. I yank on the handle, but he puts a hand on the door to hold it closed. Water drips down his forearm to his elbow and onto my hand. This time I can tell it stings rather than tingles. I try to wipe it off but the palm of my other hand stings, too. “Ow. Are you sweating acid?”
    He stares at me, his eyes pools of black. “If you want answers, drive me down the hill to my car.”
    I'm desperate for answers, but not so desperate that I'll let some psycho into the Jeep. “No way.”
    “Suit yourself."
    He moves his hand, and I jump into the Jeep and lock the door.
    Kai takes his time putting his wet sneakers back on, and then collects his wet clothes off my hood. He walks a few hundred feet down the slope and despite my reservations, I start up the Jeep and follow him. Even with my low beams on, I can still see his cut body perfectly. I’ve seen a lot of very fit guys in skimpy swimsuits and Kai’s beats them all. Although the sneakers seriously reduce the sex appeal.
    He turns, and when I see his lips moving I roll down the window.
    “Stop it,” he calls.
    “Stop what ?”
    “Stop staring at me.”
    How does he know? He doesn’t know. He’s just being a jerk. So I say, “I’ll close my eyes and run you over if that’s what you want.”
    “I mean it,” he says. “I can’t turn off the taps if you’re staring at me like that. You’re frying me.”
    Well, it’s nice to know the discomfort is