LITMIR.BIZ

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hides raw passion. I hope Fahrenbacher has figured it out, too.

      “Friend?” Fahrenbacher raises his eyebrows, his expression disbelieving. “Have you started slumming?”

      In a movement too fast to follow, Tyler slams him up against my old truck. It happens so quickly, I barely have time to process what’s happening.

      “Fight,” a pimply-faced freshman sings out. Most of the students are already in their cars or out of the parking lot. The ones left come running.

      “Tyler, let him go.” I tug at his arm. Taut muscles beneath my hand quiver and jump.

      “You owe her an apology.”

      “She’s going to be waiting a long time,” Fahrenbacher spits out. “Now let me go before I tear your freaking head off.”

      The students around us quiet and quickly disperse. It can only mean one thing. I glance around and see Mr. Myers, the basketball coach, striding toward us. “It’s Mr. Myers.”

      Tyler drops his hand and takes a reluctant step back.

      Fahrenbacher straightens and pulls away from the truck. He raises his chin and straightens his collar in typical male fashion.

      “What’s going on here?” Mr. Myers stares at the boys suspiciously. He’s tall and rangy, and wears his light brown hair cropped close to his head, his blue striped shirt tucked neatly into khaki pants.

      “Just changing Piper’s tire.” Tyler’s easy smile is firmly in place. He squats down, picks up the jack, and slides it under the seat.

      “I suggest you all quit loitering in the parking lot. Fahrenbacher.” He shifts toward Fahrenbacher, his gaze level.

      “Just leaving.” His shoulder slams against Tyler as he strides away.

      Tyler’s eyes spark and his jaw hardens, but only for a second. He calls in a casual voice after Fahrenbacher, “I’ll catch you later.”

      Fahrenbacher stops and looks back, his expression full of menace. “I’m counting on it.” He stomps to his car, guns the motor, and drives away. Once out of the parking lot, he squeals the tires and peels out.

      “Tyler.”

      “Yes, Mr. Myers?”

      “Whatever issues you’ve got with Fahrenbacher, keep it off school grounds.” He pauses before he adds, “Watch your back.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Mr. Myers turns and trots back toward the school building.

      Tyler and I stare at each other.

      “You be careful.” I pluck at a piece of lint on my pants. Not that it’s noticeable in the baggy creases.

      “You be careful.”

      Before I realize what he means to do, Tyler reaches out, grabs my shoulders, and gives me a light shake. His touch electrifies.

      I stare at him, mute, before common sense returns. I step away and he drops his hands. I wonder if he felt that current of electricity, too. By the way his eyes darken, I suspect he has.

      My gaze wanders to his mouth. If such a light touch has this effect, what would those delectable-looking lips be like? My breath catches, appalled at the direction my thoughts take.

      He clears his throat. “I can take care of myself. But you are so tiny a good breeze could blow you away.”

      I lift my chin. “You couldn’t possibly know that.”

      “Those edgy cheekbones don’t show on someone buried in fat.”

      “My glasses hide my face.” I touch my cheeks, self-conscious.

      “Unless you happen to be looking from the side.” He grins.

      “Why are you looking at all?” I shoot back.

      “Damned if I know. It’s certainly not your winning personality and I have no idea about your looks.” He grins as he gives me a once over. “You look like you’re in disguise.”

      His grin lights me up inside. I fight off its effect. “It’s not a disguise. It’s me.” It’s all I can do not to gag. This? Me? Ha!

      “Are you going out on the boat with me tomorrow?” He shifts his weight just as he shifts his conversation, catching me off guard.

      “I already told you, no, I’m not. And, I repeat, you shouldn’t either.”

      “If you change your mind, call me.” He rattles off his number before he ambles away.

      Mentally, I toss up my hands. Why do I bother?

      Chapter 6

      Sunlight filters through the blinds. I roll out of bed, pad to the window, and draw them up, blinking in the bright light. Raising the window, I sniff the breeze. Beneath dazzling sunlight, I smell the storm. By the pressure in my head, it’s going to be a doozy. The doctor blames the pain on sinuses. I know better.

      I reach for my cell on the nightstand and call Holly. She gave me her number when we were doing the girlie thing over lattes. The phone goes to voice mail. I glance at the clock. Eight AM. She must still be sleeping. Maybe Tyler changed his mind.

      I let the blinds drop. Still dressed in the pink boxer shorts and white French tee I slept in, I head for the kitchen. The rich scent of brewed coffee beans tickles my senses as I wander into the cheery yellow room.

      “Hi, Hon.” The papers rattle but Gramps doesn’t look up. He sits at the pine table, a mug of steaming coffee at his elbow. A coffee ring stains the tablecloth.

      I pull out a white cup and bowl, pour myself a cup of coffee, fill the bowl with milk and cereal, and sit down.

      Gramps folds his paper and drops it on the table. “You’re on your own for dinner. I’m taking a couple of tourists out.”

      “Better not, Gramps. Squall’s coming in.” I spoon a mouthful of crunchy flakes into my mouth.

      “Crap, I was saving for a trip to Jamaica.” He gives a disgusted sigh, pushes the chair back, and stands up. He doesn’t argue. He never has. He trusts my instincts implicitly.

      I grin. Gramps has been saving for that Jamaican trip ever since I can remember.

      “Should I batten down the hatches?”

      “Wouldn’t hurt anything.” My head’s pounding like a drum. Even the coffee doesn’t help. The storm’s going to be bad.

      “I guess I better let my old buddies know my arthritic knee is acting up. They’ll spread the word.”

      I nod and scoop up my cereal. Gramps’ knee is legend. The number of times it has been right has garnered him respect in the fishing community.

      I swallow my cereal and clear my throat. “If you see that new boy at the docks, you might let him know.”

      “Tyler Carlisle?”

      I lift my gaze from my bowl. “You know him?”

      “He likes the water,” Gramps says simply. “I’ve run into him a time or two.”

      “Nothing gets past my grandparent.” I raise my cup to him.

      “Not if it has to do with the water. I’ll be on the wharf, anyway. I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

      “Thanks, Gramps.” My tight muscles relax.

      “Nice-looking young man.” He picks up his cup and sips. His eyes above the rim twinkle.

      Heat surges in my cheeks. “I hadn’t noticed.”

      “Huh.” His head bobs up and down as if surprised, but his lips twitch. He sets down his cup. “Well, I better get to the wharf and let everyone know what my

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