Free Exiled by Rashelle Workman

his food, giving him a sexy smile. He smiled back, glad for a momentary distraction. When she left, he put a large bite of burger in his mouth. Phillips offered him another drink. He helped himself to more and then some more.
    By the time his food was gone and the flask emptied, Michael had a good buzz going.
    “Party at AnnaBeth’s tonight,” Davids said, his words slurred. “You in?”
    “You know it!” No way he wanted to give up his buzz. He wondered if Venus would be going, which irked him. He knew Vinny usually never missed a party. He couldn’t help but give a quick glance in her direction again. This time, to his shocked dismay, Cheverly sat in the booth, next to Venus and across from the guy who’d been wearing those weird clothes. Though they’d split up, Chev sitting with Vinny annoyed him.
    Chev peeked his way, her face sad. He watched her try to smile. Michael knew that look. Chev wanted to talk. He grinned back, which pissed him off. He’d decided he hated her. Hated Venus. Hated everyone! “I’m outta here. See you at the party.” Michael paid and bolted into the windy night.
    It hadn’t snowed yet, but it would any day now.
    As he walked to his car, he heard light footfalls following. When he turned, there stood Cheverly, her midnight hair blowing everywhere.
    “What do you want?” he snarled.
    “We need to talk. Can I drive?” The words came out tentative, but he knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d been drinking, and Michael knew she didn’t like it. Chev never participated. It’d been an attribute he secretly admired about her, even though everyone else called her a prude.
    “You know I won’t let anyone drive Red but me.” Most of the anger had fizzled out of him. Michael figured he should let Chev drive. Red was his baby. A 1968 completely restored Corvette. He adored his car—bathed her, rubbed her down, glossed her, changed her—you name it, he did it.
    “Don’t be a donkey-butt. You’re drunk. You want her wrecked?”
    “Fine,” he grumbled and tossed Chev the keys. The alcohol had smoothed the edges and he wasn’t in the mood to argue.

13 . Cruising For Bruising
     
    They were travelling southbound on South Greeley Highway, heading toward Terry Ranch Road. AnnaBeth’s house sat on three acres and wasn’t too far from the Colorado border. Michael felt his eyes droop as they passed the Big Country Speedway. Giant floodlights lit up the arena. He ignored the high-pitched whining of the racing cars and focused on the roads yellow stripes. Neither he nor Chev spoke, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts.
    All of a sudden Cheverly slammed on the brakes, whipping Michael forward against his seatbelt.
    “What the hell, Chev?”
    Smooth and unwavering, she said, “Holy cheese, what an idiotic truck driver.”
    Michael knew his mouth hung open. He was stunned by Chev’s calm demeanor.
    She gave him a quick glance and then said, to the back end of the semi truck, “I’m not going to flip you off. I’m not going to honk my horn . . .” She flicked on the left blinker and sped into the left lane. “. . . I’m just going to drive on by.” And she did, completely disregarding the semi truck that had pulled in front of them.
    Michael, on the other hand, did flip him off. “Asshole,” he shouted. Then to Cheverly, “You handled that . . . well. If anything happened to Red . . . or us, I’d have been peeved.”
    “Thanks. Glad nothing happened to your car . . . or us.” She giggled. “Staying relaxed in stressful situations helps keep me sane.”
    By the gleam in her eyes, he knew she meant more than this moment. She was talking about yesterday, too. Her, Vinny and their botched anniversary date. Those thoughts made him realize he needed more alcohol—needed to be numb.
    “Nothing happened between Vinny and me,” she began.
    “I don’t want to talk about it.” He peered out into the darkness, his head resting against the cool window.
    “We