Free Havoc by Jeff Sampson Page A

street came a steady, thudding, muffled beat. Dalton. Still in the car, waiting for me. Only now he had his fancy sound system on full blast. I saw him through the window, banging his head, waving his hands around to pound on invisible drums.
    I grinned and stalked toward the car. I rounded to the passenger side and opened the door, freeing the music. It was louder than I’d expected, so much that I couldn’t even recognize what was actually playing. I cringed, but quickly leaped into the passenger seat and slammed the car door shut. Last thing I needed was a neighbor or my parents stepping outside and catching me sneaking off with a guy. That would certainly dampen the evening, and I was so not down with damp.
    Dalton didn’t notice I’d come back. His eyes were closed, and he was singing in an off-key, high-pitched voice, his head bopping up and down, his fists lunging back and forth. I rolled my eyes, then reached forward and turned down the volume until it wasn’t at a decibel level that would destroy small children’s eardrums.
    Dalton snapped his head toward me, a dark look on his face. But it lasted only a moment—he breathed in, inhaling all of me, and his face softened.
    Awesome.
    â€œYou trying to see if you can literally make your speakers explode?” I asked. “Or did you get shot in the part of your brain that processes sound?”
    Dalton boomed a laugh, sounding a lot like his ass of a father. He pounded his palms against the steering wheel and jumped up and down in his seat. “It’s music, man!” he said. “I love it loud. I love it pounding inside me till my heart wants to explode. Love it!” He slammed his hands so hard against the steering wheel that it knocked itself into a new position.
    â€œWhoa there, Sparky, I get it, you like music.” I pressed down on his shoulder until he stopped bouncing. “You miss your dose of Ritalin?”
    He looked at me, shaking with barely contained energy. “Nah, you don’t get it, Emily,” he said. “It always has to be quiet at my house. I put my earbuds in when I’m lifting, but it’s not the same as having it all around you. It makes me want to—” He stopped, shook his head. “This is awesome. I feel strong as hell right now. Feel this.”
    He unzipped his jacket, flung it off, then flexed his right bicep. It bulged like there was a boulder beneath his skin. His veins pulsed across it.
    â€œCome on, feel it,” he urged.
    I shrugged. “All right.” I poked the muscle with my finger. And it didn’t just look like a rock—it felt like one. His skin was smooth and warm. I let my hand linger, caressing his arm, enjoying the feel of a strong boy showing off to try and impress me.
    A memory of Spencer popped into my head. Short, slender, muscle-less Spencer grinning at me, his messy brown hair falling into his eyes. A pang of guilt flashed through me, and I yanked my hand away, scowling.
    Dalton nodded at me, grinning wide. “Right? Right? I could punch through a steel wall right now!”
    â€œWell, don’t,” I said. “Was your whole goal of getting me down here to make me feel your muscles? Because, hate to break it to you, but I’m not into you like that.”
    It was true, even though I despised admitting it. I was Nighttime. Boys were there to entertain me, not make me get all fluttery like Daytime whenever Spencer popped up. Still, Spencer was my mate . Dalton most certainly wasn’t. It was supposed to just be me and Spencer, Spencer and me, and—
    What was this romantic nonsense? Was boring Emily seeping into my Nighttime fabulousness? Or was it Wolftime, getting all hormonal?
    Screw that.
    Dalton lowered his arm, his face dark again.
    â€œLook, your muscles are great, Dalton,” I said. “But I have better things to do than sit here all night and play doctor.”
    â€œWhat’s the plan?”