Free 100 Proof Stud (The Darcy Walker Series) by A. J. Lape Page B

the air with electricity. “God help me,” Coach groaned after he swallowed.
    Coach and I met eyes, him frowning deeply at my R-rated thoughts.
    Dylan murmured, “Darcy…”
    Oh, boy, when he addressed me by my first name that meant I should fall in line before he resorted to force. I caved and dutifully got out of my seat, shuffling over to stand in front of his begging-to-be-mauled body. His left shoulder leaned against the doorjamb, right ankle crossed over the other.
    Good enough to eat , I thought.
    Dylan had a body built for bad things. I let out a heavy sigh, wondering why I thought my best friend was better looking today than yesterday, knowing I’d repeat the same confusing phenomenon tomorrow.
    When my attempt to get a smile fizzled, I lifted his stubborn jaw. “Hey,” I grinned.
    He stared.
    I stared.
    Then I knocked him flat…on…his…gorgeous back—figuratively, of course.
    “I need prayer, D. Even I know you shouldn’t fib at Christmas, and I’m trying to live a clean life.”
    Dylan had that look like he’d fallen off the wagon train and got his jeans caught in the hitch. A gutsy move on my part, adding God to the mix—still, I glanced heavenward for a lightning bolt. Dylan repeated what I’d said, actually stuttered on it, looked to the ceiling, but gave up and dropped his jaw. We stood there for a few seconds while he tried to assess whether I’d formed a relationship with the Creator of the Universe or reached an all-time low. See, Dylan was a good Catholic boy—Mass, Lent, all the stuff that showed you truly cared about your final destination. I wasn’t anything except trouble.
    With a sigh, he reached for my hand.
    Coach muttered from behind, “Do you two always act like there’s no one else in the room?”
    The girl to my left sighed dreamily, “Yes.”
    Who in the heck was this chick?
    Dylan released a devilish grin that instantly turned naughty. I had no idea what he thought but found myself fanning a blush. Coach suddenly stood near us, throwing his arm around Dylan’s shoulder, steering him out of the room like he removed a boiling pot from an open fire.
    The bell jingled for the next class, and I knew I had to act quickly before they pulled the plug on my plan. In matters of sin behavior, I was lucky. Things fell into my lap. Seeing this file seemed too much of a coincidence to be coincidental in my world. At least, that’s the story I planned to tell my conscience when it woke me in the middle of the night.
    Realizing he who hesitates is lost, I grabbed my things and shoved Coach’s file into my backpack. My next steps were currently vague, but they involved a little meet-and-greet with the people in this file. My instincts on the guy Tito faxed over to Rookie were bone-deep. If he was from Valley, as Tito’s source claimed, he was either in this file or chances were good those in the file knew of him.
    Smiling at Dylan who’d turned around with a wink, I knew I’d done something I couldn’t undo.
     
    5. The Little Engine that Could
    E very once in a while the planets line up in your favor when you walk into class. The teacher tells you to read for the entire hour. She’s not going to bug you, discipline you, rat you out to higher authorities; she’s simply going to let you find your personal zen and veg. That’s what happened this afternoon in English literature.
    Collette Reynolds had been subbing for our regular English teacher for the past three weeks. She was early twenties and a sex-crazed substitute who always wore a G-string and a skirt three inches too short. Frankly, she deserved an award for defying physics, and it not riding up her butt. Whatever the case, she appeared under the weather. Slumped over her desk, her ash blonde hair had been pulled up in a messy bun overtop one of those red holiday sweaters with a Christmas tree on the front. Making love to a jumbo cup of coffee, she popped Jolly Ranchers and cough drops like she ended a forty-day hunger