Here's the scene where Lucas meets Tara, his new neighbor, for the first time:
My lucky stars must’ve aligned in my alternate universe. The mystery goddess
was catching rays and reading on her eReader on her front lawn. Bookworm? Girls I used to date only read
fashion and gossip rags. Her gazed alighted on me, zipped away, head bowed as
if she were studying her purple toenails. I climbed out of the Lexus, practicing
my most suave moves. My disjointed efforts backfired big time as my knee
buckled and I banged my arm on the open door catching my balance. Stars
flickered in my vision as I rubbed my elbow.
“School out already?” Her voice carried to me, sultry and hot enough to
melt chocolate. The breeze tousled her hair and she made no attempt to smooth
it down.
Wow. My tongue got all tied up
for the first time ever. I wanted my initial words to be epic. Stupid Epic
refused to emerge from the brain sludge. I strolled over to where she sat Indian
style on the new lawn in a loose black T-shirt and baggy cargo shorts. “I need
to meet the tow to snag my car.”
“Bummer about your Camaro.” Lacking any grace, she stumbled to her feet,
brushing grass off the rear of her white shorts, seeming not to care about
grass stains. Most girls I knew would’ve beelined it for the closet. Strangely,
I liked that she didn’t care. “I’m Tara Harrison,” she added. She sipped green
gunk out of a clear plastic cup.
Her name jingled a distant bell. Dad probably mentioned the family to me
during my Summer of Delirium—in honor of Silver, my moniker for the worst
summer of my life. The parentals used to visit my hospital room and babble
about nothing. The pits of despair kept me from remembering much.
My gaze traveled from Tara’s bare feet to her blonde-streaked brunette
hair. Weird flutters plagued my stomach. A freakishly intense need to move
closer to her kept my feet rooted to the new sod in a fierce battle. “Lucas
Alexander. I live next door.”
“I figured as much.”
Feeling the idiot gene sprout, I mentally kicked myself. We traded an
easy laugh, and I resisted the urge to scratch my itchy facial scars.
“You have awesome eyes. Like spring grass.” A blush colored her neck,
flushed down her chest.
“Uh, thanks.” Total moron reply. Man, everything had changed after the
accident. My defective brain couldn’t keep up with the new Lucas Alexander.
“Do you play football?” A breeze kicked up, and Tara brushed a lock of
glittery hair off her eyelashes.
Several disconcerted moments slipped by before I realized I wore my
football team polo, the first shirt my hands snagged in the closet that morning.
Regret radiated through me. I attempted to unclench my locked jaw. Time to bite
the bullet. Beranger told me every time I discussed the tragedy, it’d get easier to tackle. Those hundred bucks an hour weren’t
a total waste. That piece of advice was worth a bill.
“Used to,” I mumbled, honing in on a beetle crashing into the damp grass.
“Did I say—” Her eyes grew misty. “Oh, I’m sorry. The realtor told us
about the . . . about what happened.”
I waved off her concern. “Where you guys from?”
Her full bottom lip trembled. Honestly, I was glad she’d heard the story.
Saved me from having to download the gruesome details.
