Damage Control

CHAPTER 2

I look at the gigantic bouquet of red roses in front of me then to the boy holding it with anticipation and say the first thing that comes to mind, "No."

Brooklyn groans and slumps back in the car seat. His expression that of a bored, narcissistic a-hole who has all the time in the world to preposition a random girl with the kind of stunt that could serve us some prison time. He lets out a heavy sigh and straightens up, turning towards me with a scowl.

"What do you mean no? Have you not been listening to me for the past 15 minutes? It's the perfect scheme to get out this mess."

I bring up a finger between us and point it at him. "You mean your mess. You dragged me into this shit with your idiotic, machiavellian stunt. Now it's blown over epic proportions just because you sent the wrong signals to a lunatic."

"What?" the guy has the audacity to look offended. He shakes his head. "Excuse me baby, but it takes two to tango. And I remember you cozying up to me when Brianna started shrieking. If it weren't for that, then maybe she wouldn't have taunted me."

"Are you seriously being petty right now? I did no such thing. I only arranged myself properly when your red-haired fiery girlfriend started acting like a total psycho. And excuse me too baby, but weren't you the one telling everyone in the party that I was your freaking girlfriend!"

I feel myself getting hot and bothered. And not the pleasurable kind. The annoyed, irritated and angry type of blush red that will start on my neck and creep slowly into my face until I look like a blonde tomato. My pale complexion doesn't give much leeway to make it less obvious. Mischa tells me it gives a shy-girl vibe but the way Brooklyn is staring with his eyebrows raised high says otherwise.

He slaps his big palm on my forehead. "Are you having a heat stroke? Your face is all red."

I muffle a scream and whack his hand away. "No, I'm not having a stroke! But with the way this encounter is going, I'll either end up in jail for killing you or in a hospital for passing out because of your stupidity!"

"Jesus, don't get your panties in a twist." He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, I get it. You're not keen on doing this play with me. Sure, whatever. But we've got a tiny, itsy-bitsy problem."

With the way his voice lowered at the end of the sentence only means it's not the kind of problem you can solve by shaking hands. It didn't sound promising. In fact, everything that spewed out from his mouth since he carnapped me didn't make any sense. My skin breaks out in a sweat.

"Brooklyn, what did you do?"

"I told my father we're dating."

"Wha—"

"And your father happened to be in his office while I said it."

Son of a bi—

"So by default, I kind of told your father, too."

What did this megalomaniac just say? He told his father we were dating? He told my father?

Wait, back the fuck up. He told my father?

He groans. "Yes, your father. Repeating it doesn't make it any less true."

Oh god, I think I'm going to have a panic attack.

The space in the car gets smaller, my chest becoming tight with the lack of air. I blink rapidly and try to gather my wits together. My hands curl into fists on my lap. I close my eyes and even out my breathing. My thoughts start to race.

Maybe this is all just a nightmare? And any minute now I'm going to wake up in my room and realize that none of this happened. It was just all in my head.