Dylan's Point of View
A sleek black sedan idled near Ava and I, engine purring like a satisfied predator. The driver's window rolled open, and leaning casually against it was Derrick. "You need a ride?"
My jaw clenched.
What the hell was he doing here?
My entire posture turned rigid, defensive. Ava looked uneasy too, glancing between Derrick and I like she was trying to read the atmosphere.
"…I really don't mind giving you two a ride. It's no trouble."
My response was immediate and sharp.
"We're fine."
Derrick pushed off the car lightly. "Your car isn't starting. You don't have to be stubborn about it."
I stepped forward, blocking Ava behind me without even realizing it. "I said we're good."
For a moment, neither one of us blinked. Derrick's eyes flicked toward the hood of my car—still open, still dead—then back to me with a small, mocking smile tugging at his lips.
Then Derrick's phone rang.
He stiffened.
