A Son of Carver (Carver High #2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

on the floor. “Dad’s waiting for us in the garage.”
    “I told you, I have an assignment I gotta get done tonight.”
    He laughs. “Is it an experiment? How many beers it’ll take before you become useful and get your ass off the couch?”
    I stand and shove my hands into his chest. He might have two years on me but I’ve got three inches and twenty pounds of muscle on him. “I know you’re not capable of fixing an engine on your own but I can’t baby sit you tonight. I’m sure Dad can handle you.”
    My alcohol consumption effects my reflexes and before I know it, he’s got me in a head lock and is giving me a noogie like I’m five. I punch him in the gut and he releases me, pushing his hands into my shoulders with a smile. “Do what you gotta do. Just remember, she’s your baby but I’m gonna be the one driving her next week if you can’t make the time to give her some love,” he says about my Plymouth.
    “Never gonna happen,” I assure him.
    “I wouldn’t bet on it.” With that he walks out the back door.
    Shit. That’s where I should be tonight – in the pole barn working on my car, getting it ready in order to guarantee I’ll come out ahead next week and get some much needed money in my pocket. But nope. Taking photos. With Presley. And without my balls.
    I take a deep breath, trying to dig deep and find some estrogen hidden where my testicles used to be so that I can tolerate, and be tolerable to, Presley. But it’s not working. I don’t have estrogen. And I have two very large balls hanging behind a large cock.
    Ding dong.
    Perfect.
    I stomp over to the door, practically ripping it off its hinges. I’m ready to tell Presley to forget it – I’d rather not graduate, thanks to my missing creative arts credits, then spend another minute with her. But then my eyes focus on the girl standing in front of me.
    It’s not Presley, it can’t be.
    This girl’s smiling. And her lips are pink – not blood red. The large-framed black glasses are missing from her face, as is the large chunk of red-streaked black hair that’s usually covering one entire side of it. And in their place are two very big, very blue, very sexy eyes.
    “What the hell is this?” I mutter, my eyes, trying really hard not to, but running down the length of her body, which they can actually see. I’ve been to The End Zone, so the fact that two large breasts, a tiny waist, curvy hips and thin, toned legs are always hidden under her over-sized black wardrobe is not news to me, but she’s not at The End Zone. And she’s not in her costume. She’s wearing a pair of dark jeans that look painted on and a tight red sweater that, although covering her from waist to neck to wrists, is sexy as hell.
    My eyes make their way back to her face, focusing on her tight smile and eyes that look like they’re trying to not be annoyed, but clearly are. “Hi, Nash. Are you going to invite me in?”
    “Hell, yes. Get your ass in here.”
    She clears her throat and moves her foot through the threshold, looks like with some serious effort on her part. “Thanks for inviting me over.” Her tone is not bitchy like it usually is, but it’s clearly forced. What the hell is she doing?
    “No problem. Are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on?”
    She glances uncomfortably around my house. “I see that you’re having a drink… or several… any way I could get you to offer me one?” she says like a monotone robot.
    “Sure, right after you tell me what the hell you’re up to.”
    “I don’t know what you mean?” she says, batting her lashes at me, which are long and beautiful.
    “Presley… cut the crap.”
    She lets out a disgruntled breath, rolls her eyes, throws her bag down on my couch – followed by her healthy ass – and grabs a can of beer out of the cooler that’s permanently sitting in the middle of my living room. “Summer,” she says with venom in her voice.
    I laugh, grabbing my own beer and joining her on the