Overdrive Read Online Free PDF Page A

!”
    If that’s Matias, I already like him. My Spanish might be rusty, but I’m pretty sure he’s just called Nick an asshole.
    Nick tosses the controller and grunts. “Think you can do better?”
    The two of them are stretched out on a leather sofa that floats in the middle of the room. An antique jukebox in the corner pumps out a Maroon 5 tune, while Chelsea hip-checks the right side of a pinball machine into submission. The overhead light flashes, sirens wail. She fist-pumps the air. “Take that!”
    Matias leans forward to push the reset button on the Xbox. Need for Speed splashes onto the screen, the intro music drowning out a crooning Adam Levine.
    â€œCheck this.” Matias’s thumbs work in tandem to move a Lamborghini onto the virtual track. “Control. Vision. Determination. These are the fundamental components of a race car dri—”
    Nick snorts. “Fuck you, man.”
    To my left, a small stage backs up against a wall cluttered with framed photos—The Doors, Jim Morrison, a bunch of famous people I barely recognize. My eyes are drawn to an autographed picture of an actress who looks vaguely familiar. She’s stunning.
    Beneath the collage, a pink karaoke machine blink-blink-blinks, like a slot machine at the Flamingo.
    Ugh. I’m so not into this.
    I start to back away when Chelsea traps me in one of her high beams. “Jules!”
    Busted.
    â€œGuys, Jules is here!”
    Matias shifts around on the sofa and grins. Loose, dark brown curls frame his naturally bronzed skin. “Mat,” he says, raising the controller over his head in a half-wave of introduction.
    Nick doesn’t bother acknowledging me, and for some reason it stings.
    â€œNeed for Speed,” I say, a weak attempt at conversation. I hate how awkward this is. “I’m more of a Grand Theft Auto girl.”
    Nick mutters under his breath. “Shocker.”
    My stomach clenches.
    Chelsea waves her hand in dismissal. “Ignore Mr. Grumpy Pants over there. He doesn’t like to lose.” After an exaggerated eye roll that suggests boys-will-be-boys, she motions to the pinball machines spaced evenly against the wall. “Wanna play? We’ve got the classics—like Pac-Man, baby—and a few newer games.” She clucks her tongue with mock cockiness. “Currently, I’m kicking the crap out of Lara Croft. This Tomb Raider chick’s got nothing on me.”
    â€œYou probably rigged the machine,” Mat calls out over his shoulder.
    â€œThat’s more your style,” Chelsea quips.
    I wet my lips, hesitating. “Think I’ll just go to bed. I’m kind of beat.”
    â€œDon’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Nick says.
    Anger shoots through me. “What’s your fucking problem?”
    I spin around to glare at him, but his eyes are glued to the TV, stony profile unwavering. The Lamborghini crashes and explodes in a ball of flame. Mat tosses the controller aside with disgust.
    Nick retrieves it and grins. “So much for waxing my ass, pendejo ,” he says, with an emphasis on the slang. God, what a dick.
    A handful of popcorn kernels fall from Mat’s lap when he stands. He slaps Nick on the back. “You win this time, pajero .”
    I cup my hand over my mouth. “Did you just call him a masturbator?”
    Nick freezes, looks back, and scowls. “Up yours, bro.”
    The two launch into a friendly push and shove war, punctuated by insults and laughter. I deflect a pang of jealousy with the acceptance that I’ll probably never fit in with these guys. Clearly I’m not gaining any mileage with Nick. Not that it should matter.
    Chelsea comes closer. “Emma fall asleep okay?”
    â€œZonked as soon as her head hit the pillow.”
    â€œRoger went all out on that room,” she says.
    There’s a wink in her voice but I don’t like the implication. Emma’s