Read Pieces of Me for Free Online Page B

              “I didn't think so.”
              “So what exactly are we talking about here? A Schwinn?”
              In this chaotic room with warm bodies flailing around, the potent smell of every kind of alcohol you can imagine mixed in with sweat, overpowering cologne, and perfume surrounds us. The co-eds who have lost all sense of reason due to raging hormones and drunken stupidity are flirting loudly. Some are even practically fornicating on the dance floor, but despite the sensory overload and distractions, Holden stands out in the room like a smiling beacon.              
              And he's staring at me like nothing else matters. I don't know why, but I'm thinking it must be the dress. I immediately regret not fighting Olivia on the whole jacket thing. I feel naked and exposed and I want to go home now more than ever.
              “Aria?” His smooth voice breaks through my thoughts. “Are you okay?”
              “Sorry, um, distracted. What were you saying?”
              “We were establishing that you are not, in fact, a biker chick.”
              “Um, yeah, I mean—no, I'm not. It's a Schwinn.” I think about the brand new Subaru sitting in the same spot my dad parked it in nearly a month ago and I feel embarrassed not for the first time that I can't make myself sit in the driver's seat. “I mean, I do have a car but—”
              “Is it broke-down or something? I'm not an expert by any means, but I know the basics. I used to spend every summer when I was growing up with my Gran and Gramps. He had a thing for old cars. He was constantly restoring them. He taught me a thing or two—”
              “I don't need to hear your whole life story,” I interrupt.
              “Yeah, sorry, I tend to ramble when I get nervous. My whole point is that I can take a look at it if you want?” He shrugs nervously and I feel bad for snapping at him. There's really no reason for me to be rude to him—he's just making conversation.
              “No, I mean, it's fine. Drives great.” I assume so anyway.  “I just prefer riding my bike. Doing my part to cut down the air pollution and all.”
              “How green of you,” he says with a smirk. “Can I at least walk you?”
              “It's not far.”
              “I insist. It's dark and you're awfully little—how tall are you? Four-foot-nine?” Holden grins.
              “Five-foot-one and a half thank you very much.”
              “Exactly, you're tiny. Easy mugging target,” he says seriously.
              “And how do I know you aren't some crazy serial killer?” I narrow my eyes suspiciously at him.
              “Do I look like a serial killer to you?”
              “I’m sure that’s exactly what Ted Bundy said right before he lured his unsuspecting victims to a secluded location as well.”
              “Did you seriously just compare me to Ted Bundy?”
              I shrug noncommittally.
              “Well, then. I guess you have to decide whether ice cream is worth the risk that I might be a serial killer.”
              I eye him carefully before saying, “I think I'll pass. But thanks.”
              “Shot down again,” he mocks disbelief. Or maybe he really is in disbelief. I can’t imagine that he gets turned down very often. “You’re killing me, Smalls”
              “Um, sorry?” I offer apathetically. What does he want me to say?
              “You sure don't crack easily,” he says thoughtfully, “But it's okay, I can be patient.”