Page 13 of Dotted Lines (Runaway 5)

Anywhere with you. “I don’t care. I’m up for whatever.”

“How about the movie theater?”

“Last time we tried to sneak in we got caught. And you got into a fight.”

“That guy was a fucking asshole, Clara. He shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

It hadn’t been a big deal. The theater manager had taken my arm and pulled me toward the exit. He’d literally been trying to throw me out.

Except the moment he’d touched me, Karson had exploded. He’d punched the manager so fast I’d barely registered his fist flying through the air before the loud crack of knuckles hitting jawbone.

As the manager had collapsed onto the floor, another employee, a tall, lanky kid, had rushed Karson. Those two had shoved and grappled and traded a couple of hits until Karson had landed another solid punch to the nose—I’d never seen a nose gush so much blood. But it had been enough for us to get away before the cops had shown up.

Karson’s eye had been bruised for a couple of days. It wasn’t the first black eye he’d gotten, and again, I doubted it would be the last. I worried most about the fights he got into when none of us were there to drag him home.

He protected us. But who protected him?

“We’ll go to another theater,” he said.

“That’s a long walk.”

“We’ve got nothing else to do. Besides . . .” Karson reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “This time

we’ll pay.”

“No, don’t waste it.” I pushed at his arm, urging him to put the cash away. I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing it and coming after him. Not that there was anyone around to see. The two of us were alone on the road.

“It’s settled. We’ll go to a movie. And I’ll have the prettiest girl in the universe in the seat beside me.”

I blushed and elbowed him in the ribs. “Flirt.”

“With you? Always.”

If only that flirting meant something.

It was pointless to argue—and I really wanted to see a movie—so I let Karson treat me to an afternoon of fun. Of normalcy.

In a dark theater, we weren’t a couple of runaway teens who ate popcorn by the fistful because at our home there was no such thing as a microwave. Or asked for extra ice in our shared Coke because both ice and Coke were scarcities.

We were just Karson and Clara. A hot guy. And the girl who wished he saw her as more than a friend.

Still, by the time we left the theater, my smile felt permanent.

We talked about the movie the entire way home, our favorite lines and the twist at the end that Karson had seen coming but I hadn’t. Evening was upon us by the time the junkyard came into view, which was good since I liked to be back by dark. So did Aria. Unless it was absolutely necessary, we didn’t take late shifts and were home before sunset.

“That was fun,” Karson said as we walked through the gate.

“Thank you.” I smiled up at him and soaked in that handsome face. The strong jaw. The straight nose. The high cheekbones. In my romance novels, the heroes always had those traits, and Karson was most definitely my kind of hero.

“Thanks for hanging with me today.” He nudged his arm against mine, escorting me to the truck. “Even if I let you win at cards.”

“Whatever.” I swatted him back.

He chuckled.

The noise must have drawn Aria’s attention because she poked her head out of the truck. “There you are. You didn’t leave a note.”

“Shoot. Sorry.” I winced. We always left notes if our plans changed. It wasn’t like we could text on our nonexistent phones.