The Space Within (The Book of Phoenix #3) by Kristie Cook

loved my canary yellow Camaro. I’d wanted one since I was twelve, but my parents had given me a boring BMW for my Sweet Sixteen instead. Mom thought it would be safer for me. Exactly why it was boring. I mean, I was grateful to have anything with wheels, of course, but my heart had longed for the sports car. They bought the Camaro for me not too long ago. A make-up gift of sorts. The only one I’d actually accepted. And then I left them in it, not planning to see them ever again. The car still held a lot of value, which meant I could buy myself an old beater and have enough money remaining to survive another several months. Surely by then I’d have found a real job.
    “Yeah, sure,” I finally said, and with a sinking heart, I told him where to meet me.
    As much as I hated giving her up, this plan was definitely better than going home.
    A few hours later, I sat in my car in a busy public parking lot, wondering if it was the last time I’d be doing so. I stroked her black dashboard and leather seats as if she were a puppy I was about to give away and not an inanimate object whose main purpose was to get me from Point A to Point B. She’d been more than that for me, though—the only thing I could depend on for months. An Audi, not unlike the BMW I’d had before but black and a little sportier looking, pulled up next to me. If that was any indication, then the caller likely had the finances to buy my girl. My heart sank further—I’d kind of been hoping he was only window-shopping—but then it did a strange little skip when the two guys climbed out.
    The dark-haired, more muscular one who’d emerged from the driver’s side looked at me and smiled with the same familiarity I felt.
    “Asia, right?” he asked. Shit. He remembered my name? That was impressive. Especially since I couldn’t remember his. He must have realized this. “Brock Verdor. Hope Verdor’s son?”
    Oh, geez, how did I forget that?
    “That’s right,” I said, grinning and nodding like an idiot.
    “This is Brandon,” Brock said, nodding at his friend with the shaggy, strawberry-blond hair who was already circling my car.
    “Hey,” he muttered distractedly. “This car is sick.”
    Brock walked around the back of his Audi to stand next to me and shoved his hands into his khaki shorts pockets. “I can’t believe you’re selling it.”
    “Yeah, well, I don’t have a choice,” I said, but I suddenly couldn’t bring myself to say I needed the money. My brain spun for a reason that wasn’t as embarrassing. Well, not so much embarrassing as an admission of defeat. I guess I didn’t want him thinking that his mom and the job she’d never offered had anything to do with my situation. “I need something that gets better gas mileage.”
    “Can I get in?” Brandon asked as he stood at the driver’s side, his hand already on the handle.
    “Of course,” I said with a nod. “Go ahead and move the seat back, if you can. I kind of have a lot of stuff back there.”
    Brandon chuckled when he inspected the back seat. “Yeah, you do. There aren’t any holes in the leather back there, are there?”
    I scowled. “No! She’s practically brand new, and I take excellent care of her! If you want to take everything out to see for yourself, feel free.”
    Brock had walked closer to the car, leaned his arms on the roof, and hung his head over the window while his friend made himself comfortable in my seat. I mean, in the driver’s seat.
    “Damn,” Brock said, “you lucky son of a bitch. You know this is what I wanted.”
    Brandon grinned as he gripped the steering wheel, and he looked over his right shoulder. “There’s plenty of room back there. You could have done it. But you snooze, you lose. This one’s mine.”
    “The keys are in the ignition. Feel free to turn her over,” I said, my voice thick through my tight throat. He was already claiming my girl.
    Brock’s head ducked down as he seemed to inspect the interior closer. A V