From acclaimed author Katie McGarry comes an explosive new tale of a good girl with a reckless streak, a street-smart guy with nothing to lose, and a romance forged in the fast lane
The girl with straight As, designer clothes and the perfect life—that’s who people expect Rachel Young to be. So the private-school junior keeps secrets from her wealthy parents and overbearing brothers…and she’s just added two more to the list. One involves racing strangers down dark country roads in her Mustang GT. The other? Seventeen-year-old Isaiah Walker—a guy she has no business even talking to. But when the foster kid with the tattoos and intense gray eyes comes to her rescue, she can’t get him out of her mind.
Isaiah has secrets, too. About where he lives, and how he really feels about Rachel. The last thing he needs is to get tangled up with a rich girl who wants to slum it on the south side for kicks—no matter how angelic she might look.
But when their shared love of street racing puts both their lives in jeopardy, they have six weeks to come up with a way out. Six weeks to discover just how far they’ll go to save each other.
Crash into You
Katie McGarry
www.miraink.co.uk
Praise for
Katie McGarry
bestselling author of
PUSHING THE LIMITS
‘The love story of the year’ —Teen Now
‘A real page-turner’ —Mizz
‘A romance with a difference’ —Bliss
‘McGarry details the sexy highs, the devastating lows, and the real work it takes to build true love’
—Jennifer Echols
‘A riveting and emotional ride’
—Simone Elkeles
‘Highly recommend to fans of hard-hitting, edgy, contemporary and to anyone who loves a smouldering, sexy, consuming love story to boot!’
—Jess Hearts Books Blog
‘McGarry is definitely a YA author to keep an eye out for.’
—Choose YA Blog
Also available
PUSHING THE LIMITS
CROSSING THE LINE (eBook novella)
DARE YOU TO
Coming soon
TAKE ME ON
Find out more about Katie McGarry at www.miraink.co.uk and join the conversation on Twitter @MIRAInk or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MIRAInk
KATIE McGARRY was a teenager during the age of grunge and boy bands and remembers those years as the best and worst of her life. She is a lover of music, happy endings and reality television, and is a secret University of Kentucky basketball fan. She is also the author of Pushing the Limits, Dare You To and the novella Crossing the Line.
Katie would love to hear from her readers. Contact her via her website, katielmcgarry.com, follow her on Twitter @KatieMcGarry, or become a fan on Facebook and Goodreads.
Contents
Title Page
Praise for Katie McGarry
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Acknowledgments
Teaser
Take Me On Excerpt
Playlist for Crash Into You
Q&A with Katie McGarry
Dare You To Excerpt
End Pages
Chapter 1
Isaiah
ELEVEN YEARS, TWO MONTHS, SEVEN days.
The last time I had physical contact with a blood relative.
The fingers of my left hand drum against the steering wheel and my right hand grips the stick shift. The urge to shift into First, slam the gas and hightail it out of the dismal gray parking lot pulses through my veins.
I force my stiff fingers to release the gear stick. Music could take the edge off, but the bass from the speakers vibrates in a way that could draw attention to my car hiding in the employee-only lot. From here, I can watch the visitors enter and exit the social services building.
Ninety minutes ago, my mother walked in. Now I need to see her walk out. With each intake of cold air, the itch to leave grows. So does the itch to meet her.
The heater died a half hour ago, and the engine stalled twice. A few more things to fix on the growing list. In need of a new resistor, the heater will be a cheap fix.
My cell rings. Without checking the caller ID, I know who it is, yet I answer anyway. “Yeah.”
“I see you.” Annoyance thickens my social worker’s Southern accent. “She’s waiting.”
My eyes flicker to the corner windows close to her cubicle and six feet from my car. Courtney draws the shades and places a hand on her hip. Her ponytail swings from side to side like she’s a pissed-off racehorse. Fresh out of college, she was assigned my case back in June. I guess her boss figured she couldn’t jack me up more than I already am.
“I told you not to schedule a visitation.” I stare at her as if we were in the same room. What I like about Courtney? She stares back. She’s one of three people who have the guts to hold eye contact with an inked seventeen-year-old with a shaved head and earrings. The second one is my best friend. The third...well, the third was the girl I loved.
Courtney sighs and the ponytail stills. “It’s Christmas Eve, Isaiah. She showed early and brought you presents. She’s waited patiently for a thirty-minute visitation that should have ended forty minutes ago.”
Waited. Patiently. My neck tightens and I roll it from side to side to keep from blowing steam at the wrong person. “Ten years.”
I throw those two words at her every time she mentions my mother. Courtney drops her chin to her throat. “Don’t do this. She had her reasons, and she wants to talk to you.”
I raise my voice and pound my hand against the steering wheel. “Ten years!”
“It could have been fifteen, but she was a model prisoner,” she says, as if that was a concession on Mom’s part. “She wrote you once a week.”
I glare at Courtney through the windshield. “Then be her social worker if you’re up her damn ass so much. She’s been out for over a year and she’s just now coming to visit.”
“Isaiah,” she says with defeat. “Come in. Give her a chance.”
I place one foot on the clutch and the other on the gas. My engine roars with anger and the car’s frame vibrates with the need to run. Third Street ends at the social services building and my parking spot gives me a straight shot to the clear strip of road. Give Mom a chance? Why should I? When have I been given one?