Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
“Oh, cool. And your family? Are they local, too?”
His gaze falls to the table as his entire demeanor shifts. “I, uh, I don’t have a family,” he starts. “I grew up in foster care and have been on my own since I aged out of the system.”
“Oh. I’m…Jesus. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” I stammer, heat flushing my skin as embarrassment washes over me.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s fine. I think I’ve fared pretty well despite the cards handed to me. Most kids like me don’t end up in a prestigious university full of rich kids.” His cheeky grin returns, which puts me at ease. “One group home leader once told me that it’s not about where you start but how you finish. Things are rough sometimes, but I work odd jobs here and there to get by.”
Handsome and humble, I think to myself as I sip my latte. “That’s a great way to look at things. It’s inspiring, really.”
“Besides, it’s not too bad. I mean, I managed to bump into a pretty girl and got her to agree to have coffee with me. Sounds like a win to me.”
I laugh and hold up my coffee cup. “I guess we can drink to that!”
My Apple Watch vibrates with text message alerts from my father, and I sigh inwardly. He looks at me from across the table with a knowing grin.
“I guess that’s your cue to head home, huh?” he asks before bringing his cup to his lips.
“I’m sorry. My dad has this event coming up that I’m supposed to be helping with—”
“It’s fine. Maybe we can meet up for coffee another time and skip the collision part this time.”
I giggle as I stood, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. “I’d like that. Do you have a pen or something to take my number down?”
He pulls his phone from his back pocket and opens his contacts. I rattle off my number to him, and he looks up at me.
“You know, I’ve been talking to you this whole time and never even asked your name,” he says.
“It’s Morgan. And you’re….?”
“Trent.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Trent,” I say as a text message with his name comes through on my watch. “And now I have your number as well.”
“Perfect. I guess I’ll be seeing you around, Ms. Morgan,” he says with a smile before he turns and heads in the opposite direction with a parting wave.
“I’m sure you will,” I murmur, mostly to myself. I watch him until I can no longer see him before I head out, a small smile on my face. Maybe today isn’t a complete bust after all.
3
TRENT
Isit in my car in the parking lot, my fingers anxiously drumming against the steering wheel. My encounter with her replays through my mind as I watch her round the corner of the English building and make her way to the parking lot. She’s friendly and open, which is the opposite of what one would expect a potential bomber to be. Nothing in her purse seemed incriminating after I bumped into her, so I’m just as puzzled now as I was when I was observing her earlier.
I’d picked up on a couple of discrepancies during our conversation. She thinks I don’t know anything about her, trying to downplay how popular she really is despite all her social media followers. She tried making it seem as if she was just a rich girl spoiled by her father, but she wouldn’t be on my radar to begin with if that were the case. I’m sure she was cautious with the information she gave me since she doesn’t know me, but it only makes me wonder what else she’s hiding. And the potentially hidden information has forced me to take the next step of my plan.
When the brake lights on her Jeep appear, I start my car and put it in gear. I follow her out of the parking lot and onto the open road, making sure to stay behind a few cars so she doesn’t realize she’s being followed. The city passes by in a blur of cars and traffic lights while I mimic her along the road. Left turns, right turns, a couple of roundabouts. Just when I think she’s onto me, she finally takes a left into a residential neighborhood.
Every house on the street screams wealth with all of the perfectly landscaped hedges, deep green, healthy lawns, and expensive cars sitting in the driveway. They’re so perfect, in fact, that it feels more like driving through a movie set of perfect houses instead of a street of homes that people actually live in. Sprinklers go off in the distance, the sound filling the inside of my car as I creep back a few yards to avoid being seen now that she and I are the only two cars moving on the street. She slows down and pulls into the driveway of a house at the end of the street, which ironically is the biggest one.