Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
It took all of my senior year to convince them to let me go away to Western. Mom wanted me to attend a local university so I could live at home. There was no way I could do that and retain my sanity.
Moving out after graduating from the small, private school they switched me to after the accident had been scary but totally necessary. I’ve grown so much during the past two and a half years. And now that Viola is here and we’re living together, it’s even better.
As much as I hate to admit it, getting my license is the next logical step in my quest for independence.
Especially if I get a job. I can’t continue to bum rides forever.
I’m halfway to the bar when the loud rumble of an engine catches my attention. From the corner of my eye, an electric blue muscle car rolls up beside me. When it slows to a crawl, a shiver skates down my spine, and I turn my head, glancing at the occupant. That’s all it takes for my fight or flight instincts to kick in. Western is as safe a school as anywhere, but that doesn’t mean bad stuff doesn’t happen. It’s still light out. Although, if this interview lasts for more than thirty minutes, the sun will start to sink in the western sky. Maybe I’ll have to call Vi after all.
The glass disappears between us, and my gaze collides with bottle green eyes as my feet stumble to a halt. After our disastrous interaction this morning, I was hoping we wouldn’t run into each other for a while.
Or ever.
This is twice now in just one day.
I don’t like it.
His eyes lock on mine. I hate the way they see straight down to my soul. That only comes from knowing someone on a deep and intimate level.
“Need a lift?”
Laughter tumbles from my lips.
Is he legit crazy?
I could be naked and frostbitten in a snowstorm, and I still wouldn’t accept a ride from this guy.
“Nope.” I rip my attention away and continue walking.
Hopefully, that’s all it’ll take for him to get the hint and leave me alone.
The Mustang crawls alongside me. When my strides quicken, he matches my speed, keeping pace.
“Where are you going?”
“None of your damn business,” I snap.
“Just know that I have zero problem following you to make sure you arrive safely at your destination.”
I grit my teeth. When it becomes apparent that he wasn’t joking around, I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “I’m going to Slap Shotz.”
“Why?”
“None of your business.”
“Tell me why.” His voice deepens.
When a vehicle slows behind him, Wolf sticks his hand out the window and waves the car by.
“Why are you heading to the bar?” he asks again.
I grind to a halt for a second time in as many minutes and glare. Not that it does a damn bit of good.
“Because I have an interview.”
“You’re looking for a job?” His brow furrows as concern fills his expression. “Do you need money?”
As if he doesn’t know.
The question is like a slap to my face, and my cheeks flood with heat. “That’s also none of your damn business.”
“I’m not taking off, Fallyn. So, you can get in the car, or I’ll just follow you to the bar. It’s your choice.”
We stare for a handful of seconds before a growl leaves my lips, and I stomp to the sleek vehicle. For some unknown reason, he refuses to leave me alone. The quickest way to get rid of this guy is to get in the car and endure the five-minute ride downtown.
I jerk the handle before popping open the door and sliding onto the buttery soft leather. Instead of looking at him, I stare straight ahead out the windshield.
He shifts the gear as we pick up speed. “Why are you walking?”
“Because I didn’t want to spend money on a ride.”
He glances at me as if thrown off by the response. “You don’t have your license?”
“No.”
He shifts the gear into third. “Why not?”
“Are we really going to play a game of fifty questions?”
He flicks a glance at me and raises his brow. “If that’s what it takes to get the information I want, then yes.”
A frustrated sigh escapes from me. This isn’t a conversation I want to have with him, of all people. “Does it really matter?”
“Yeah, it does.” A heavy silence blankets us before he finally ventures, “Is it because of the accident?”
I turn away and press my forehead against the cool glass of the passenger side window. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”
The city blocks disappear as his tires eat up the asphalt, and we enter downtown.
“I would hate to be the reason anything else was taken from you,” he murmurs.
The soft comment arrows to the heart of me, and even though it pisses me off, hot tears prick the backs of my eyes. It takes effort to blink them away.