Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Roommates could be difficult, who knew?
I had lived a sheltered life. That much college has taught me so far. I met my current roommate our sophomore year in a criminology class. We get along and this year we got an apartment together. She was cleaner than any of the other roommates I had. Granted my mom paying a housekeeper to come to the apartment once a week probably helped.
Darla, my roommate and friend, asked me to go to the frat party. The party I knew I could see him at. Since she never invited me anywhere because we were complete opposites, I went. She lived for the social life. I lived to get good grades. Parties were her thing and schoolwork was secondary. Why I thought I could convince Collin to give me a second chance was beyond me.
I knew my worth.
Right?
I was worth waiting for, wasn’t I? With every failed attempt to have a relationship, I began to wonder if I wasn’t actually the problem.
Tonight, though, it was a doozy. Especially when Darla changed things at the last minute saying she would meet me there instead of us riding together.
Yeah, she met me all right.
She made sure to be practically climbing Collin like a tree when I walked in the door. Did I leave? Nope. The idiot I was stayed for more of the show.
Finally, after four hours of only casually saying hello to a few people, I left. Everyone was either hooking up or passing out by that point. I should have made my exit hours before, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want Darla to think she got something over on me. Because as much as she may enjoy girl drama, I did not … ever. Also, during this party, I resigned myself that I would not date again until after graduation. I needed to focus on my education anyway.
No more distractions.
Since I wasn’t keen on the idea of having to deal with Darla’s return to our place, I decided to make the drive back home. I didn’t live far from the school, just over the North Carolina state line into Johnson City, Tennessee and there was something to be said for being in my own room after the betrayal of a so-called friend.
Only what should have been less than an hour home, would now indeed take much longer. My Mercedes G-Wagon was only two years old. Why then was it lit up like a Christmas tree on the dash? Why couldn’t this happen when I was still in Boone?
No, I found myself on the backroads of Dreadnought with a car that was shining brighter inside from warning lights than the headlights I had on. The tiny valley of a town that didn’t even manage to make a dot on the map. It was the only thing between Boone and Johnson City, and there wasn’t much to the town.
As if things couldn’t get worse… before I could safely pull off the road and assess my situation, the car shut off. Without a moment to get my thoughts together, the engine died. No more engine lights, no more headlights. I was dead in the street.
Tapping the touch screen, nothing. All power gone. Pressing the push start button, again I was met with silence. Stuck in the middle of a mountain road on a curve in the dark was the worst way to die, that was all I could think.
Finding my purse, I took out my phone. Using contacts, I called my mom.
No answer.
My dad.
No answer.
Leaning my head against the headrest, I decided I needed to get the car pushed off the road and then call for a tow.
Getting the car in neutral, I climbed out and used the seat belt trick I learned on social media to try to steer and push/pull the car. I didn’t even get it rolling when I saw a single headlight coming up.
“Please don’t let it be a serial killer,” I muttered to the air around me as I hoped this person could see I was stranded and not run into my car.
The approach came in almost as fast as the man managed to stop his motorcycle. Well, the single headlight made sense now. Inside, I had this trepidation but not a fear of a stranger, but rather curiosity if the man would help me.
Should I be afraid? Absolutely.
Was I?
No, I was desperate for assistance.
With the motorcycle shut down, he climbed off, removing his helmet. He left the headlight on which was the only light illuminating my car and the space between us. He was older. A beard that was clean cut not shaggy, and distinctive tattoos that ran down both arms. His dark hair glistened under the headlight’s glow. Definitely my dad’s age or more. The closer he came the more I drank him in. Dark hair, dark eyes, a beard, but not a bushy one, and the way he carried himself screamed danger but controlled. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt with a leather vest. His arms were covered down to the tops of his hands and fingertips even in tattoos.