ask for elaboration. All I get is a sigh and this: “Do what you want, Essa. But know that there will be repercussions come fall.”
The rent is paid up on the apartment until September, but I suspect said repercussions will include a move back to the dorms for me, just like I told Haven.
“Whatever,” I say, sighing. And then I add, “I have to go.” One final truth uttered.
I do have to go. I so very much do.
T alking with my mom leaves me feeling kind of down, so I don’t have much to say as Farren and I walk to where he parked his car a few blocks away. I spend the time trying to distract myself by imagining what kind of fancy car he may have brought to Oakwood. Haven is always going on and on about how Farren loves expensive sports cars. He supposedly owns more than a few.
When Farren stops next to a white, boring midsized sedan, I am sorely disappointed. He laughs when he catches me frowning. “Expecting something different?” he asks. He turns away and pops open the trunk.
“Yeah,” I admit, hanging back. “I kind of was.”
His muscular body blocks my view of whatever he’s messing with in the trunk’s interior, but I’m cool with that. God, his ass looks amazing in blue jeans. I prefer that view to whatever is in the trunk.
“Like what?” he asks, back still turned, and oblivious to my ogling.
“Um, I don’t know”—I clear my throat and try to focus—“maybe something a little sportier.”
“Sportier?”
“Yeah, you know, like a Ferrari or something.”
Farren coughs out an amused laugh as he places my suitcase in the trunk. With ease, I take note as I watch his rather impressive arms flex.
He slams the trunk shut and turns back to me. “This is just a rental,” he explains, gesturing to the car. “We’ll be changing out vehicles every few hundred miles.” He starts toward the driver’s door and tosses out over his shoulder, “But, hey, I’ll work on getting us that Ferrari.”
I assume he’s joking and roll my eyes. But, damn, I like his witty retorts.
Yeah, you could say Farren is surpassing everything I ever dreamed he’d be. Even when he’s kind of a cocky smartass—which is often—I like him. In fact, I like that he’s not a pushover or some jerky college boy. I like that his face is stunning to look at, and I like that he has a body to drool over. I like his confidence; I like his style. And, truth is, I like that he’s a little dangerous…and a whole lot mysterious.
I just wish the circumstances that have brought us together could be different.
M y arm is out the window, my hand swishing through the air. It may not be a sports car, but, damn, I’m making the most of the miles Farren and I are covering in the boring white sedan. We’ve been on the road for a few hours and most recently passed a sign indicating we’ve crossed in to the state of Ohio.
“Ooh”—I point to a lush, green field dotted with cattle—“check out those cows. Those two by the big oak tree over there are totally doing it.”
Farren hunches down to squint through the windshield to the spot I’m indicating. “Yep,” he agrees, “they sure are.”
And then, we both burst out laughing at the inanity of it all.
“Get a room,” I yell out the window.
Yeah, it’s stupid and silly, but I’m having fun. So far, I like traveling with Farren. He’s surprisingly easy to be around. Or maybe that’s just how he is with me. We seem to just kind of click. We haven’t said a whole lot, but that’s fine. Farren’s been busy driving, and I’ve been enjoying the sunshine and fresh air coming in through the lowered windows. My arm has been out the passenger-side window more often than not. I now pull it back in and glance down at my black shorts and hot-pink tank top layered over a black bra. I hold my arms out in front of me, side-by-side. My right arm is clearly tanner than my left.
Just for the heck of it, and in the interest of an even tan, I ask Farren, “Do I get to
The rent is paid up on the apartment until September, but I suspect said repercussions will include a move back to the dorms for me, just like I told Haven.
“Whatever,” I say, sighing. And then I add, “I have to go.” One final truth uttered.
I do have to go. I so very much do.
T alking with my mom leaves me feeling kind of down, so I don’t have much to say as Farren and I walk to where he parked his car a few blocks away. I spend the time trying to distract myself by imagining what kind of fancy car he may have brought to Oakwood. Haven is always going on and on about how Farren loves expensive sports cars. He supposedly owns more than a few.
When Farren stops next to a white, boring midsized sedan, I am sorely disappointed. He laughs when he catches me frowning. “Expecting something different?” he asks. He turns away and pops open the trunk.
“Yeah,” I admit, hanging back. “I kind of was.”
His muscular body blocks my view of whatever he’s messing with in the trunk’s interior, but I’m cool with that. God, his ass looks amazing in blue jeans. I prefer that view to whatever is in the trunk.
“Like what?” he asks, back still turned, and oblivious to my ogling.
“Um, I don’t know”—I clear my throat and try to focus—“maybe something a little sportier.”
“Sportier?”
“Yeah, you know, like a Ferrari or something.”
Farren coughs out an amused laugh as he places my suitcase in the trunk. With ease, I take note as I watch his rather impressive arms flex.
He slams the trunk shut and turns back to me. “This is just a rental,” he explains, gesturing to the car. “We’ll be changing out vehicles every few hundred miles.” He starts toward the driver’s door and tosses out over his shoulder, “But, hey, I’ll work on getting us that Ferrari.”
I assume he’s joking and roll my eyes. But, damn, I like his witty retorts.
Yeah, you could say Farren is surpassing everything I ever dreamed he’d be. Even when he’s kind of a cocky smartass—which is often—I like him. In fact, I like that he’s not a pushover or some jerky college boy. I like that his face is stunning to look at, and I like that he has a body to drool over. I like his confidence; I like his style. And, truth is, I like that he’s a little dangerous…and a whole lot mysterious.
I just wish the circumstances that have brought us together could be different.
M y arm is out the window, my hand swishing through the air. It may not be a sports car, but, damn, I’m making the most of the miles Farren and I are covering in the boring white sedan. We’ve been on the road for a few hours and most recently passed a sign indicating we’ve crossed in to the state of Ohio.
“Ooh”—I point to a lush, green field dotted with cattle—“check out those cows. Those two by the big oak tree over there are totally doing it.”
Farren hunches down to squint through the windshield to the spot I’m indicating. “Yep,” he agrees, “they sure are.”
And then, we both burst out laughing at the inanity of it all.
“Get a room,” I yell out the window.
Yeah, it’s stupid and silly, but I’m having fun. So far, I like traveling with Farren. He’s surprisingly easy to be around. Or maybe that’s just how he is with me. We seem to just kind of click. We haven’t said a whole lot, but that’s fine. Farren’s been busy driving, and I’ve been enjoying the sunshine and fresh air coming in through the lowered windows. My arm has been out the passenger-side window more often than not. I now pull it back in and glance down at my black shorts and hot-pink tank top layered over a black bra. I hold my arms out in front of me, side-by-side. My right arm is clearly tanner than my left.
Just for the heck of it, and in the interest of an even tan, I ask Farren, “Do I get to
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