Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(5)

My phone vibrates, bringing me back to the present. It’s another text from Haven.

Where are you? You better get your ass home soon. We’re still going out tonight, right?

Of course, I type back. I haven’t forgotten that we’re celebrating the fact we survived our third year of college.

We did, didn’t we?

Hell, yeah, I type back. Seniors next year. Woohoo.

I’ll drink to that, Haven replies.

Me, too.

Hey, by the way, I hope you’re planning on having more than two beers tonight. Rules are out the window.

Ha-ha. And, yes, rules are out the window.

Good, she texts. Who knows, Essa, maybe you’ll get so loosened up that you’ll end up meeting your fantasy man.

If only she knew it’s her brother who stars in my fantasies. Just thinking about the man—and he is a man, not some fumbling college boy—gets me all worked up. But it’s ridiculous to continue on like this. I’ll surely never meet Farren, seeing as New York City is off the table.

Resigned to live my parent-directed life, which certainly does not include hot guys, I push all thoughts of my secret fantasy, Farren Shaw, to the back of my mind. Gathering up my purse, I stand. But before I leave, I think about the lecture I listened in on.

Fate…

Destiny…

What’s in store for me? Where will these so-called predetermined events lead me? Somewhere, everywhere, nowhere. The possibilities are endless. Still, I have to wonder if there will ever be an inevitable detour in my life.

“Yeah, right,” I quietly scoff. The only inevitability in my future is that my life will continue as planned. But the instructor’s words resonate in my head, reminding me that we can’t escape our destiny and that we always end up where we’re supposed to be.

Of course, for that to happen, it may require a bit more defiance on my part. Particularly when it comes to my parents and where they expect me to spend this summer.

Good, okay. That’s fine with me.

’Cause I think I’m finally ready to start pressing B every chance I get.





The Mexican-themed bar, located a few blocks from the tiny frame house where Haven and I rent a second-floor apartment, is completely packed. I shouldn’t be surprised. The lone bar in the otherwise quiet and sedate tree-lined neighborhood—located just off campus—is always busy. But with tonight bearing the distinction of being a Friday and the end of finals week, Se?or Frog’s is utterly crazy.

“Looks like everyone decided to celebrate here tonight,” I yell over to Haven.

It’s hot and sweaty in the bar, the small dance floor is packed, and a heavy bass beat is practically shaking the whole building.

Haven spins on her barstool to face me, her aquamarine eyes widening in agreement. She nods and takes a sip from her frothy margarita. Lowering the salt-rimmed glass, she yells back, “I know, right?”

The track changes to something less rowdy, and I’m finally able to speak without having to scream. Just as I’m about to say something to Haven in a nice, normal tone, some jock saunters over and oh-so-obviously bumps into her shoulder.

She almost spills her drink, but still manages to smile. Not in a flirtatious way, she’s just being nice.

Jock-boy says, “Oh, hey, sorry ’bout that.”

He reaches out to touch her arm, but Haven smoothly shifts and avoids his grasp. “No worries,” she says tightly, still smiling.

The jock finally gets the hint and moves on with a shrug.

Haven rolls her eyes my way and mouths, “Men.”

I just nod back, since I’m used to guys hitting on my friend. It’s pretty much like this every time we go out. Haven is beautiful and sexy, especially tonight in her distressed denim miniskirt, black combat boots, and a clingy red sweater with one shoulder down. Her bra strap is exposed, black, a perfect match to her fishnet stockings. Only Haven could successfully pull off such a hot, urban look in such a rural and conservative town.

I, on the other hand, am dressed like most of the other girls in the bar. I have on dark skinny jeans, a lacy black shirt over a white tank, and a pair of flat sandals that I threw on before leaving the house. As a concession to Haven, I let her do my hair and makeup. That’s why my blondish locks are down, all wavy and bouncy, and my whiskey-colored eyes are lined with lots of smoky color.

That reminds me…

I swipe a finger under my lashes, rubbing twice, just in case I’m smudging.

Haven’s own smoke-lined eyes slide to me, and she says, “So, let’s review. Tell me again what your parents’ crazy reasoning is for why you can’t come to New York City this summer?”

“Ugh, Haven.” I cover my face with my hands and speak through my fingers. “What do you think? It’s the same as always. They want me to stick around campus and take summer classes.”

Haven tugs my hands away from my face. When I acquiesce, I see she’s frowning. She shakes her head slowly, and a lock of raven hair falls to her cheek. She tucks it behind her ear.

“That’s bullshit, Es,” she says. “You, of all people, do not need summer classes.”

“I know,” I lament, since my parents’ stance is unbelievably ridiculous to me, too.

Haven sighs. “You’re a twenty-two-year-old woman. You need to take a stand at some point. You should just tell your parents to go f*ck themselves.”