Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(78)

“Jersey,” he says.

We reach his car. It’s just a simple brown Toyota, a typical student car. Justin reaches for the passenger-door handle.

I take a step closer to the car and notice there’s someone seated in the passenger seat.

“Oh…” I start backing up, but Justin gets behind me, his moves suddenly swift and sure. “What the hell?” I mumble.

“Not so fast,” he says in my ear. His voice is smooth, confident. No more uncertain, nerdy college guy. Who is this Justin? Clearly, he’s not who I thought he was.

My heart begins to pound frantically as he nudges me closer and closer to his car. Within seconds I am trapped between the Toyota and Justin’s body. I have no choice but to look inside.

When I see who’s sitting casually in the passenger seat, I gasp, “Shit. Dawson.”

I try to spin around so I can flee, but Justin holds me in place. No one is around. I am so screwed.

Dawson pops open the door. The man I hoped to never lay eyes on again leans forward.

Pinning me with his cold, hard eyes, he says coldly, “Ah, we meet again, young Essalin. I think I’d like to spend some time with you. Perhaps you should get in the car.”





The story continues in Inevitable Circumstances (Inevitability #2), the second and final book of the Inevitability duology ~ Spring 2015.

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This is always the hardest part. I never want to leave anyone out. So, let’s give this a try. First, so much gratitude and appreciation goes out to the readers and fans of my novels. Thank you for your continued support. Next, I must express my thanks to the bloggers who work so hard to get my name and novels out to the world. Every time I see a post regarding my books on a blog—or anywhere in social media—I am humbled. Thank you to every single one of you. Your efforts are amazing. Additionally, a huge, heartfelt thanks goes out to my amazing street team—Team S.R. Grey. You ladies are more than a street team to me, you are my dream team. Also, a special thank you goes to author J.B. Morgan (Jenn) for helping me craft a concise and compelling blurb. We sure had fun with those back and forth emails and PMs, didn’t we? And thank you to Ari for a cover that matches my vision of Farren perfectly. You rock, girl!

Finally, love and thanks to Tom.

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S.R. Grey is an Amazon and Barnes & Noble Top 100 Bestselling author. She is the author of popular New Adult novels I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #1) and Never Doubt Me (Judge Me Not #2). Her newest novel, Inevitable Detour (Inevitability #1), is a wild ride combining the New Adult genre with elements of Romantic Suspense. She is also the author of the Harbour Falls Mystery trilogy. Ms. Grey’s novels have appeared on Amazon and Barnes & Noble bestseller lists in multiple categories.

Ms. Grey resides in Pennsylvania. Her background is in business, but her true passion lies in writing. When not writing, Ms. Grey can be found reading, traveling, running, or cheering for her hometown sports teams.



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Read the prologue of I Stand Before You, the first novel in S.R. Grey’s other New Adult series Judge Me Not.





Chase



I lean my head back against the headrest, crank the passenger window down the rest of the way. The June night air rustles through my hair, reminding me I desperately need a trim. I run my fingers through the strands, chasing the path of the breeze.

My grandmother likes to lecture that I shouldn’t have hair sticking out at odd angles, strands curling at the nape of my neck.

“You’re such a handsome young man, Chase,” Grandma Gartner said just this morning, tsking when I sat down for breakfast. “You look so much like your father did when he was your age. But, you know, he always kept his hair short and tidy.” And then there was a pause, a long, dramatic sigh. She set down a plate of eggs—over easy—in front of me. “My poor Jack. God rest his soul.” My grandmother crossed herself.

Her poor Jack, my father with the short and tidy hair—dead and gone.

I thought: I am not my dad, Gram. He failed us, he gave up on us. But the words never passed my lips. And they never will. Hearing them would only hurt my grandmother’s feelings and she’s too good to hear the angry thoughts poisoning my polluted mind. So I keep all that shit locked deep inside.

This morning was no different. I kept things light, said something like, “The girls like my hair like this, Gram. Got to keep the ladies happy, ya know.”

Then I ducked and waited for the inevitable swat with the dish towel. But it never came. Instead, the lines in my grandmother’s face deepened.

“You don’t need to be concerning yourself with keeping ladies happy, young man. You’re only twenty. Messing with women at your age will only lead to trouble.”

I knew what she meant this morning, and I know it now too. She’s worried I’ll end up getting some girl pregnant. Then I’ll be f*cked, well and good. But I’m always careful, take the necessary precautions. Besides, it isn’t my womanizing ways that’s becoming a problem. If only. No, unfortunately, it’s my ever-growing dependency on drugs—something my grandmother would never suspect—that has me worried these days.