Meet Me Halfway(27)

Overall, it had significantly helped ease my fears and made me feel way more prepared and capable. I was still nervous about how I’d handle anyone who got pushy about being on campus, but I supposed I’d cross that bridge if I ever came to it.

By the time I got home, I was dragging. I’d already started wearing down by the end of the six hours, and that was before I’d gone to my parents’ place. Waitressing involved a decent amount of walking, some nights an insane amount. But patrolling around, into, and through every building on a college campus, numerous times, involved a lot of walking and a lot of stairs.

Then when I’d swung by to see Jamie, he’d asked me to throw his new boomerang around with him. By the time we’d moseyed back inside to annihilate some chocolate chip cookies, my feet and legs were aching.

So now here I was, sitting in the driveway, wanting nothing more than to curl up and sleep, fully aware I’d feel even worse when I woke up tomorrow. But I needed to move, I only had maybe five minutes to change and reverse back out.

Dragging my sorry ass out of the vehicle, I was audibly groaning and mumbling when the feeling of being watched hit me. The hairs on my neck raised, and the air around me seemed to almost condense, pressing down on me. I already knew who it was. The only person who had a stare intense enough to feel from a distance.

Garrett had the hood of his Nova propped up and was leaned over it, a rag thrown across his shoulder. He was sporting his usual jeans with a white long-sleeve. The sleeves were rolled up, and his muscles flexed as he extended his arms on either side of him and rested his weight.

He was staring right at me, scrutinizing me. It should have ruffled my feathers to have a man blatantly staring at me with no care, but I was doing the same to him. I’d never been a car girl, I couldn’t tell one car from another, but seeing him leaning over the front made me want to invest in a photo calendar…or a wrench and pliers.

His eyes left my face, drifting about my body like he expected me to show up with a broken leg or something. Once he was satisfied with his findings, his gaze snapped back to mine, and for a second I thought he looked relieved. But it was there and gone in a flash, replaced by his usual pressed lips.

I gave him a silent nod of greeting and dashed away, now down to only three minutes to change.

Sadly, for my sanity, but luckily for my eyes, he hadn’t moved an inch in the few minutes I’d been inside my house. I’d had to let the dogs out to pee, and it’d taken me a few extra minutes, so I ran out, digging through my purse for my keys.

And like I was living in a goddamn comedy, when my fingers finally closed around them and yanked them out, I moved too fast and tossed them to the ground. The grumbled curses that exited my mouth were not graceful or attractive in the least.

I snatched them from the cement, twisting to make it to my Jeep, but came to an abrupt stop when I noticed Garrett had moved closer, his hands tucked in his pockets, watching me fumble.

I uttered an awkward hello and then forced myself to ignore his domineering presence and climbed into the vehicle. He was still standing in the same position, watching me with that eerie intensity, a pinch in his brows, as I reversed out of the drive.

I had no idea what his deal was, but I really hoped he’d figure his shit out and stop staring at me soon, because apparently, I had no idea how to act like a rational human being when he did.





Chapter Eight





I’d been right. I felt even worse after sleeping. I couldn’t fathom how anyone could run several miles every day. All I’d done was walk more than I normally did—plus stairs, so many stairs—and everything hurt. My bones, my brain, my eyes. I swore even the fat cushioning my body was twitching.

My shift last night had been insanely busy due to the game that was playing, and I’d brought home more tips than I had in a long time.

There were times when drunk patrons forgot to tip, but more often than not, they tipped way more than they needed to. Usually because they were too gone to count or because they wanted in my pants.

Either way it was good for my pocket, but it also meant I worked past one o’clock.

When I’d texted Layla to tell her I had a feeling it’d be a late night, she’d offered to pick Jamie up this morning so I could get an extra hour of sleep. God bless that woman, I’d needed it. I owed her an actual, real bottle of wine…and maybe a male stripper. She was the kind of partner every parent needed.

Flopping myself over the comatose dachshund under my comforter, I rolled out of bed, whining every bit of the way. If this wasn’t my sign of how severely out of shape I was, I wasn’t sure what would be.

I made my way to my bathroom like a glob of silly putty, turning on my shower and lying across the counter while I waited for it to heat up.

Shucking off my pajamas, I climbed under the hot spray, hoping the sauna-like temperature would bring some life back into both my soul and my face. The circles under my eyes were officially setting up permanent residence to the point I’d considered naming them.

After spending a solid five minutes unmoving under the shower head, I went about my routine. For a curly girl, the routine went something like this, condition, condition again, condition some more, scrunch.

It was time consuming, but I’d learned years ago, spending a few extra minutes babying my curls was the difference between “Yes, girl, work it,” and having animals bow down to me as their new king.