Page 17 of Escaping Our Reality

“I didn’t sleep with Carrie. No.” She exhales, loud enough for me to hear. I hate the next words that come from my mouth. Why? I don’t know. “But we did kiss.”

I side glance at her. Her jaw tightens and she’s stiff as a board.

Is kissing me really that horrible of a thought?

“I didn’t take advantage of her, if that’s what you’re thinking. I make it a point to never get involved with anyone from my brother’s parties. Carrie seemed different, though. Smart, kind, flirtatious. She kissed me. And I didn’t stop it. At first, that is. As soon as I realized she was under the influence, I left.”

She refuses to look at me.

We ride in silence, eventually pulling up at the gas station. I park next to her SUV and fully expect her to jump from my truck so fast she leaves sparks in her wake. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t even reach for the door handle.

She’s drowning in thought.

Drowning in memories.

I’m about to get myself into trouble.

So much fucking trouble.

“There’s a place I wanna show you? You feel up to it?”

Chapter 8

ELLA

Why the hell did I say yes?

Why the hell am I alone in a truck driving to who-knows-where with a complete stranger?

I have no idea.

When he asked if he could take me someplace, my lips wouldn’t form any other word than yes. I tried to say no. Really, I did. But my brain couldn’t make me utter that one simple syllable. My heart was leading the show, and for some reason my heart said yes.

Maybe it’s because he is a link to Carrie. He knows her. His lips have been on her lips. And somehow that makes us share a common bond in some way.

Or maybe it’s because my stupid teenage hormones want his lips on my lips.

I try to watch him, without him watching me. He’s the best-looking guy I think I’ve ever met in person. I was caught completely unprepared when he surprised me on the back porch of the trailer. And I was completely and utterly floored when I found out that he’s the same guy I saw at the body shop.

His skin is perfectly flawed, with small white scars on his hands and forearms from his job. His light brown hair is styled short and his green eyes are so pale, they almost look translucent. Clean shaven with a firm, square jaw, everything about him screams masculinity. Yells it. From the bottom of its lungs. And he’s tall. Very tall. Rolling muscles stretch across hisshoulders, back, and chest. And let’s not even talk about how good he fills out a pair of jeans.

He doesn’t look like any of the other people who were at the party. And that’s a good thing.

In fact, he doesn’t look like any of the other people in this world. And that’s probably why those girls at the party were hitting on him.

He casually reaches up, removes his baseball hat, and tosses it in the back seat. I twist in my seat, paying attention to the back of his pickup truck for the first time. Despite being so old, his truck is lovingly cared for. Clean. The front seat is a bench seat, so all that separates us is a small section of patterned, brown cloth. The back seat catches me by surprise. It’s clean too, don’t get me wrong, but it’s packed with stuff. Folded blankets and pillows, two large duffle bags, and a computer bag are all on the seat. Two big coolers sit on the floorboard.

“Are you in the middle of moving?”

One side of his mouth tilts up. “You’ll see.”

He suddenly turns off the road onto a gravel and dirt-packed driveway that can only be seen because of two blue reflector lights on either side.

Well, this can’t be good.

Panic flutters around my chest like a moth racing to reach the flame. Did I just willingly agree to my own kidnapping?

Did I just become another face on the nightly news? A haunting split-screen image of the two missing Hill sisters plays in my mind. Look what happens, America, when your perfect little sweethearts mix with the wrong company.

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