Page 13 of Pack Baines

With a check of the time, I find it ten minutes before seven, and I swallow hard as butterflies erupt in my stomach and my pulse skitters in both apprehension and a strange sort of excitement that feels completely unfamiliar. I don’t remember the last time I wasexcited about anything, North U excluded. Since before I received my acceptance letter, there wasn’t much to be excited about. After all, there’s nothing thrilling about wondering if I have enough money to pay rent or other bills, if I’ll have enough to scrape or if I’ll have to go without groceries for a few days. There certainly wasn’t anything exciting about moving around constantly, always looking over my shoulder for the bogyman in my story.

Blinking away my thoughts, I place my makeup back in the small bag I tuck into an empty drawer, run my hands through my hair without displacing the strands secured behind my ear, and reach for my purse. I’m just placing my keys and wallet inside when my cell chimes with a text message.

CREEK:I’m here. What room number are you?

I bite my lip and hesitate for a moment before I text back.

JUNO:More ammunition for your stalking?

A reply comes just as quickly.

CREEK:Obviously. But if you don’t want to tell me, I guess I’ll just have to drink this vile sugary shit you call coffee myself.

Bastard. I never had a mocha before today, and the thought of having another has my mouth watering in anticipation. I really want that coffee, and since I’m surely convincing myself that there’s nothing to worry about, I decide that there’s no harm in telling him which room number is mine. It’s Creek. I’m safe with him.

JUNO:116. Bring the coffee. I’ve unlocked the door.

I head over to the door, unlatching the lock before heading back to the desk chair, picking up my shoes as I go. Just as I’m lacingmy second shoe, the door opens, and Creek steps into the room holding a coffee and… are those roses?

Dressed in dark jeans, a navy button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and another ball cap that matches his shirt, Creek freezes, ocean eyes widening as they run over my hunched form as I finish with my boots. I have to force a swallow, my mouth drying at the sight of him, toned muscle on full display, outlined deliciously in clothes that complement him perfectly.

“Hi,” I greet, my voice a little breathy, much to my embarrassment. I have to clear my throat, internally chastising myself for sounding like an idiot.

Creek blows out a heavy breath, looking me over so slowly that I almost feel it like a physical touch, before he answers with his own rasped, “Hey. You look beautiful.”

I look down at myself and shrug, fighting a blush as my body heats strangely. “I look like I usually do.”

“Which is beautiful,” he insists, lips twitching with a suppressed smile that I desperately want to break free.

Raising an eyebrow, I reach for my purse and sling it over my shoulder, side-eyeing Creek as I say, “You haven’t seen me sick, first thing in the morning after waking up, or hugging a toilet bowl after one too many shots. Nothing beautiful about it.”

“Fucking hell, J. Take the compliment,” he laughs, holding out the beautiful eggplant-colored roses, the deep purple very similar to my hair. “Here, these are for you. Saw the color and knew… well, anyway, here.”

I accept the flowers, my insides turning to mush, looking down at them with a pinched brow and rolling wave of emotion. I’ve never had someone give me flowers before. It’s both weird and butterfly inducing. Clearing my throat, I lower the flowers and blurt, “I don’t have anything to put them in.”

“That’s okay. Bring them with us and I’ll find something for you,” he answers, shrugging like it’s nothing to worry about. Like itisn’t a big deal. Little does he know just how much it means to me. “Are you ready?”

Fishing my keys out of my purse, I nod wordlessly and follow him out, locking the door directly after me. As soon as they’re back in my purse, Creek is filling my empty hand with the coffee cup, taking the flowers from my hold, and replacing them with his own hand as he leads me out of the dorm building. I almost swallow my fucking tongue at the first touch, goosebumps rippling over my skin when he squeezes my hand gently.

Leading me to a luxurious car I know costs more than any of my organs ever would, Creek rubs a thumb over the back of my hand, sending sparks across my skin, everywhere he touches. “Jump in, beautiful.”

“Uh,” I stall, eyeing the pretty, white car, worried I might stain or smudge it somehow if I get too close. Not that that’s the reason for wanting to go in separate cars. If he drives, then how the hell do I get away if something goes wrong? I’m not expecting anything to go wrong, but what if? The idea of having no back up, no safety net, nothing at all in case of emergencies has my heart beating too quickly, my palms growing slightly sweaty, so I tell him, “I’m gonna take my car.”

Creek looks down at me, gaze roaming my face, before he nods slowly. It’s like he knows exactly why, likely from the tensing of my body, and is still willing to offer me that comfort.

“Alright. I’ll text you the address. Stick close, though, so I can keep an eye on you,” he softly demands, squeezing my hand before leading me to my truck instead, slipping his cell out of his back pocket and tapping away silently.

When I feel my cell buzz, I know the address is sitting in a text message, so I slip my cell out and keep it in hand until we reach my truck. Like a gentleman, Creek opens my door for me, still holding my hand as I climb into the driver’s side. I notice he doesn’t offer to ride with me instead, closing my door with a pinched brow, and I realize then that he knows why I’m riding alone. Or, rather, suspects.I’m sure he couldn’t have guessed the depths of my fucked-up psyche thanks to the pack that were meant to love me.

With a small tap on the roof of the truck, Creek heads to his own car, pulling out slowly and waiting for me to follow. I take a moment to put his address into the app on my phone, flashing my beams when I’m ready. A moment later, we’re both driving from the parking lot, Creek sticking close enough that not a single car could come between us.

Ten minutes later, we’re pulling down a long, winding road. It’s a little bumpy, but not enough to send my head colliding against the roof. Darkness is slowly descending all around us, the sun setting behind the mountains and trees, and I bite my lip as I keep a close eye on Creek’s taillights as he navigates the wonky road like he’s driven it countless times before. For all I know, he could have. Can’t be sure how his car has survived, though, because after a particular bump, my truck feels like it’s about to fall apart.

Just as I’m about to start questioning the integrity of the truck’s body, lights appear in the distance. Followed by the softly lit fucking mansion that sits proudly in the middle of the forestry that surrounds it.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, awe deeply embedded in the tone of my voice.

The house, not that it can be considered such, is made of pale brick with dark-wood accents, including window frames and the wrap-around porch that looks to span the entire house. I spy dark greenery spanning one side of the house, no doubt lush ivy adding color to the stone, adding to the surrounding greenery that borders the property. Several lights are on inside, adding to the warm glow of the porch lights, and whatever security lights are littered around the lavish home.

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