Page 27 of Where Happiness Begins
I let out a shaky breath, then turn toward the living room, but I’m stopped in my tracks when I find a pair of hazel eyes staring me down.
“What’s wrong?” Carter asks, a small crease between his brows the only indication that he might be feeling something other than boredom.
I shake my head. I’m not handling him right now. I don’t know what he might find to say but don’t think I’m strong enough to want to find out. Not today.
Without acknowledging him, I walk over to grab my purse and shoes. I need to leave now anyway if I don’t want to be late for my shift.
“Where are you going?” Carter asks. Of course he picks the day I want to be left alone to decide to make conversation.
“Work,” I answer simply, not wanting to get into it with him right now.
“Do you need a lift?” he asks.
My hands curl. I forgot my car still isn’t back from the garage.
“I’m fine.” I’ll walk. Or run, rather, with ten minutes to spare and a few blocks to cross. I slip my feet into my sneakers.
“I—”
“Can you not?” I snipe before he can finish. Then I escape outside, and he thankfully doesn’t follow me.
Tonight’s shift makes me question my decision to keep this job instead of quitting and agreeing to do the collab with that company making weight loss pills that are actually laxatives. At the time, I felt like it was unethical to use my low BMI that’s due to my chronic illness to sell some magic weight loss pill, but after another night of Jayson groping me left and right, who pretended he needed to touch me to walk by or grab a glass, it makes me question if ethics arethatimportant.
My feet are killing me as I lock the door behind me, and the twenty-minute walk to get back home makes me regret not asking Nan to borrow her car tonight. I crack my neck left and right, then bring the trash to the dumpster, and the moment I round the corner of the building and headlights blind me, I almost jump out of my skin.
There are two options that come to me: the first is that I’m about to be kidnapped or killed and thrown into a ditch. The second is that Jayson decided to wait for me to ask me to go home with him. I’m not sure which option I prefer.
But neither one happens to be true when the car pulls up beside me and I recognize it as the vintage Mustang that’s been sitting in my driveway for almost a month now.
I don’t move as Carter pulls the passenger windows down and says, “You coming?”
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“You’re not walking home alone at three a.m.,” he says like that’s an actual explanation.
“I’ve done it before.”
“Well, not anymore.”
I lift my brows. “I’ll do whatever I want, thank you very much.” Then I start walking away. Who does this guy even think he is?
The car follows me. “Can you just get in?”
I continue walking. “Why do you even care?”
“Why are you so stubborn?” Of course he wasn’t about to pretend like he cares.
Still, I stop in my steps. I’m tired, especially after the breakdown I had today, and if I can get to my bed faster, it’s worth more than my ego.
Without another word, I open the door and get in.
Carter doesn’t drive away until I catch his look and put on my seat belt.
“Are you cold?” he asks, messing with the temperature controls.
“I’m fine,” I say, knees tucked close to the door to take the least amount of room in his space.
Hard rock plays from the speakers, but even so, the silence between us feels like a third person in the car, thick and pulsating. I should’ve walked home. Now I can’t help but think about how he found me earlier today and probably decided to come pick me up out of pity.
