Page 6 of Right Place, Right Time (Second Chances)
Chapter Two
Jay
“I shouldn’t be here.”
No truer words had ever been spoken.
So why am I still here?
I pace the parking space beside my restored Harley Roadster, trying to figure out what to do. She’d said I should go.Twice. She’s probably not going to be thrilled when she walks out and sees that I’m still here. At first, I’d intended to stick around just long enough to make sure those assholes left. But once they were gone, I couldn’t bring myself to hop on my bike and drive away. This is the closest I’ve been in years to the girl I’ve been dreaming about ever since we first met almost four years ago.
I arrived in California six months ago on a whim. I’d read her letters—all her letters—and had to see her. Truth is…I have no idea what possessed me to physically come here, rather than call or reach out through social media, but I know what’s kept me here. And now I’ve got a month-to-month lease on a cheap apartment near the garage I work at as a motorcycle mechanic. I’m just winging it. Taking it day by day and trying to figure out my place in the world…if I even have a place in the world anymore.
Admittedly, I’ve seen Kate a few times since getting here, too afraid to make contact. Add stalking to the list of my many stellar qualities. I just didn’t know how to approach her…or what to say. I’d said some pretty mean things the last time I saw her and, while I thought I’d been doing it for her own good, in retrospect, it had been a pretty shitty move.
My brooding is put on hold by the sound of laughter.Herlaughter. I stop pacing and look towards the back exit of the restaurant. Kate, the hostess, and the bartender are all walking out the door. She’s looking up at the bartender, laughing at whatever he’s saying, and he’s looking down at her with stars in his eyes. Can’t say I blame him.
I don’t know what to make of this guy. He looks like a preppy tool bag, which is exactly the kind of guy Kate should have in her life. Someone safe and smart and stable.
Not a guy like me.
I curse myself for sticking around this long. There aren’t enough vehicles in the parking lot for me to duck and cover, so it only takes seconds for the hostess to make me out in the shadows and nudge Kate in the rib with her elbow. Kate scowls at the girl, and the girl gestures towards me. When Kate’s brown eyes meet mine, they widen.
Yep, I’m still here!
She says something to her friends and as she walks away from them, towards me, the bartender puts his hand on her arm. She stiffens, and I take a step forward, feeling a possessiveness I shouldn’t. I don’t deserve to feel anything towards her. She says something over her shoulder that I can’t hear, and he lets go, looking properly chastised. I smirk, glad to see she’s got some sass. Her friends watch her for a minute, then go to their respective vehicles.
“I told you to go,” she says when she steps in front of me.
“I wanted to see you.”
“What you did in there wasn’t very smart,” she continues, ignoring what I’d said. “That situation could have escalated and someone could have called the police.”
“Hold on just a minute there, Sunshine. I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but no one is going to treat you that way when I’m around and get away with it. Let them call the cops, I will protect you whenever and however I can. Always.”
Her lips forms a surprised “O,” and she seems stunned for a minute. Then she shakes her head and comes back to me. “Why are you here, anyway? Not just at the restaurant, but in California? Are you visiting someone or something? Just passing through?”
It hurts a little that she sounds so hopeful my stay is only a temporary one, but that’s what I’d wanted, right? For her to not want to be around me? Then why the hell did I come here?
“I kind of live here now,” I tell her honestly, rubbing the back of my neck in anticipation of her freak out.
“You what?” she shrieks.
“I moved here in September.”
“To Stanford?” There’s still a high-pitch tone to her voice.
“San Jose.”
“You moved here,” she says like she still can’t believe it. Hell, I can hardly believe it most days.
“Yes.”
“Why? How? Can you even do that?” She furrows her brow and waits for answers.
“I drove here on my bike—”
“From South Carolina?” she almost shrieks again, and I nod. “Are you crazy?”
