Page 14 of One Bad Idea
At the mere thought of breakfast, my stomach gave a low rumble.Ihadn't had pancakes. Come to think of it, I'd eaten nearly nothing since dinner yesterday.
Before leaving on my impromptu road trip, I hadn't had the time. Andafterleaving, I couldn’t afford much of anything to eat, not with that stupid truck guzzling gas like there was no tomorrow. And Istilldidn't know how on Earth I'd be paying for fuel to get home.
Knowing Cassidy, she'd be willing to pay for every gallon if she could. But knowing her mom? Cassidy was dead-broke by now.
And how did I know this?
It was because Cassidy was always broke whenever her mom bounced back into her life. The woman reallywasawful.
But that wasn’t important, not now. Somehow, we'd figure everything out. We always did, right?
As my thoughts churned, it slowly dawned on me that Cassidy was eyeing me with obvious concern.
It was easy to guess why.
No doubt, I was a total mess.
On the inside of the closet door, there was a full-length mirror. I gave my reflection a sideways glance and wanted to cringe at the sight.
I looked even worse than I'd imagined.
My long blond hair was in a tangled disarray, with only half of it contained in the loose ponytail that I'd whipped it into however many hours ago. My rumpled clothes – long black shorts and a dingy grey sweatshirt – were way too big and not even my own. As for my eyes, they were red-rimmed and glassy, with dark circles underneath.
Good grief.I looked like a druggie, fresh off a bender.
But this wasn't all my fault.
When I'd left Nashville, I'd looked perfectly normal. I'd even been wearing my own clothes,notthe ill-fitting extras that I'd found in Stuart's gym bag.
Now, ten hours later, my reflection was living proof that the drive hadnotbeen fun. Even the one thing I'd splurged on – a small hot chocolate with extra whipped cream – had ended up mostly on my lap, thanks to the lack of cup holders in the truck.Thus, the need to change my clothes.
In happier news, I was here. And Cassidy was safe. That's all that counted, right?
In front of me, she was saying, "Gosh, Allie. I'msosorry."
I tried to smile.Iwasn't sorry. I would've driven twice as far if that's what it took. I whispered, "You're okay?"
"Uh, yeah," she stammered. "I called. Didn't you get my message?"
"Of course I did. Why do you think I'm here?"
She winced. "Actually, I meant thesecondmessage, the one telling you that I was alright."
I gave a confused shake of my head. "What?"
"Yeah. In fact, I lefttwosecond messages – one at the apartment, and then another on your cellphone. You didn't get either one of them?"
I tried to think. She must've left themafterI'd pulled away from that truck stop, the one where I'd bummed a charge for my cellphone. That was the last time I'd been able to make or receive any calls – at least until showing up here, where I'd spent most of thenewcharge, the one I'd bummed on the front porch, talking to that chick with the attitude.
As I stared stupidly at my friend, I considered that awful voicemail, the one informing me that Cassidy was selling her goodies for gas money.
Finally, I gave a low scoff. Just as I'd suspected, the message was a big, steaming pile of crap. And yet, like a total idiot, I'd still stepped into it with both feet, barging into some stranger's house like a crazy person.
Looking back, it was a wonder the guy hadn't called the police – or at the very least, tossed me out on my ass.
Judging from his physique, he was certainly more than capable.
Still, I had to wonder, why on Earth had he left open the door?
