Page 3 of Pack Rivals, Part One

Four dollars and sixty-two cents if I buy a candy bar.

Three dollars if I pick up one of those big bags of chips too.

I pull out my purse and let it jangle in my hand. As I do, my eyes stray to the man outside. He's tall and his shoulders broad. He looks more like a tree than a man – all hard and brown and strong. How does he even fit inside that car?

I'm still staring when he hangs up the pump and his gaze flips towards the shop. I have to dart my own away, pretending to be interested in a chili-flavored packet of chips. Which I am.

I take them to a till, where an elderly man takes so long ringing it up, that the man from the pump is standing behind me waiting before I'm done.

He's a foot behind me, but I swear to God I can feel the warmth from his body radiating towards mine and his aftershave tickles my nose. It doesn't have that dense artificial taint that so often offends my nose. No, this smells more natural – probably some expensive aftershave they're selling in the city, capturing the aroma of … spring rain.

The man takes a step closer as I count out my coins on the countertop and his breath sounds emphasized in my ears.

When finally, the potato chips belong to me, I spin around, clutching them to my chest like a bouquet of flowers and come face to face with the man.

He sidesteps to the left, making room for me, just as I sidestep to the right.

I laugh and he smiles.

And oh, holy smoke. If his eyes are dazzling, his smile is even more so. My knees do that thing.

"Where are you headed?" he asks me.

"The city."

"Race you there," he says with a wink, and I snort.

"I think we both know who's going to win."

"Yeah," he says, his voice all growly and deep again. "Me. I always win."

I don't doubt it for one minute.

Back on the road, I balance the open packet of chips between my knees, stuffing them into my mouth as Missy and I cruise along. We're all gassed up now with enough to make it to my cousin's place in the city. I wind up the windows, let the cool air blow, and finally find a rock station on the radio.

Five minutes later, the sleek silvery-blue sports car comes racing past us, kicking up a trail of dust in its path. The man beeps his horn as he passes us, giving me a friendly salute, and I laugh for a second time today.

Shit, it feels good to laugh. It feels good to escape. It feels even better to leave everything behind.

* * *

I've never beento Courtney's apartment before, or the city for that matter. I pull over at the outskirts of Rockview and type her address in my sat nav before Missy and I set off for our first drive across the city. It's chaos. The roads are a million times busier, far more aggressive and a hell of a lot ruder than home. Other drivers lean on their horns as I swerve between lanes, miss my turnings and drive in never-ending circles. After an hour, the stupid gas meter is taunting me once more, and I'm desperately trying to stifle the tears bubbling in the corners of my eyes. I can't cry because then my vision will blur, and this darn fiasco will be ten times worse.

As the sun sets, I finally reach the right road – albeit from completely the wrong direction – and squeeze into a spot right outside Courtney's door. I cut Missy's engine and take five minutes to catch my breath and allow my hands to stop shaking. I always thought I was a good driver, but country-bumpkin driving and city cruising are two totally different ball games. Sorry Missy, but I'm never driving in this city ever again.

After checking the address one final time, I grab my overnight bag from the passenger seat and slink up to the door, yawning and stretching as I go.

The rest of the boxes can wait until the morning.

Courtney meets me on the doorstep with a big hug, squeezing me so tight I think my ribs might snap, then grabs my wrist and drags me up the stairs to her apartment.

Once we're inside, she surveys me.

"You're looking skinny. Are you eating?"

"You sound like my mom," I mutter.

Courtney holds both hands up and takes a step back. "Woah, sorry dude. You don't want to talk about it?"

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