AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Over a flat tire.”
They laugh. Meanwhile, my eyes carelessly drift toward Oliver.
His expression shifts, the tilt of his head giving me a full view of the half smile currently gracing his lips. I slide him a shot and count to three until we both down it in one go.
“So, what do you think?” I tell him, ignoring the burn running through my throat. “Road trip… just you and me? Cement the so-called friendship and iron out the kinks.”
“You’d be willing to go back home?”
I haven’t given it a thought, jumping at the chance to ‘cement our friendship.’ The thought of going home comes with mixed feelings. My father will wave his I-told-you-you-wouldn’t-make-it finger. Yet, suddenly, surrounded by good and loyal friends, I have this burst of confidence.
This is my life.
Everyone around me lives life on their terms, so why am I any different?
I can do this.
Stand up to my family once and for all.
“Yes,” I announce proudly.
Oliver would have a face of an angel if his lips broke further apart and weren’t illuminated with a mischievous grin. Lifting another shot glass to his lips, he downs it in one go, sliding his tongue along the rim, tasting the salt while his gaze remains fixated on me. He has no idea what he’s doing to me—breaking down every wall inside me with the sheer movement of his tongue.
“Fine, but I’m driving,” he demands, sliding another shot toward me. “Ain’t no girl behind my wheel.”
Asshole.
“Whatever! I don’t want to drive your penis mobile, anyway.”
It goads a reaction from him—a smirk as he gestures for me to drink my shot.
“Get ready, Gabs. You’re either going to love or hate me once we’ve reached Colorado.”
The scary part is I know this will go only one way.
I can’t hate him.
Nothing could make me hate him.
It will only be a matter of time when it sways the other way.
And the worst part is, we’re halfway there already.
Sixteen
Oliver
“Jesus Christ, woman. What’s taking you so long?”
I slam on the horn again, yelling for Gabriella to hurry the hell up.
Why women, in general, take forever to do things is beyond me. I have one bag packed—the bare essentials. At the rate she’s going, everything but the kitchen sink will need to be loaded into the back of this Jeep.
She yells back, informing me she’ll be ready in a minute. That minute is already an extension from the fifteen minutes she asked for an hour ago.
Women are pains in the arse.
A brown van marked with the name UPS pulls into the curb. Jumping out of his seat, the driver, in his questionable short shorts, throws me a package and asks me for a signature.
