Page 7 of Governor

Thankfully.

Carter returns to his bed and sits. “Did you bring anything for dinner?” There is a large communal fridge in the kitchen, but we each have small mini-fridges in our rooms.

Shopping has not yet happened. I’ve been too busy schlepping shit from my storage unit to the dorm.

“I haven’t hit the store yet,” I admit.

“You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

He pulls on his sneakers. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

Cocky or not, I’m not arguing with him. “Thanks.”

While I don’t know it at the time, that’s the day I am forever pulled into Carter Wilson’s orbit.

That’s also the day I meet my best and closest friend, and my life changes forever.

Chapter Three

Let me set the scene for you—it’s the beginning of my sophomore year of college, and I embarrassingly spend my first afternoon in my new dorm room learning how to fold clothes like a ten-year-old because my older roommate takes pity on me.

I am neither a slob nor an idiot, but I now feel the need to somehow prove both of those points to Carter. Because, rightfully, he probably thinks I am.

With the room finally straightened, we head downstairs and out to his vehicle. As we walk, I notice he has a slight limp. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“What?”

“You’re limping.”

“This is actually me on a good day.” His smile looks a little more grim this time, etching a few extra lines in his cheeks and emphasizing his rugged jaw. “I have a cane tucked in the closet for the really bad days. I suspect tomorrow this will catch up with me and it’ll be a so-so day.”

We walk to Carter’s Kia Soul, which is several years old and aridiculouslyugly shade of nearly neon green.

“Somehow, I don’t picture a man like you driving a vehicle like this,” I note after I climb into the passenger seat. Like his side of the room, the car’s interior is showroom-neat. It might as well be brand new.

He now wears sunglasses that hide his brown eyes. He shrugs, a gesture I’ll soon come to learn is so typically Carter. “The Snot Box was cheap, it runs, I could afford to pay cash for it, and all my shit fits in it.” A smile quirks his lips. “And it’s so ugly I’m hoping no one ever steals it.”

Those are all perfectly valid reason to own a car as disgustingly green as this one. “The Snot Box?”

He points at the hood through the windshield and smiles, as if it’s self-explanatory.

Which, actually, it is. “Fair enough,” I say. At least he seems to have a sense of humor. “What’s your major?”

“I plan to attend Stetson for my law degree. Right now, I’m going poli sci for my major, with a criminal justice minor.”

“Well, we’ve got that in common. I want to attend Stetson, too. Only I’m a criminal justice major with a poli sci minor. How old are you, again?”

“Twenty-eight,” he says. “And no, I won’t buy alcohol for you while you’re underage, sorry.”

I try not to feel defensive over that. “Not that I was going to ask. I’ll be twenty-one in six weeks. I have better things to do than risk my scholarship getting drunk.”

He shrugs again, an easy kind of gesture indicating no skin off his nose. “Just wanted to put it out there. Pissed off my roommate last year.”

“Why?”

“Because I wouldn’t buy him alcohol. Once you hit twenty-one, obviously, it doesn’t matter.”