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CHAPTER THREE

Rumor has it she was arrested.

Ainsley

T he sun rises, and I’m wide awake. Not from the most refreshing sleep ever but from being up two-thirds of the night praying every noise wasn’t the next Ted Bundy coming to offer me his back seat.

Or truck. Wait. He was the one who took them on dates first, right?

That might not have been too bad. At least then I could have squeezed a shower and food out of him before he killed me.

A night in the back seat of a car is no freaking joke, let me tell you.

Who knew the middle seat that everyone’s ass cheeks hang off of could be the devil incarnate?

I mean, really. Why can’t the entire back seat be one level?

Did carmakers think, “Hey! Let’s be sure to make this back seat unsleepable just in case the owner gets desperate?

” I think they did. My ribs will show you the beating they took from the hump and seat belt buckle—let’s not forget those lifesavers.

Needless to say, although today is a new beginning, it is not a pleasant one.

I stink, I’m exhausted, and I’m alone. And .

. . I might have been a little scared. Okay, I was a lot scared, but what drove my fright to nuclear levels was the brutal banging on my window that sent me shooting upright and knocking my head on the ceiling about five seconds ago.

“I thought you had a friend you could call!” An angry man growls through the closed window .

Bostic.

I told you he was a kind soul. And for that, I’ll forgive him for stopping my heart this early in the morning.

I roll down the window, mindful of my breath. “I did,” I say, grinning at a freshly shaven face. “Her name is Jane Honda. She offered me her back seat in exchange for filling her tank up with gas—a real giver, she is.”

He doesn’t look amused. The twitching lip and the narrowing of his eyes give it away. Clearly, Bostic needs more coffee, and if I’m honest, I could use a cup or three, like yesterday.

“You’ve been out here all night?” His voice is stern, like a parent.

My mom would be super proud of his glare.

But we are never mentioning this to her, ever.

She doesn’t deal well with stressful situations.

It was already hard enough convincing her to let me leave the proverbial nest and live on my own.

Granted, I haven’t done such a bang-up job thus far, but I have potential.

I sigh, noting the hard edge of his words.

This can go down one of two ways. I could lie, or I could evade the truth, but there will be no complete honesty.

Bostic came back here out of suspicion, so deep down, he doesn’t expect the whole truth from me right now.

He knew I wasn’t wholly forthcoming last night, so we can check being smart on his list of good attributes.

“Yep.” I let the P pop a little like it was no big deal for me to sleep in my car.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought. I mean, I could have used a little lavender to settle my nerves, but all in all, it wasn’t terrible.

” It was brutal is what it was, but there’s no sense in dwelling in the past. It was a unique experience, and hopefully, I’ll never need to repeat it.

“Come on, get out.” He wiggles the door handle impatiently.

I narrow my eyes. “Are you turning me over to the police?” It’s possible. I’m not giving him trusting vibes here.

His chest expands, and he looks at the sky. “No. We’re going to get your things.”

Right. Of course he isn’t turning me in. It was a candle accident, after all .

“Oh.” I eye the steps into the complex. “Maybe we should wait until they leave for class?” He knows I’m referring to the cheating trolls upstairs.

Bostic shakes his head and wiggles the handle once again. “No. We’re getting your things now. Then you’re going to follow me to the firehouse for a shower and some breakfast.”

Oh. Well, that sounds lovely. “Okay.” I agree quickly and roll up my window, grabbing my purse.

Shit.

“Uh, can you turn around for a minute?” Bostic’s eyes do this fearful jump thing, but he turns around, albeit slowly. I hurry and pull my arms through the sleeves of my shirt. There was no way I was sleeping with an underwire and a seat belt buckle jabbing into my ribs. I’m no masochist.

When I’ve got the girls all under wraps, I sweep my hair up into a ponytail and check for drool marks. “Okay, I’m ready,” I announce, tossing my flip-flops on the ground and sliding my feet in.

Bostic eyes my choice of footwear.

“I don’t have clean socks, and the flip-flops were in my car.” I shrug. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

He grunts but doesn’t comment. I’m pretty sure he isn’t judgy.

Instead, he’s assessing the general hot mess that I am.

“Lead the way,” I tell him with a sweep of my hand.

I’m sure as hell not going first. Frank isn’t the forgiving type, and well, I feel much safer standing behind two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask, out of breath. If there is one thing I’ve learned about Bostic in a short amount of time is that he does not walk. For a big guy, he freaking hustles.

“I just knew.”

Oh, well, that’s not evasive at all. Maybe he’s like a guardian angel.

I saw this show once about this clumsy girl who kept avoiding death because her guardian angel stepped in and saved her time after time.

Or wait, was that Final Destination where she kept avoiding death?

Ugh. Now I can’t remember. Anyway. “So you just knew, huh? ”

Bostic raps on the apartment door, and I fail to swallow my nerves when I hear footsteps.

“Stay behind me and keep quiet,” says my guardian angel—or Devon Sawa—either one is fine at this point.

I smile and make a zipping motion across my lips just as Tucker’s assface opens the door.

“Can I help you?” he has the nerve to ask.

Punch him right in the face, Bostic! Do it for me. Do it for his future girlfriends!

“Get out of my way,” Bostic growls out instead.

It wasn’t punching him in the face, but it was still satisfying seeing Tucker rear back at his malicious tone.

“We’re here for her things.”

That’s right, bitch. Move!

It occurs to me that Bostic doesn’t even know my name.

Or maybe he does. It’s likely someone told him for his report.

Do firefighters do reports, or is that just the police?

Well, shit. Now I’m getting confused again.

This lack of sleep is really messing with my head, or maybe being with Tucker made me stupid.

Can that happen? Can guys make you stupid? I’m going with: possibly.

Tucker tries to peer around, but Bostic takes a step toward him. “Are we going to have a problem?”

Please have a problem, Tucker. I would so love to see you get your ass beat right now.

Tucker takes a step back. I should have known he would always look out for himself.

Tucker has never really been a fighter. Not that I look for guys to fight, but you have to admit it’s super sexy when they unleash the beast with all that grunting and sweating.

Whew. I’ve never appreciated a grunt as much as I have when I watch a UFC fight.

“By all means,” Tucker says, motioning for Bostic and me to come in.

I try not to look around. I really , really do.

I mean, do I need to see if they’d resumed their fuckfest on the floor?

No, I do not. But I look anyway. And thankfully, it’s all gone, and our once sparse living room is back to normal.

Not ours. Theirs. As in, not mine anymore .

I push my way past Bostic to my room, where I start throwing everything I can into my suitcase without hesitation. No need to stay here any longer than I have to.

“Do you need any help?”

That’s Bostic, not Asshole.

My head drops to my chest in a big sigh. “I don’t know.” This is all happening so fast. It’s like I’m living someone else’s life. My room. My things. I’ve spent the last two years within these four walls and in seconds it’s all gone.

I take a seat on the edge of my bed with my head in my hands.

“I don’t have anywhere to take all this stuff.

What am I supposed to do with my bed?” I mean, really.

What’s the point in packing? I have nowhere to put it.

Maybe I should give it away? Or perhaps I should drop out and go home.

Find a community college closer to home where I’ll have food in my belly and a roof over my head.

I look up at Bostic through bleary eyes.

I’m not going to cry. I can handle this. Think of it like when you had a Father’s Day event at school and no father to have doughnuts with you. The initial pain hurts, but you get used to it. Eventually, you won’t even care.

“We’ll figure it out, kiddo. Right now, just grab what you need for the next few days.” Bostic says this like he has a plan, or maybe he’s just saying what he thinks I need to hear, so I don’t lose my shit again and cause another fire.

Either way, he’s right. There’s nothing I can do about the bed and the larger items. Essentials.

I just need essentials until I figure out my next step.

I don’t really want to go home, but if I have to, I have to.

The important thing is I can’t let Tucker win.

He can’t know that he’s turned my life inside out.

He can’t see that I have no idea who I am at the moment or what I plan to do with myself.

Tucker just needs to see me pack up clothes and makeup. Oh. And a toothbrush—definitely a toothbrush.

I nod. “You’re right. I’ll find a new roommate in no time. We’ll just hope Taylor doesn’t stash a dead fish in the mattress before I return. ”

Bostic’s eyes go wide, like the viciousness of women is new to him. Ha. He has no idea.

I wave off my comment. “I doubt she will, though. She’s a vegetarian. Touching a fish is like wearing drugstore foundation to her. Just forget I said anything.”