Rely On Me (Sample Chapters Only)

Chapter 1-1

I've never missed a visit to the cemetery. Every Friday. Every week. For three years. The hollowness in my chest is just that—hollow. Why is it so hard to make it there today? I'll be later than my usual time, but I'll make it there. My only consolation is when I visit her. All I want to do is talk to Mom, even if it's at the cold gray headstone.

Leaving the business building, I come to a halt. Huge puddles line the pathway leading to the student parking lot. The sprinklers are on, and they are spraying all over. Why? Why would they possibly be on at this time of the day? I sigh. Broken sprinklers create an awe-inspiring rainbow on my way to my car. Other students stop and enjoy the sight. I can walk around it, but I don't have the time, so I dash across the pathway. It's sunny out, I'll dry fast. My jeans and white shirt immediately stick to my body, and I swear under my breath.

As I lift my gaze, a group of students laugh and giggle by a large blue truck. The cars surrounding it are just as shiny and expensive-looking. A few girls are getting in and out of the truck bed, asking the guys around for help. I recognize Logan as one of the guys, and he is looking right at me. Shivers travel down my body and I tremble. I grip the straps of my backpack harder.

Must be nice to have time for fun. I shake my head. I don't want to turn into a bitter girl who is endlessly bitchy and negative. I know everything I do is my choice, and I take responsibility for my actions. It's the way it is.

My car is parked only one row from Logan, and it stands out like it did in high school: not in a good way. The two-door silver Toyota is ancient and covered in dust. But it's mine. I get inside and inhale slowly. Ahhh. Coffee. I'm thankful I left my full travel mug in the car. I could use a pick-me-up right now. I lift up the mug to my mouth as I peer in the general direction of the blue truck.

Logan is walking toward me. I yelp in surprise and coffee spills on my jeans.

Really?!

It's hard not to notice Logan and the confidence he walks with. He's taking wide and unfaltering steps. And suddenly, Mr. Golden Boy is knocking on my window. A playful grin dances across his face. I sigh and roll down the window, twisting and turning the handle. Logan raises his eyebrows and runs a hand through his short, nearly military-style, black hair. For crying out loud. I'm staring.

"I thought most cars have automatic windows nowadays."

I search for sarcasm in his voice, but there isn't any. He seems truly amused.

"Most cars do, but this is not one of them. My family saved money for a long time to buy this salvaged car. She is pretty old, but still runs."

We bought the car from another Romanian family who had a small car dealership in LA. I pat the steering wheel. I'm thankful I have this baby.

I twist the key in the ignition, and a disturbing noise sounding as if someone is choking on a piece of carrot comes out.

"I see. She is definitely something...and not working."

"Thank you for stating the obvious."

Logan leans on my window with his head way too close for my liking. I get goose bumps on my arms, but it's because I'm afraid my car won't start.

C'mon. I try one more time. The muffler makes a coughing sound.

Phew.

"How can I help you, Logan Hamilton?"

"I love the way you say my name." He gives that gorgeous grin of his, and tension creeps up my shoulders and neck.

I gesture to his smile. "Does this usually work with the girls?"

I lean across the passenger seat and roll down the window, not even bothering to try the A/C, which stopped working months ago.

"All the time. But listen, I want to talk to you about something." His voice is low and rough.

I fish out a scrunchie from my jeans pocket and attempt to put my long hair up into a ponytail, knowing that it will go in every direction possible once I get onto the freeway. Logan follows my every move, but his gaze lingers a little too long on my white shirt.

"You didn't run fast enough?" His amber eyes darken, but to his credit, his eyes quickly move to my face. His eye contact is firm.

Instinctively, I cross my arms over my chest.

"Yeah, you can say that. Anyway, I don't want to sound rude, but I really need to go." I put the shifter into reverse and take my foot off the brake pedal.

"Wow. You drive a stick?"

Logan's eyes turn extra-large, staring at my hand clasping the black ball of the gearshift. Manual cars are cheaper, but hard to drive, especially in LA traffic. My dad taught me how to drive a stick, one of our many bonding moments together.

"Sorry, Logan. But...I'm working at Barney's tonight. If you need to still talk."

With that, I wave and leave campus.

I doubt I'll see him again. What could Logan possibly want from me? I'd rather avoid him. Guys like him should come with a warning—trouble. And trouble is the last thing I want now...no matter how alluring it may be.