“I can manage,” I say tightly, reaching for the handle to open the door. I climb out of the car as fast as I can, slamming the door with extra force because damn, that felt good.

Jackson immediately rolls down the passenger side window. “Don’t forget your stuff in the back seat.”

When I left my car at the shop, I took out everything that was important to me. As if I might not see that car ever again. Which is silly and dramatic, but I couldn’t help having that thought. What if my car is unrepairable? I’ll be screwed.

Like, totally screwed.

I jerk open the back door and grab my backpack and the rest of my stuff. “Thanks again,” I bite out.

I turn away from his car and march toward my apartment building, trying my best to fight my jittery nerves from having Jackson’s mouth and hands all over me.

God, he’s the worst.

He can decimate me with a few whispers, his mouth on my neck and his hand on my boob. He’s deadly.

Awful.

I hate him.

Okay. Fine.

Not really.

I work at the Doghouse Grill. It’s one of the most popular restaurants close to campus, if not the entire town. Customers spill into the place all day, all night. The parking lot is small and cramped, so it’s a constant fight out there for parking. The line to order is always out the door, and we never seem to have enough seating for everyone.

We’re slammed from the time we open until we close, and this means time passes really, really quickly. I got the job thanks to my experience working the fountain at one of the lakeside resorts in my hometown for three summers in a row. Most of the high schoolers work at the various resorts and restaurants that surround the lake. At the height of summer, we’d get slammed there too.

I’m used to a fast pace, and I’m super-efficient. I got hired here easily, and I love it. I make decent tips too. The only thing I don’t like? The hours. We stay open pretty late, especially when management doesn’t like to turn customers away. Only when the grill is completely closed will we finally stop serving food. Though the bar is always open way longer than it should be.

Most nights we close at nine, but sometimes I don’t get out of there until around eleven. I don’t like being out alone that late. Yes, I’m a big girl, but the crime rate is up in this part of town. I can’t help but be a little nervous.

I’m a small-town girl, what can I say?

I never talked to Jackson about picking me up after work. Hayden dropped me off when my shift started—and then came in and ordered her and Gracie some food with my employee discount.

That’s what friends are for, helping each other out.

It’s a Tuesday, and we’re still busy. A stream of students mixed with regular folks come in and out the doors all night. By the time I’m taking my break, sitting at a table near the back, close to the kitchen, my feet are aching, and it feels good to be off of them for a bit. I check my phone to see I have a text from none other than Jackson.

The jackass tease who felt me up and then essentially kicked me out of his car.

Jackson: What time should I come pick you up?

Me: I already have a ride.

Jackson: From who?

Me: Why do you always think I’m lying?

Jackson: Maybe because you are.

Irritation fills me and I hit the button so I can call him. He answers on the first ring.

“Who’s picking you up?”

This is how he greets me.

“Hayden,” I tell him, which is the damn truth. “She took me to work too.”

Tags: Monica Murphy College Years Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net