CHAPTER 1
Jess
Crap!
Crap!
Mutha Effing Crap!
If I knew he was my ride, I would have found other means of transport. How the hell could I have guessed that Quaid was the one that I would have to spend the next four hours with, in a car, alone, all the way back to Plymouth?
I should have known. I mean it was right in my face all along that this was a possibility. I mean, what were the odds that it wasn’t freaking Quaid Stevens who would show up on my doorstep this morning? Pretty freaking low! It was just too good to be true that I was able to get a ride straight home from Columbia without it being Quaid. I had gotten his phone number off one of the college carpooling bulletin boards, and in no shape, way or form did I want to believe that it was him. The post only mentioned his number, and in his texts, we sent back and forth, he had always signed it with a Q, which could have been short for Quentin, or Quincy. Well, I guess that’s what I told myself, even though I knew deep down the only boy from home that attended Columbia like me was Plymouth’s home-grown pride and joy Quaid Stevens.
Crap!
Mutha effing Crap!
My face must have shown my displeasure because the second Quaid laid eyes on me, he wasn’t pleased either. I heard him mumble something under his breath and then walk over with the same sunken expression as I must have been wearing.
“Jessica, I presume?” he said not concealing his annoyance.
“Q,” I said matching his disdain.
“It’s Quaid, actually.”
“Oh, I remember,” I said still irritated by the idea of having to go through with this. Money was tight and if I wanted to save a couple of bucks to get home for Christmas break, hitching a ride with Quaid was my only option.
“Do you, now? I didn’t think I made much of an impression,” he said sarcastically with one of his eyebrows lifted, almost reaching his scalp.
“You didn’t, but it’s kind of hard not knowing who everyone is in Plymouth growing up. Too small of a town.”
“I see you’re still a pleasure as always, Jessica. Although the opinionated girl I remember from back home was called Jess,” he said while opening the trunk of his car and then proceeded to rearrange his bags, making room for mine.
“Humph! I prefer Jessica now.”
Opinionated... Like he knows anything about me. Opinionated my ass.
“Jessica it is then. Any other changes I should know about?”
“I doubt anything related to me should ever be a concern of yours, Q. So no, no changes that you should be aware of.”
“Never did like me much, did you Jess? he smirks back at me.
“Nope,” I affirm smacking my lips on the ‘p’.
Never liked the illusion of perfection and that’s precisely what Quaid Stevens was. Perfect. Or at least an extremely good copy of it. With his perfect dark short hair and his drool-worthy sea blue eyes, perfectly flawless skin and chiseled shoulders and nothing but hard abs hidden by his designer clothes. The man looked like Tyler Hoechlin’s doppelganger. Yeah, that’s right! Freaking Superman jaw-dropping gorgeous and acted like the male version of Mother Theresa. That combination alone has me on pins and needles dreading the next couple of hours that I’ll need to be in such close proximity to such a sham. No one is that good. Nope! Perfect people were a lie in my book, which meant Quaid Stevens is nothing but a perfect deception. I never trusted perfect even if it did come in a package as gorgeous and inviting as Quaid freaking Stevens.
“Sure you still want a ride, then?” he asks with his hands in his front pockets looking like he would rather eat gravel than to spend the next four hours with me. For some reason, pissing Quaid off had officially made my day. Even if by some miracle I could afford to flake out on this arrangement, I would have gone anyway just to get on his last nerve.
“Yep,” I sneer and make my way to the back of the car to place my duffle bag inside. I hear him breathe out heavily and mumble something else under his breath.
Mumble away, Quaid. You’re stuck with me.
But then it hits me that unfortunately, this means that I’m stuck with him too. I push the thought back to where it came from and opened the passenger side door. I don’t even acknowledge when he gets into the car at the same time as I strap myself in. And now I’m stuck in this death trap alongside the last person I thought I would ever have to see again. I hate anything related to driving, but I also hate the fact that my life is now in Quaid’s hands. Cars have always been my Achilles heel. I was already anxious knowing that I would be at the mercy of some stranger driving me home but having that stranger be Quaid, just raised my anxiety levels through the roof. He better not try anything funny and drive like a normal human being. If he’s a dumb jock that gets his kicks at driving 120 miles an hour, we’ve definitely got a problem.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my skinny black jeans to ease my nerves, but it doesn’t help. Before leaving my dorm, my roommate Izzy even suggested I do a shot before I left, to take the edge off. I laughed saying that I was not going to drink Tequila at seven in the morning just so I could stomach a four to five-hour drive. Right now though, I’m kind of slapping myself for not having a shot. Or two. Or three.
Where is the bloody “Cuervo” when you need it?!
I look into my bag and try to find that miracle drug that will get me through the next few hours. I hate having to result in taking a Xanax, even if it was prescribed by my family doctor for specific events like these to control my anxiety levels. It’s a necessary evil even if I don’t like it.
“Hey, you okay?” Quaid asks looking at me with concern in his drop-dead gorgeous eyes as he sees me taking the pill followed by a big gulp of water. He hasn’t even put his key in the ignition, and I’m already sweating bullets. I take a deep breath and just come clean. Might as well. I hate to admit weakness to anyone, especially to someone like Quaid, but if he decides to go full Fast and Furious on me, a panic attack is sure to happen.
I turn my head to face him and give him my most annoyed look. If I have to show weakness, at least I’ll do it on my terms. I don't want Quaid to think that he has any power over me
“I don't like being driven by someone I don't trust.”
“God, you’re a piece of work. If you can't handle a stranger driving you then why the hell did you agree to a carpool anyway? You could have taken a train to Boston and then a bus back to Plymouth and saved both of us the torment.”
“Because necessity sometimes doesn’t go hand in hand with what we are comfortable with. Just keep to the speed limit, and you won't hear a peep out of me, okay?”
“I sincerely doubt that,” he says already starting the car. I roll my eyes at his attempt at having the last word and make myself comfortable for the journey. Well, at least I try. We’re silent the whole ride out of Manhattan, and I’m glad for it. One of the appeals New York has is that you can get from A to B without a car being a major factor. Back home, not so much. On my sixteenth birthday, my parents made me get my driver’s license and I reluctantly did. Well, at least after my third attempt, I did. But even after I got it, I was happy enough with hitching rides to school or wherever, with my cousins and only as a last resort did I put myself behind the wheel.
In that regards, being accepted to Columbia was a dream come true. It’s everything else that isn’t going the way I planned. College is harder than I expected. Sure it's still my first semester, but I haven't been able to adapt to college life like I thought I would. High school had been easy for me. Everything about it felt natural. My classes, my extracurriculars, my social calendar; all of it. I was able to maintain a high GPA and still keep up with everything else. College though, not so much. All my classes are demanding as hell, and I’m constantly surrounded by people twice as smart as I am and even more motivated.
At Riverside, I knew I stood out from the mould. Not that this was a goal of mine, it just was what it was. But here at Columbia, I don't even think there is one teacher now, that remembers my name. Or even cares to. But I don't want to think about that right now. All I want to focus on is getting back home and relax. I haven't had a full night’s sleep in what seems to be forever and intend to do just that in my own bed, in my own private room. Don't get me wrong; I love my roommate Izzy. If I could name one good thing that came out of moving to New York City, it was meeting her sassy British ass, but still having some sort of privacy back, even for just a little while, is a godsend.
Before I know it, we have officially left New York. I look over at Quaid and see that his scowl has diminished and that he’s actually not that bad a driver. The Xanax is definitely kicking in since I’m not as tense, so a little shut-eye might just be what I need. The added bonus is that this trip will also end faster if I sleep a couple of hours during it. So I do just that. I close my eyes and anxiously await to smell my mother's home cooked meal instead of Quaid’s Jean Paul Gaultier cologne.