Chapter Three
Charlie
The line for late registration at the college snakes down the hallway, and it’s not moving. I hope this doesn’t make me late to sign Sam up for soccer. I pull out my phone to text Whit that I could be late. I’m still walking and typing, my head down, when my shoulder slams hard into something that, by the searing pain, I assume is the wall or a doorframe.
“Ah!” I drop my phone and my bag before I clutch my shoulder. Good, it’s still there. I hunch over, my eyes squinting together as I turn.
“Shit, are you okay?” a deep and familiar voice asks.
I rest my butt against the wall, my head back as I kick near the trim.
“Hey now, what did that wall ever do to you?” the same voice asks, followed by a chuckle.
“Near ripped my arm off, that’s what,” I say.
“Nope, that was me. Sorry about that.”
My eyes spring open. I rub my arm and look up.
“Jett,” I say, and even I think it sounds too breathy.
“Charlie,” he says with a chuckle.
His hat is backward today and he’s wearing another one of those shirts that looks like it’s about to bust a seam at his biceps. If I was wondering how strong he is, the throbbing on my left side just told me exactly how firm his arms are.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I’m just meeting up with someone real fast.” He kneels to grab both my bag and phone. Handing them to me, he points to my shoulder, which is still nestled under my hold. “Do you think it’s going to be okay?”
“Yes, I think so,” I answer. His smile is infectious. “You’d better get going or you’re really going to be late to wherever you were in such a hurry to get to.” I start to move, assuming he’ll take that as his cue that he doesn’t need to stay to make sure I’m all right.
He props a hand on the wall next to me. “I’m already late. What are a few more minutes?”
God, I swear he can probably count every tooth in my mouth right now. I glance away before my emotion is more obvious than it should be.
“That smile alone could make a man surrender to anything you wanted.”
And now my face is on fire. “Thank you,” I stutter.
His eyes meet mine, as if he is seeing something only he can. Then they move to my lips and I take a breath. I don’t think I would stop him if he kissed me again.
He looks away quickly and then glances around like he’s looking for someone. “Are you registering to go here?” He points to the line.
“Yep. I figured if the deadline hadn’t passed, that was a sure sign I was meant to go back to school, and I figured I better get here early to make the soccer thing, but I’m starting to think … I’m rambling.” Thinking before I speak has never been a strength for me. Well, it is when it comes to talking about my sister, but yeah, I overshare with everything else.
“Ramble away. I’m enjoying it,” he says.
Okay, who is legally allowed to have a grin that perfect?
“Well, I should be going. That line isn’t getting any smaller,” I say.
“Of course,” he says and steps back. “Oh hey, I have to go into work today, so I won’t be able to make soccer.”
That’s why Whit told me she’d be there.
“Oh, okay. Of course. Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around then,” I say and start to turn back to the line.
“How about we do something next weekend? Just the two of us,” he says, and I have to bite my lip to control my grin before I turn around to answer him.
“Maybe.”
His head is tilted, and he’s got a half smile as his focus remains on me while he backpedals down the hall. The intensity of his gaze increases my breathing, but I can’t seem to convince myself to look away. “Maybe I’ll have to find a way to turn that into a yes,” he says with a nod, turns, and continues on his way before I can think of something to say in return.
I sure don’t remember any Wyoming boys looking as cute at that one before I left. Then again, he is clean and doesn’t smell like he just drank a six-pack.
I try to control my smile, but what girl isn’t grinning like a fool when she meets a new boy? A cute one too who kissed her last night and asked her on a date today.
I spin around to resume my spot in line—it still hasn’t moved—when the doors to the building main entrance open with a bang.
“Hurry up, man. I don’t have all fucking day to do this!”
I flinch at the harsh tone from the man passing me in the hall. He pops his neck, revealing the edge of a tattoo from under the oversized white T-shirt that clearly hides his ass since his jeans are failing to do their job. He must see my movement out of the corner of his eye because he lowers his cell from his ear. He pins me with a glare, his eyes narrowing to the smallest slits I’ve ever seen. They look black, cold, full of warning and familiar. More than familiar, actually. They belong to Clint Grover. He used to run around with my sister’s ex, Drew, very briefly before he wound up in jail. He must be out now.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” he snaps, continuing on his way.
I glance to the floor, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. He clearly doesn’t recognize me. I want to keep it that way.
“Hold up a sec, man,” he says, and my focus on the carpet in front of me is filled with a pair of worn-out Nikes. “Charlie Campbell?”
Shit.
I shake my head but don’t look up. My hands are shaking like I’m holding one of those damn work-out shake it things. I take a slow breath, hoping he doesn’t notice.
“I know it’s you. Look up.”
I don’t. I move to step around him, but he sidesteps to stay in front of me.
“I said: Look. Up.”
With a heart beating so fast you’d think I drank twenty Red Bulls this morning, I meet his gaze. I can do this.
“I knew it. Well, well, well, this is fun.”
The smell of a skunk fills my nostrils, and I swallow in a breath not to throw up.
“What do you want, Clint?” I ask.
“Ah, so you even recognize me. It isn’t the tattoos, is it?”
With a face I know holds no expression, I don’t answer him. I just want to get out of here. Far away from him.
“The boys know you’re back?” he asks, clicking his tongue against his teeth when I don’t answer.
I sigh. If I just talk to him, this will be over quicker.
“No. A little hard to spread the news when they’re in jail,” I say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Again, I move to step around him the other way, and again, he steps in front of me.
“What? You’re not happy to see me?”
I hold my head up but continue to refuse looking at him. Be strong. “If you’re not going to tell me what you want, then please, step aside.”
“Damn, you’re a lot more feisty than I remember. I think I like it.”
He starts to step toward me, but I say, “Are you going to move or not?”
My heart is pounding and my hands are shaking. I can’t decide if I want to scream or cry.
His head tilts slowly and his eyes never leave mine. Finally, he steps aside.
“I hope to see you soon,” he calls out behind me as I’m basically sprinting down the hallway.
I don’t stop to get back in line. I don’t stop till I’m out the doors and in my car with every door locked.
Holy shit.
I sure as hell hope I don’t see him again. If he’s dealing on campus, which, honestly, has to be the only reason he is here, then running into him again is possible.
I start my car and drive off, looking in my rearview mirror to be sure he didn’t follow me to my car. I’ll take a few extra turns home to be safe.
I can have our bags packed in less than ten minutes and be on the road in under twenty.
I take a deep breath, letting my heart rate slow.
It wasn’t like he was looking and found me. More like, I chose a place that is probably easy business for him. That’s all it was. Nothing more.
I knew I’d run into someone from my past eventually. Better sooner than later, right? Yes. That’s right.
I’m fine. I’ve still got this. He didn’t want anything from me. He isn’t following me. I’m fine.
We’re fine.
I’m still repeating these words even after I pick up Sam and drive toward the soccer fields.
Please don’t let moving home be a mistake.
Jett
Working undercover has its pros and cons. I put bad guys behind bars, and in the end I like to think I make a difference doing just that. But when work calls, even if I have plans, I go. This is how I ended up on campus this morning. I shouldn’t date, no, but Charlie, being with her, there’s something different. I don’t feel like I have to pretend with her, which is strange since I can’t tell her the truth. My plan was to ask her out today while the boys were playing soccer, but then Captain called about an hour ago to let me know Clint was released. I figured it would be at least a month before I saw her again, and then I bumped into her in the hall and I couldn’t miss my chance. And shit, when she said maybe and gave me that smile that made my heart freaking leap … well, it made me a lot happier than I am right now.
“I fucking told you, one twenty-five for a quarter. You question my prices and I’ll make sure all your other resources run out, got it?”
I try not to let the annoyed breath I just released become obvious. Clint is honestly the worst assignment I’ve ever had. He makes stupid decisions on a daily basis. Dealing in broad daylight at the campus right after he was arrested here last week is only one example.
Right now, he’s making a stupid decision inside an already stupid decision. He’s yelling about drugs in a busy hallway.
I glance down the hall where I’d bumped into Charlie. God, she’s beautiful, and she definitely made this shit day better.
“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” the young boy says. He can’t be more than eighteen and looks ready to bolt out of here.
“I’m not so sure you do. Let me make myself more clear.”
Clint reaches into the back of his jeans and reveals a gun.
Seriously.
Then he raises the gun until it presses into the younger man’s chin.
For fuck’s sake.
I want to end this assignment by bringing in him and Jimmy for drugs and money, not Clint alone because he got mad over a simple fucking grass deal.
“Dude,” I say, gaining his attention. I point to the random people in the hall. Clint puts his gun back where he got it and takes the money. “Next time it’s double,” he says before he walks past me down the hall. I follow, like always.
“All right man, something just came up and I’ve got to meet an old friend,” Clint says once we’re outside. “But keep your phone on you because I’m going to need your help with something here soon.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t question him.
“Sure thing,” I say and do this dumb handshake with a fist pump with him before he heads in the opposite direction.
One thing I expected as an undercover cop was more action, but more often than not, I’m waiting around for a gun to go off, for a meth, cocaine, heroin, or whatever sale—anything really that can prove a conviction to toss these sorry assholes in jail.
And now, I wait some more.