"We can split the check you know," I say flatly. Wondering if asking him for this favor was even worth the trouble.
"Don't insult me. You know I've got it."
After he leaves, I'm relieved because that means I get to polish off my bowl of pasta and my remaining glass of wine without judgment.
My judgment in men truly stinks. I'm alwaysjust friendswith all the good ones, like my pal Jagger from Penn, and attracted to the losers.
I check the time and decide to turn down the offer to look at the dessert menu and head home instead. My father should be arriving back soon with our new guest, and I need to straighten up the place among other things. I'm a little anxious about this visitor.
Stone Barringer.
Family friend turned bad boy turned hardened criminal, and now he's coming to live with us after his release from prison. Mr. Jack's son or not, I made sure to share with my father just how much I don't agree with this living arrangement.
Honestly, I barely remember Mr. Jack and certainly don't remember much about his son. Why my father feels like he has to do this is beyond me. It's not smart and it's not safe.
I get about two blocks from the restaurant when I hear the blaring sound of a police siren behind me. I look in my rearview window, wondering if I need to pull over, so that the car can get by me to continue their pursuit. I definitely don't want to be rear ended by a police cruiser.
I slow down and swerve over toward the side of the road, but when I do, I become thoroughly confused when the police car pulls directly behind me and stops.
Are they stopping me?
* * *
