2
Rachel
“Screw my life!” I say as I gently bang my head against the steering wheel and watch my phone turn dark before my eyes. “Just perfect,” I say as I throw my phone onto the passenger seat.
Luckily, I managed to call a tow truck just before my phone died. Apparently, they’re only ten minutes away. I pray that’s true as I sit and watch the sun sink behind the trees. The amber blinking of my hazard lights mirrors the orange sunset, but it casts an eerie glow. In a few minutes, it’ll be dark and the perfect setting for a horror movie. Just right for Jason to jump out, drag me from the car, and kill me in the woods with his machete. Jade, one of my best friends, made me watch that movie—and oh my God, never again. Horror movies are not my thing. I’m now permanently traumatized.
I look up into my rearview mirror as a set of headlights comes into view. I once again check to make sure all the doors are locked. The car slowly drives past and pulls up in front of me.
I instantly recognize the blue iconic truck that is as undeniable as him. Randy Harrison the god of NorCal College. Thankfully not a masked man about to kill me. His car door opens, and he jumps out of his truck and heads back to me as I open my car door and get out.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just waiting for a tow truck, it’s on its way, apparently,” I say as I point in the direction, I assume it will come from.
I watch as he looks at my car, and back at me, giving me a sympathetic head nod.
He is gorgeous. I’ve seen him so many times around campus and up on the jumbotron at our home football games, but up close, he is even more flawless, and I can’t help but stare while he isn’t looking. His best feature is that perfect ninety-degree jaw line, it’s square, chiseled cut, and so perfect I have to force myself to look away. Strands of blonde hair occasionally fall over his brown eyes, and I can see how people think he should model for Calvin Klein.
“Engine problems?”
I shrug. “Umm, I think so.”
“Do you want to pop the hood, and I’ll take a look?”
“Sure,” I say, bending inside the driver’s door and pulling the lever.
Randy stands in front of my car and lifts the hood as a small billow of steam comes from the engine. I watch him study the engine, then he bends down and inspects under my car. “You have a bad gasket, by the looks, but the good news is that it hasn’t fully blown. You also have some coolant leaking, so you definitely won’t be able to drive this.”
“Great,” I mumble.
He closes the hood and dusts off his hands on his shorts, looking back to me. “I’m Randy, by the way.”
“I know who you are, Mr. Quarterback. I go to NorCal College too,” I say, kicking my tire with my heel and leaning back against my car.
I know who he is, everyone at the college knows who he is, so there is no point in acting like I don’t. But of course, he doesn’t know me, or even realize that we currently have a classtogether. We don’t run in the same crowds, and I don’t party. I wish I could, but I have more important things to do than drink my weekends away—like being up early to make my son breakfast.
“Really? I’ve never seen you on campus before, and I recognize most ladies,” he says, tucking his hands into the front of his shorts.
It draws my attention to his arms and how defined they are. That simple movement makes me almost drool as his tanned, well-chiseled biceps flex. “If they turned around and you pulled their hair, would you recognize the rest?” As soon as the words are out, I recoil at them.
He raises his eyebrows at my words as he scans our surroundings. Then he removes a hand from his pocket and rubs the back of his neck, offering me a weak grin. “That’s funny. I’m so glad I pulled over to check on you.”
I sigh, biting the inside of my lip as I silently scold myself. “I’m sorry—I’m just… flustered, waiting for this stupid tow truck to arrive. Plus,” I add, my tone softening, “we do have a class together.”
Feeling a little hurt that he doesn’t even remotely recognize me, but genuinely bad for having just said what I did. What and who he does isn’t my concern, and I shouldn’t judge him for living the life he wants. Hell, maybe I’m jealous of that carefree lifestyle. It’s not like he’s hurting anyone. Actually, scratch that, I’m sure that’s not true… he’s probably broken way too many hearts.
He rests both hands back on my car as the sky grows darker, only a whisper of the sun peeking over the horizon. “Well, I might as well wait here with you. Can’t exactly leave you waiting by yourself in the dark…my mom would kill me if she found out.”
“Thank you,” I say, looking down at my feet as I gently kick at the gravel. Feeling extra guilty now with how nice he is being after my bratty comment.
“So, what’s your name?” he asks, glancing down at me.
“Oh—it’s Rachel Summers,” I say, extending my hand. He looks a little surprised by the handshake, my dad raised me right, after all, but he accepts my hand. His hand is warm and large, the kind of quarterback’s hands that might be worth millions someday… if they aren’t already.
“Nice to formally meet you. Do you have someone coming to get you once the tow truck takes your car?”
Crap. “Shit, no, I don’t,” I reply, biting on my lower lip. “Maybe the tow truck driver could drop me off somewhere. My phone died so I can’t call anyone.”
