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“Lu, where you going?” he calls after me, and I can hear the mud sucking at his bare feet as he jogs to catch up with me. “Let me help you get cleaned up.”
I let out a riotous laugh, which slows to an offended chuckle.
He’s got to be kidding me!
“What?!” I ask, my body whipping around to face him, the shocking disgust in my tone unmistakable. “Why, so you can cop a feel? Try to grab my boobs and claim it was an accident?”
He shakes his head, but says nothing, and the look of fake surprise on his face is almost comical. He’s a great actor.
“While I was on holidays in the States, I felt up some stupid American girl I met,” I mock, trying on my best Australian accent. “Great story, mate.”
Without letting him speak, I flip him off and shove past him, heading back toward the house so I can get cleaned up.
Two hours and three showers later, I’m forced to say good-bye to Jack. When I say forced, I mean my mother literally had to pay me to come out of my bedroom, bribing me with twenty dollars and a bag of Twizzlers.
“He does these things because he has a crush on you,” she whispered through the closed door and I rolled my eyes. If she thought that would make me leave the safety of my room she was sadly mistaken.
Eventually she changed her tactic and I emerged twenty dollars richer and a little less angry. I’m sure drowning my anger in Twizzlers will catch up to me someday, but for now my skinny ass is shoveling them down.
I’m standing with my arms crossed over my chest, now in the driveway of my parents’ house as I watch Jack and his father put their suitcases into the trunk of the car.
Good riddance!
My mom, in her over the top ways, is crying and hugging both Jack and his dad, and my dad is shaking hands and wishing them safe travels, but I have yet to move.
It’s Jack who leans in to hug me, and I make it as awkward as possible by not uncrossing my arms. But when his arms wrap around my rigid frame I feel my body relax with his touch. My heart suddenly begins racing, pounding hard and loud in my chest as my stomach fills with butterflies.
His touch ignites something inside me, something new and fiery and exciting; something that makes me think I just might miss him.
“Bye, Lulu,” he says, a slight sadness to his voice, but it doesn’t make me hate that nickname any less. With his mouth next to my ear he mutters, “I can still smell the mud in your hair, you dirty street rat.” He pulls back with a smug grin on his face.
And just like that he makes it so easy to say good-bye.
Here’s to never seeing Jack Wilson again.
Chapter One
Present Day
Jack
The captain comes over the loudspeaker to announce the plane will be landing in twenty minutes. I feel myself take a deep breath as I realize this will likely be the last time I hear my own accent for a while.
Unless of course I plan on talking to myself out loud, which I don’t, because that would be fucking ridiculous. Obviously.
It takes forever to clear customs and immigration, and the whole process is made a million times worse by the fact that it was an overnight flight and everyone is exhausted, pissed off, and stinks.
I have to force myself to stay calm, even as the immigration officer grills me on my occupation, what my plans are for my stay, where I’ll be staying, how long I’ll be staying for, and generally a million other questions which have already been answered on the immigration form he’s currently staring at.
Eventually I’m cleared through and I make my way to the hire car company. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to go driving on the other side of the road. It was weird enough when I was a passenger as a kid, but actually having to drive? That could be a whole other story.
I manage to get myself what can only be described as a fucking pimp mobile. A giant black Cadillac complete with silver grill and a badge that can likely double as a gangster pendant if needed.
Rolling my eyes at the monstrosity, I throw my bags in the back, walk around and jump in the car only to discover I’m sitting in the front passenger seat, the steering wheel not in front of me but on the other side of the dash.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter as I get out of the car, walk back around and get in on the correct side.
After programming my location into the GPS, I navigate my way out of the airport and onto the freeway, grateful for all the cars on the road that serve as a constant reminder for what side I need to be on.
