Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
"Other side of campus."
"We'll come back for your car later," he decides, strolling toward the passenger door of the SUV. He hits a button on his key and then holds the door open for me. "Come on. Let's get you out of here."
"I can't leave my car," I say, dragging my feet. If I get in his Rover with him, there's no way I'm going back to my motel room alone like I know I should. How bad is it that, even knowing the risks for him, I don't want to go back to my room alone?
I'm so screwed.
"We'll come back for it," he promises with a little, knowing smirk.
I try to think up another objection, but none come to me. When a UCLA officer pulls into the lot, I hurriedly dive into Cam's Land Rover, my heart thumping hard.
Great. Now I'm scared of the police.
"You're okay," Cam murmurs as I fumble with the seatbelt, my hands shaking. He places one of his over mine, stilling it. "No one is coming to arrest you today, kitten."
I nod mutely and relinquish the belt, letting him latch it around me. I want to ask when they're coming to arrest me, but the words won't form. Knowing isn't going to make me feel any better or change my mind about being with Cam. He's relentless, and I'm tired of fighting my attraction to him. Right or wrong, I want him.
Once he's sure the seatbelt is secure around me, he slams my door and jogs around to the driver's side. "You ready?" he asks, slipping on his own belt and then backing out of the space. His gaze rakes across my body, his eyes darkening, and I know he isn't talking about this ride. He's talking about everything else. About me and him.
A little shiver of anticipation works its way through me.
"Yes," I say, my decision already made. It was made the moment he pulled me into his arms the first time, I think.
He drives in silence for several long moments, the hum of the tires on the roadway the only sound in the vehicle. And then he sighs. "What am I going to do with you?"
"I'm staying a few miles away," I mumble even though I know that's not what he means.
He grunts but doesn't otherwise respond.
I watch out the window as we pass by the reporters camped just outside the campus entrance. None rush the vehicle with cameras and microphones drawn like they do in the movies. Instead, they observe from a respectable distance, no one even making a move in our direction. I still tense, holding my breath until we're safely through the throng and speeding away from campus.
"They're holding a vigil for him tomorrow night," Cam says, slipping his hand into mine.
I turn my gaze to him to find his gray eyes on my face, his expression unreadable.
"Okay," I mumble, not sure what else to say.
"Would you like to go?"
My eyes widen, my mouth popping open. "Um…"
I do kind of want to go. I mean, I didn't know him, and there's no way people won't notice me if I show up, but his life and death are invariably tied to my life now, in ways I'm only just beginning to truly understand. He deserves respect. But I'm not so sure showing up at a vigil in his honor and upsetting everyone he knew would help on that front. Unlike his classmates, his family and closest friends have probably seen my picture a hundred times.
"It might help you," Cam murmurs.
"I didn't know him."
"That doesn't mean his death hasn't hurt you."
I can't argue with that. Instead, I sigh, leaning my head back against the headrest. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and this will all have been some nightmare, except it isn't. This is my life now. I'm going to be charged with murder."
"Manslaughter."
"As if that makes it any better," I say, a bitter laugh breaking from my lips. "The distinction didn't stop two girls on campus from reacting like I was the scum of the earth when they recognized me. It's not going to help his friends or family sleep better at night. I haven't even been charged yet, and they've already convicted me in their minds."
"Not everyone thinks you're guilty," he murmurs.
"I thought coming here would help. Maybe I'd find someone who had met this woman and could tell the world that I didn't do this." Instead, I found more sad evidence of the destructive nature of this woman. She played a good kid for months, turning him into someone not even his friends recognized. For the rest of his life, Tommy Wahler will probably regret not pushing Rory to talk. He'll live with that guilt, and it will change him. I know because it changed me.
"I was supposed to be with my family the day of the accident," I say, tracing a pattern on the back of Cam's hand. "We were supposed to go to dinner. Instead, I begged and pleaded until my parents let me go to the movies. I should have been with them."