Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
4
CHARLOTTE
Ilook at the clock on my car’s dashboard and shudder.
Thanks to a massive accident on the freeway this morning, I’m now officially running late for my interview, even though I left Tessa’s house ridiculously early this morning—early enough, I thought, to get to the coffee place and chill for at least a half-hour before grabbing the weirdo’s coffee order with perfect timing to arrive at his office at precisely 7:55. But now, thanks to this traffic, I might not have time to grab the guy a coffee at all. I suppose it will depend on the parking situation when I get there.
Okay, I’m finally on surface streets now, and traffic isn’t as bad over here. I glance at the clock on my dashboard again and groan. I’m cutting it close. Please, parking gods, be good to me when I get to my destination.
I see the guy’s building! And there’s the coffee place down the street, exactly like Ryan said. Now, where’s that parking garage that should be right across the street?
No.
A sign at its entrance says it’s completely full and only monthly parkers are allowed in with a pass. Fuck! Practically hyperventilating with stress, I drive past the structure and anxiously scour the packed curb, searching for an open spot. I pass an animal hospital, a bank, a nail salon, all the while getting farther and farther away from my destination.
It’s okay, Charlotte. Calm down. You’ve still got a solid six minutes until all hope is lost of arriving at the interview with the guy’s coffee order in hand. You can do this.
I drive slowly around the block, keeping an eagle eye out for street parking . . . and suddenly, I’m right back where I started and no closer to parking my car.
I check the clock. Say a prayer. And slow down to an even slower crawl. God help me, if someone pulls away from the curb right behind me, rather than in front of me, and someone else quickly grabs the newly vacated spot, I’ll never forgive myself.
There’s a line of cars in the near distance. They’re stopped about fifty feet ahead of me at a red light. If a spot doesn’t magically appear between here and the last car in that line, I’ll get stuck at the back for who-knows-how-long until the light changes.
I slow down even more, hoping and praying for a miracle. And, suddenly, I get one. Am I a witch? A magical unicorn? At the very least, I’m The Parking God’s favorite, because a black minivan parked only about twenty feet ahead of me has suddenly pulled away from the curb, leaving a perfect stretch of curb vacant for me. It’s a Christmas miracle in April!
Like a woman possessed, I gun my little car and whip my front bumper into the spot to claim it as mine. When that light up ahead turns green and that line of cars moves through it, I’ll have room to maneuver and parallel-park into the spot. I’m horrible at doing that, so I’ll need a wide berth to make it happen. But for now, I’m relieved to have marked this strip of curb as mine.
A car horn blares loudly, making me jolt, and a quick scan of my surroundings reveals the angry sound came from the SUV immediately ahead of me—the last car waiting in that long line for the red light to turn green.
“What the heck?” I murmur, raising my hand to the honking car.
The driver raises both hands at me, so I shoot the gesture back at him. I don’t know what he’s all riled up about. I’m obviously planning to straighten out my car after he moves through the light. Only a maniac would leave their car’s ass hanging out and blocking traffic. Give me some credit, dude. But even if I were planning to leave my car askew like this, it’s none of his concern.
The guy honks again, but thankfully, it’s just as the distant light is turning green, which means he’ll be gone and out of my hair, soon enough.
Oh no.
The asshole in the SUV isn’t driving away, even though the line of cars is moving along now. No, he’s bursting out of his car and marching toward me with palpable fury. Oh, no. He’s the boy bander from Captain’s! Well, shit. I guess I’m not The Parking God’s favorite, after all.
When the guy reaches my car window, he bends down to make eye contact. My window is closed, but I can clearly make out the words “What the fuck?” hurtling from his mouth. With an angry scowl, he raps his knuckles on my car window and motions for me to roll it down. But I’m never one to willingly subject myself to an angry man, if I can help it. And that’s especially true now, when I’m in the biggest hurry of my life. Also, when the angry man in question already hates me, thanks to our run-in at the bar yesterday. Although . . . I’ve turned many an irate passenger into a purring kitten, so maybe it’s worth a try to see if I can calm him down and make him quickly go away and let me park my freaking car.