“Shoot me if I’m still here then,” I growl, aware from her crestfallen expression that I’m likely offending her. This is her home, after all. “Sorry, just had a rough day. Thanks for your time.”
I turn around and walk back out onto the quiet street, figuring my best option now is to spend the night in my car.
At least there isn’t some ridiculous storm riding through.
Even though it’s quiet, I do a quick sweep to see if Asshole still hanging around nearby. Thankfully, I don’t see him. Then I make my way down the street.
I’m still hungry, my throat is parched, and I would seriously kill for a shower. But I’m not going to be getting any of those things.
Even the bar from earlier is silent. Again, I wonder if there’s a town curfew. Why else would it be so dead on a Friday night?
Walking along the now completely darkened streets, I’m reminded of my earlier thoughts of serial killers and creepy towns. It sets me on edge, and I’m shocked I don’t scream like a banshee when, out of nowhere, someone grabs me and throws me against my car door just as I near it.
“Give me your fucking keys,” a man growls, his face hidden in the shadows of his hoodie.
I should probably be terrified, or at the very least concerned, but I find myself feeling neither. Instead, I’m so over today that I just can’t bring myself to have the right reactions.
So, instead of cowering in fear, or doing what’s likely the smart thing and passing over my keys to a car that doesn’t even work, I just start laughing. Because, how is it that I decide to leave my comfortable, albeit predictable life back in Chicago and end up with a day like today?
Is this the world telling me I’ve made a huge mistake or what?
Up until this point, my biggest mistakes involved the time spent on each of my exes. Or maybe that time I thought salmon-colored shorts were a thing? But now I’ve topped those moments with buying a lemon of a car, breaking down in a booked-out town, getting picked up, and then, after an incredible orgasm, getting kicked out, and now I’m getting carjacked. And this has all happened in just a handful of hours!
What the fuck? Did I mess with the karma police or what?
“Fuckhead, give me your fucking keys or else.” He now holds a knife in his hand, and I laugh harder, noticing there is a slight, hysterical edge to it.
Is this how I’m going to go out in life? I can see the headlines now: Conner Sherwood’s Epic Adventure Turns into an Epic Failure.
“You might want to drop that knife before I cut your hand off with it,” a new, stern voice snaps from behind the man threatening me.
My laughter instantly dies when the man steps back and my eyes fall on Asshole, who is looking fierce and deadly as he stares at my would-be car thief.
“This doesn’t concern you, Sheriff,” the thief grumbles, his voice sounding less sure now.
My mouth drops open in shock.
Sheriff? As in, an actual sheriff? Did I just get fucked and dumped by a town sheriff?
And why the hell am I now picturing him naked and with handcuffs?
Not an appropriate time, brain!
“You’re threatening a man, in my town, right under my nose. I think it is my business.”
“We’re just having a friendly conversation, right?” The man glances back at me, the hostility in his eyes not dimming one iota.
“Sure, he wanted to know if we had the same shoe size so he can borrow a pair of my Louboutin heels. He thinks he has the calves to rock them,” I blurt, not sure if I should add stupidity to my newly discovered overconfidence.
The man menacingly eats the distance between us. “You little fucker—”
Fortunately, since I have no idea how I’ll react if something physical happens, he’s pulled up short by Sheriff Maybe-Not-A-Complete-Asshole grabbing him.
“You take one more step, and I’ll not only charge you with carrying a concealed weapon, but also attempted assault. You know a bowie knife is not something you should be holding in what is an apparent polite conversation. And you lay one finger on him, you can kiss that piss-poor defense goodbye.”
The man sneers at me, but I assume the sheriff’s words get through his thick skull, since he seems to deflate in the sheriff’s arms.
“Drop the knife and put your hands behind you,” he demands.
While it takes a few, tense-filled moments for the man to cooperate, he finally does.
Once the knife is on the ground, Sheriff Asshole pulls cuffs from behind him, which makes me immediately wonder if he had them on him the whole time and how I never noticed when he removed his clothes earlier.
If he wasn’t such a bastard, I’m sure we could have had some serious fun with those.
With the man cuffed, Sheriff Asshole leads him away from me and over to his parked car. He looks to be maneuvering his cuffs, and when he takes a step back, I see he has cuffed him to some sort of bar at the open back. And that is when I finally notice the sheriff emblem printed on the side of the car. It was too dark earlier for me to see it when we first pulled up to his house, and then I was too angry afterward to pay the car much attention. But now it’s obvious, large and mocking.
I truly was picked up, fucked, and then dumped by the town sheriff.
Once the car thief is secure, Sheriff Asshole stalks back over to me, his stride purposeful and direct. He also looks furious.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he demands as soon as he’s in front of me, his body at least a few inches too close for what is socially acceptable, in my opinion.
“Victim blame much? Besides, I hardly think walking to my car constitutes me trying to get myself killed.”
“You were threatened with a knife and, instead of any sort of appropriate response, you laugh? Then, instead of keeping your damn mouth shut when I’m questioning him, you try to antagonize him? That knife he was holding is no laughing matter.” He gestures down toward the knife that is still resting on the ground, only a few inches away from us.
He’s right about it not being a laughing matter. That knife looks scary as fuck and, with it being a double-sided hunting knife, it’s clear that if he had used it on me, I would not have come out of that well.
“You’re right,” I grumble, watching the shock filter over his face before he can hide back behind his angry mask. “I was scared and, if I’m honest, I’m still shaken up. Thank you for saving me,” I finish, clearly surprising him yet again.
He doesn’t appear to know what to do with my gratitude, since he just stares at me hard enough that I worry he’s trying to burn a hole through me.
“Why are you out here anyway?” I ask, shuffling my feet as unease settles over me.
I’m not used to half the feelings I’ve had run through me tonight, and I’m just about at the edge of what I can take.
“I saw you leave.”
“You were watching me?”
“I stopped at the gas station down the road to get some food. Saw you walking out as I came out.”
While gas station food isn’t exactly high up on my favorite eateries, I can’t help the slap of annoyance that bounces over me that he had no interest in sharing any sort of meal with me.
My thoughts shift back to his house and the kid shit I saw there, but I don’t want to hear any story about a man in denial, or a man cheating on his family. I’m not here for that kind of drama, and I refuse to get sucked into any of that.
“Right, well, I see you’re busy now,” I say, nodding at the man glaring daggers at us from the car where he’s trapped.
“Why did you leave the hotel?” he demands.
I almost announce that there was no room for me there, but somehow, I get the feeling that he has enough of a conscience to either take me back to his house so I’m not homeless for the night or pull some strings to get me accommodations. And I do not want to owe this man a thing.
You know, except for the thing where he likely saved my life, or at least saved me from losing some blood
.
“My stuff is still in my car,” I tell him, not even lying about that. All my things are in my trunk.
“Right,” he mutters, seeming to accept this explanation. “You need a hand getting it back to the hotel?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“In a town this big, you surely can’t have two car thieves working the same night. I think I can survive now, thank you,” I snap, which is apparently the wrong thing to say.
Anger passes through him like a wave, and a small vein over his neck pops out while his body tenses. “Right, well, my little town, the one you’re just passing through, needs me to do my job, so I’ll leave you to it,” he bites out, his tone so sharp that I’m surprised it isn’t considered as sharp as the edge of the knife that he picks up with an evidence bag covering his hand.
Where does he pull this shit from? First the cuffs and then the bag?
“I’ll need you to come by the station tomorrow morning to make a statement.”
I open my mouth to turn down that demand, not wanting to have to stay here longer than absolutely necessary, but he doesn’t wait around for me to verbally agree. He just storms off back to his car, angrily gets the man then himself in, seems to bark something at the man spitting hatred at him, and then they slowly drive off through the sleepy streets.
Unlocking my own car, I wonder just how safe sleeping in the back seat is. My heart is still racing, my body sweaty for an entirely less fun reason now, and I feel a headache coming on. But my night can’t get any worse, right? And what other choice do I have?
I grab a blanket from my trunk, as well as a couple portable chargers, and plug both phones in.
If tomorrow is anything like how today has gone, I’m going to need both of the devices at full battery.
Chapter Four
Waking up in a car is not a welcome experience after everything that went down yesterday. All I want to do is snuggle up in a comfortable bed, throw the sheets over my head, and ignore the world for a few more hours. However, I have a crick in my neck, my jean lines are likely imprinted over my legs, and I’m in danger of falling into the crack between my front and back seats. The sun is also shining down angrily over me, and in order to get out of the light, I need to bend my neck in an even more uncomfortable position.
Growling, I sit up and glance around the busy and happening street around me.
Last night, this whole area was closed up and dead. Now it’s streaming with people, all looking far too awake and happy for my liking.
I glance down at my rumpled appearance and consider my wardrobe choices tucked safely away in my trunk. I’m not sure I can be bothered changing clothes, not to mention I have nowhere to change that isn’t in view of way too many people. Therefore, I just rub my face in hopes that I look more awake than how I feel, check to make sure I have my keys and wallet, grab both fully charged phones, and then make my way outside.
My first stop is the nearest diner, which is likely the only diner in town, and make good use of its facilities. A wash of my unshaven face and an inspection of my wayward hair, and I decide I’m somewhat suitable for public consumption. I purposely don’t smell under my underarms, because there will be no fooling myself about that smell. I need a shower, pronto.
Walking back out into the diner, I’m thankful I seem to have missed any likely rush this place might see. Then again, maybe the place being half full is a rush.
My feet itch to get myself out of this small town and away from any chance of running into Sheriff Asshole again. However, my stomach demands I feed it before I even consider leaving this diner.
Ordering enough pancakes and hash browns to give myself a serious stomachache, I settle into a booth and pull out my phones. I have several messages from friends back home, one being from Sasha, wanting to know if I found myself someone to keep me warm last night. I unlock my other phone to check my social media standings.
I left Chicago for my adventure four days ago. That is also when I posted my last video.
After messing around with social media and forming a small following on Instagram through my photos, I began to seriously consider my future. I knew I didn’t want to keep doing what I was doing forever, and I also knew that, logically, I couldn’t do that anyway. Beauty fades, and in any industry that judges on looks before it takes a deeper look, I couldn’t afford to place all my eggs in that basket. So, I decided to try my hand at event organizing.
And I loved it.
I also decided to document my job transition through my own videos and stories. I thought that might be a fun idea to keep my followers who wanted more of me but also have people take me seriously.
What I thought might be a neat side project ended up taking over much more of my life than I anticipated, as I went from tens of thousands of followers to hundreds of thousands.
I have no idea why people decided to take such an interest in me, but I made a promise to myself that, no matter what, I would keep my space that I share with others safe, happy, and light. I don’t do drama. I don’t whine and bitch. I tell quirky stories. I make fun of myself and, most of all, I laugh.
I love laughing. I love smiling. I love seeing both of these in others. That isn’t to say I’m happy all the time, but I do make a point of keeping those times to myself. I want my socials to be a fun place for people. An escape in an already soul-sucking, miserable world that many feel trapped in.
As I glance over the comments littered all over my social media sites, I see one common theme: How is my adventure going so far?
I’m not sure how I’m meant to make light of my car breaking down in a tiny town, leaving me stranded. How can I laugh that I was picked up then quickly dumped by the hottest man I’ve ever seen? That, while my brain was scrambled by the hot sex we just engaged in, he was already planning my exit? And then being held at knifepoint and almost carjacked? And, to top it off, I slept in my car?
I can’t sugarcoat any of that, and I don’t want to lie. I suck at lying. They’ll immediately know something is up if I start sprouting fake shit. Then again, I can’t not post something. I don’t want my followers to think that I’ve forgotten about them. Or have them worry that I’m dead.
“It’s you again.” A woman’s voice steals my attention from my phone, and I find a young, petite Asian woman sitting down uninvited in the seat opposite from me.
I startle at her lack of manners before I scrutinize her, positive she looks a little familiar, but given I’ve only spoken to the one and only mechanic who works in this town, the asshole town sheriff, and a freaking car thief while here, I don’t know how I could know her.
“Do I know you?” I ask, smiling gratefully when the waitress gives me a large cup of coffee before she returns moments later with my large platter of food.
Okay, I might have gone overboard.
“We met last night at The Last Resort hotel,” she reminds me, eyeing my food with interest.
“That hotel was called The Last Resort?” I inquire, not sure what to make of a name like that. Then again, if it’s the only hotel in town, it doesn’t really matter how off-putting the name is.
“Yeah, my parents own it. They called it that after a part of the romantic comedy with the same name was filmed there.”
“Seriously?” I gape, thinking back to the hotel from last night and trying to match what I saw to the movie I used to binge-watch with Sasha throughout college.
“Yep. If you want, I can show you my childhood bedroom where Jodie Wood’s character had her big angst scene after her breakup with Alan Thyme’s character.”
“Fuck off!” I gasp, surprising her with my outburst, or perhaps just with the aggressive way I spoke. “I would love that!”
Her face immediately brightens. “Fantastic. I’ll take you after you’ve finished eating.”
I almost nod in agreement, but then I consider that this woman is an almost complete stranger, and I have no idea why she is suggesting this, or what her motiva
tions are behind it.
“What’s your name?”
“Love Fuller, and before you ask, yes, that’s my real name.” She cringes, and I have to assume she has the same reaction every time she says her name.
“I’d say you must have cruel parents, but you get to live in the bedroom of one of my favorite fictional characters of all time, so they can’t be too bad.”
“I used to. Now I live in a small cottage out back.” She rips a piece off from my top pancake, sure to dip it through the maple syrup before she pops it in her mouth. “If you think that’s good, just wait until I show you my uncle’s farmhouse. They used his back porch to film the scene in the movie where Faith and Garrett reconcile at the end.”
Okay, a small part of me is fangirling.
“Have they put something in my coffee here? Because I am clearly hallucinating this entire conversation.”
Love chuckles. “You’ll find most of the places around here have been the backdrops of movies. I’m not sure if you know this, but since Angus Thom decided to set up shop here, we get a lot of movie productions coming through. Most of my friends from school, who stayed in town, all work for the production crews.”
“I can’t believe I’ve never even heard of this place.”
“Really?” She sounds shocked but, thankfully, not offended. “Later this afternoon, they’re putting the town parade on. They think Angus Thom is going to make an appearance, and since he’s just about to start filming his next blockbuster at his mansion, rumors are circulating that a lot of the actors are going to be here.”
“Which ones?”
“The names Barbara Jett, Wil Frost, and Henry Prince are being talked about.”
Henry freaking Prince!
Shit, maybe there really is a reason I broke down in this town! Could I actually get the chance to meet Henry Prince? Could my luck turn around that quickly?
I cough to cover my excited squeal. Then I speak with what I think sounds like mild interest. “That’s a cool list of names.”
“It is. Although, not as interesting as the rumor mill that involves you.”
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