Chapter 4 Donovan
I’ve spent the past two days replaying that epic fail.
Two fucking days obsessing over my talk with Carrie, trying to understand how exactly I messed up and why she was so mean to me, when we don’t even know each other.
I was trying to play it cool and kind, and she just looked at me as if I was the biggest piece of trash on campus.
Okay, maybe I could have been a little smoother in how I started the convo, but who cares whether her name is Carrie or Cassie?
I pull over for my next client, and it doesn’t take me long to spot her across the street.
“Laura?” I call out, raising a hand.
She comes trotting over to the car. She’s cute. Tiny orange shorts.
“It’s Lena,” she pants, sliding onto the back seat.
Fuck. What is wrong with me?
“Sorry.”
“No worries, Donny.”
Fangirl radar activated. I glance at her in the rearview mirror. Nope. Don’t remember her. I am so messed up.
“How are you?” she coos, plucking a mirror out of her bag.
“I’m good. How about you?”
“Same!”
I’m expecting this to spark some kind of conversation, but she’s too busy touching up her lipstick. This is the part where I should be making some kind of effort, but I’m drawing blanks.
“You have a good vacation?”
Okay, not bad.
“It was amazing! Me and some friends drove down to Miami.”
“Oh, nice!” I perk up in true Campus Driver style. “What car?”
“A gray one.”
Damn. I decide to steer us away from car talk.
“Why Miami?”
“Are you coming to Douglas’s party?”
She’s just ignored my question, and I can’t help but feel deflated. My efforts are definitely wasted on this girl.
“When is it?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Why not?”
“Amazing! Let’s catch up then.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror, and she winks at me. Who even is this girl? Maybe I should call a doctor. Like a brain surgeon.
She spends the rest of the ride on her phone, while I sift through my memories of the past few years. When I drop her off, she tosses me a “See ya tomorrow.” I flash her a thumbs-up and hit the road.
My phone buzzes, and just as I’m about to confirm my next trip, I spot a familiar face across the street.
“How about that…”
Destiny has just thrown me a fresh shot at stating my case, although if I’m honest with myself, I was never going to give up without a fight, anyway. My plan was to hunt Carrie down and beg her until she eventually caved. I guess I’ve always liked a challenge.
I kill the engine and step out of the car, slapping a cocky smile on my face. When I went up to her at the dining hall the other day, the strategy was just to play it nice. But seeing how that worked out for me, it’s time to bring out the Wolinski big guns.
I walk up to Carrie. She’s got her back to me, crouched in front of her bike wheel.
I take in the massive blond bun on her head, wondering how something that size doesn’t tip her over.
“Fucking little bitch,” I hear her mutter, yanking on the chain. “I’m counting to three, and if you don’t—” She whips her hand away. “Ow!”
Her finger is trapped in the gears, and I can’t help but laugh as she swivels around to face me, holding her free hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. It takes her a few quick seconds to shoot me a glare and turn back to her bike.
“Great. Just who I needed,” she mutters, not quietly.
“How’s it rolling, Carrie?” I jerk my chin at the bike. “Not great, huh?”
“How long did it take you to come up with that one?” she fires back, scrambling to her feet.
She walks around the bike, squatting down to check the pedal.
“Need a hand?” I offer perkily.
“If you could just move to the left so I can get some shade, that’d be great.”
I do as I’m told. No matter how much I’d love to just leave her stranded here in the heat, I need to think bigger picture. I fold my arms over my chest and glance at my watch.
“You got class at nine?”
“Nope, I just love going on bike rides at eight twenty in the morning. Car fumes in my hair, the thrill of the potholes—what’s not to love?” She glares up at me. “Why sleep in when you could risk your life on the roads, you know?”
She’s playing hardball, but instead of turning me off, she’s making me want to up my game. She reminds me of that Lions player who tried to bite me last season.
“Yes. I have class at nine.” She kicks her wheel. “On the other side of fucking campus, too!”
She slams her foot into the bike again, and I’m suddenly not so sure she’s the right coach for me. She’s actually kind of scaring me.
I crouch down to examine the damage, paying my respects to the absolute piece of crap that is her bike when I feel Carrie’s eyes hot on my skin.
“What are you doing here?” she blurts.
I shrug. “I saw you by the side of the road and felt like helping out.”
“Know much about repairing bikes?”
“Nope. But I do have a car that actually works.” I smirk. “Get in.”
I can tell she’s about to say no, her mouth twisting as she glances at her watch. She sighs, and I know just what she’s thinking—there’s no way she’ll make class if she walks.
“I don’t have money to pay you,” she says, eyeing me warily.
“This isn’t a Campus Drivers gig. I’m just helping you out.”
“Yeah, right. You’re obviously gonna want something in return…”
Amen to that.
“It’s your call. Maybe getting to class isn’t so important after all.” I shrug. “Skipping one is no big deal.”
She balks. I’m pretty sure she’s not the kind to ditch class without a damn good reason.
“Fine, whatever…” she begrudgingly agrees.
She locks her bike to a railing, muttering something about coming back as soon as she can to pick it up. Then she swings her backpack over her shoulder and grabs her book before striding over to the passenger seat and slowly fastening her seat belt.
I’m almost disappointed. I was expecting it to be harder to break her down.
I slip behind the wheel, hit the ignition, and flick on the radio.
“Nice ride,” she says, running a finger over the dashboard.
I nod proudly. “Plymouth Road Runner. 1971.”
“Calm down,” she deadpans. “I was just being polite.”
She shakes her head and flips open her book. And that’s how we end up driving in silence for a whole five minutes, her eyes glued to the page, mine fixed on the road. I’m trying to figure out how to get us back to our dining hall chat, when she suddenly looks up.
“Nope.”
“What?”
“The answer’s still no.”
Is she an actual mind reader?
“I just need a little friendly advice, that’s all!”
“Why?”
I’ve been practicing the line over and over for the past few days, tweaking it for maximum authenticity.
“I’m nearly twenty-two. I’m thinking it’s time for me to settle down,” I offer. “I’ve got the emotional range of a middle schooler—going back to the basics seems necessary.”
“Yeah. You’re all sex, no education. Am I right?” She slips her glasses up and down her nose.
“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a way with words?”
“Sorry, but this whole situation is out of control. I still think you’re screwing with me.” She frowns. “And why me, anyway? Why not Becca or Lois?”
“They said no,” I mutter.
“But I’m saying no, too! So, go find someone who’s actually interested.”
“Becca said you’re a pro. That you’ve read a bunch of books about it, and stuff.”
She lets out a bark of laughter. “Bull! That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, you hear how ridiculous that sounds—right?”
“Just a little friendly advice,” I insist.
I start quivering my bottom lip, and she turns back to stare out the window, sighing.
The miles fly by as I hit the gas, urging us on. She’s a tough nut to crack. She doesn’t realize it, but the way she’s acting is kind of my first lesson—it’s all about staying in the saddle. I don’t know this girl, but I’m sensing she’s getting a kick out of brushing me off.
“Carrie?”
She turns to me. “I liked it better when you called me Cassie.”
Her brown eyes are pinning me to my seat, and it takes insane effort to focus my gaze back on the road.
She sighs. “If you’re looking for inspo, I know a great bookstore in town. You could read a few romances—do your own research, like a big boy. I can’t promise it’ll be enough to get you off the ground, though.”
As soon as I pull up along the sidewalk, she unclips her seat belt.
“Okay!” she says brightly. “Thanks for the ride. And good luck with everything.”
The car door swings shut, and I lean across to the window.
“Come on, I just saved your ass. Help me out, here.”
She stands there with her back to me for a few seconds, weighing what to do next. Slowly, she turns.
“Here’s the one and only piece of advice you’ll ever get from me, Wolinski, so listen up. The next time you go say hi to a girl, make sure you get her name right.” She looks at me meaningfully. “Trust me, it’ll do wonders for your love life.”
And with that, she starts striding toward campus.
“That it?!” I call after her.
“See you around!”
She waves a hand at me, and I sink back into my seat, defeated.
Oh my God, how stubborn can this girl get? Sucks to be her, though—I’m even more stubborn, and I’m already thinking about what tactic to try next. I’ll need to speak to Becca, figure out where Carrie likes to hang out, gradually wear her down.
Just as I’m about to pull out, something catches my eye. There, on the seat—Carrie’s book. A smile spreads across my face. So there is a God after all.
I reach for the novel, and a leaflet flutters loose.
RAUNCHY ROMANCE BOOK CLUB—
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 7:00 P.M.
Little Miss Sunshine goes to book club, huh?
I skim the flyer, then look back at the book. This is the exact novel they’ll be discussing tomorrow night. An absolutely brilliant idea strikes, and I can’t hold back a snicker.
“Couldn’t have planned that better myself.”