What the hell am I doing here? I readjust the strap of my duffel bag—a duffel bag for Christ sake. What am I, a gypsy? This is insane. I suddenly feel like my life has become one long, drawn out, Country song. I’ve been driving for days, staying in hotels alone, eating alone at restaurants for the first time in my life and feeling stronger and braver every day. Which is good, because I spent the first five hundred miles thinking about turning my ass back around at every exit. But now the solitude of my trip is interrupted by the reality of being here. The place I was headed all along. The place I’m not sure I’ll fit into any better than I fit back home. I slide my phone out of my pocket and quadruple check the address I’d saved in Quinn’s contact info, take a deep breath and knock for real this time. The door jerks open, and it’s not Quinn. Those abs and that smile belong to someone I do know, though. Carter. I’ve spent the last several months texting him and just talked to him the other night, but standing here in front of him feels almost like we’re strangers all over again.
What do You think about Friend Is A Four Letter Word?
