Right Place, Right Time (Second Chances Book 2)
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Authors: Jennifer L. Allen
Right Place, Right Time
Second Chances Book Two
By Jennifer L. Allen
Right Place, Right Time
Copyright © 2016 Jennifer L. Allen
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Published: Jennifer L. Allen 2016
Editor: Aimee Lukas
Proofreader: Natasha Carrere
Cover Design: Pink Ink Designs
Dedication
To the ladies in my reader group,
Jennifer’s Chapter Chicks.
Some of you I’ve known since the beginning,
others I’ve only met recently,
but you’re always there when I need a hand.
Your ongoing support means the world to me!
Kate
Four Years Earlier
“Stupid, no good, piece of crap!” I wince as my sandaled foot comes into contact with the unforgiving tire of my hand-me-down Mercedes convertible. My scowl turns into a frown when I pull my foot back and see the black smudge across the white straps. This day just keeps getting worse!
I tip my head back, look up to the clouds, and pray for a cell signal. When that doesn’t work, I bargain. My first born…my soul…good behavior…even better grades…
No such luck.
I’m on a quiet stretch of the interstate, between Columbia and Greenville, where there have been too few passersby, not one of them kind enough to pull over and help the damsel in distress. And, boy, do I look the part of a damsel in distress in a white sundress and sandals with my long, dark blonde hair and big, doe-like brown eyes—the picture of innocence. At least that’s what Cedric, my family’s butler always says. He nicknamed me Bambi, for crying out loud.
If it weren’t for the hot midday sun beating down on my shoulders, I’d probably be terrified. This whole situation has a classic serial killer vibe to it, add in darkness, and I would
not
be standing outside my vehicle right now.
I lean back against the hot car and sigh. What a day. I drove all the way to Greenville to volunteer at an event for a community clinic, just to be informed upon arrival that the event had been rescheduled. They’d posted a notice at the site, which is really helpful when you’re one hundred miles away. I frown at my dirty sandal.
Stupid car. Yes, it’s a Mercedes, but no, it’s not brand new. It’s a 1995 model passed down from my father. It has seen many, many better days in its lifetime. My dad has always taken very good care of his cars, hence the reason this fifteen-plus-year-old car is now mine. My parents may be mostly absent from my life, but my dad wouldn’t have given me a beater for a car.
Truth is, I probably missed an oil change or something. Whatever. I don’t know anything about cars. Ask me to recite all the bones in the human body, and I’ll do it. Ask me to name one part of a car, and you’ll get crickets. I’m practically a genius, according to my latest IQ score administered by the director of the “gifted program” at my high school, so I’m sure the mechanics of a car wouldn’t be too difficult for me to figure out and understand, but this is one of those instances where I’d rather succumb to the gender stereotypes and just play the clueless female role. There’s enough information floating around in my brain without my choosing to add more, though part of me kind of wishes I at least knew how to pop my hood right about now.
Hearing the sound of a vehicle approaching behind me, I spin around to look. It’s an older sedan, maybe not as old as my hand-me-down, but it doesn’t appear to be as well kept. I can just make out that the driver is male through the dirty windshield.
Jeez. I hope he’s not a serial killer or something!
I open my car door and busy myself looking for something that could be a potential weapon should this turn into
Wrong Turn
. Empty water bottle, a stack of flyers for another volunteer project I’m working on, a weathered copy of
Gone with the Wind…
I eye the book. It’s a hard cover, it might be my best bet.
I hear a throat clear and pop my head up, narrowly missing bumping it on the roof of my car. I can only see his face over the roof of the car as he’s standing on the passenger side, lower in the soft shoulder of the highway. My five foot two inch height doesn’t help matters either. But wow, if his face is anything to go by, his body must be amazing. He has the most intense gray eyes, almost silver. His nose looks slightly crooked, like it’s been broken once or twice, and he has a strong, square jaw with subtle stubble. His hair is buzzed very short so I can’t quite tell the color but it looks dirty blond, and he’s hot—er—sweaty. Yeah, sweaty. His brow is glistening with it.
He’s all man and my seventeen-year-old self doesn’t quite know what to do with the attraction I feel. I have
never
felt so nervous around a guy before.
Ever.
I simply don’t have time for this sort of thing. Not with my AP classes, studying, extracurricular activities, volunteer work, and college applications.
Smiling wide, I’m suddenly grateful for my vehicular ignorance and damsel in distress appearance. “Hey,” I smoothly call out to him, if I do say so myself.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a slight smirk and butterflies take flight in my chest. He doesn’t move to come around to my side of the car, which is just fine by me. If he were closer, he’d see the slight trembling of my hands, and he might actually hear the swarm of butterflies.
“Know anything about cars?”
He gives an almost imperceptible nod.
“Do you speak?” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. What is this guy’s deal? Hot or not, he doesn’t have to be a jerk.
“Pop the hood,” he finally says.
I twist my hands in front of myself and grimace. “I don’t know how,” I say quietly.
He laughs, and I narrow my eyes at him. Whatever. I cross my arms back over my chest and roll my eyes, not appreciating his display and letting him know it.
“There should be a lever just below your steering wheel, feel around for it and pull it out.”
I open my car door and sit down, doing as the hot jerk says, and feeling around for a lever. I find something and pull. There’s a pop, and it looks like the hood might be a little higher than it was a second ago. I grin, pleased with myself.
I catch Hot Jerk watching my little display, and he smirks. I sneer at him, which only turns his smirk into a smile. He has a really nice smile. Hot Jerk walks around to the front of my car and starts wiggling something around in the grill. I get out of the car and approach the front, jumping back as he pulls the hood all the way up.
“Easy there, Sunshine,” he says in a deep, smooth voice I only got a small taste of moments ago. “Don’t want you falling into traffic.”
No, no we don’t.
I have this heady feeling, and I can feel my pulse thrumming through my veins. It’s like there’s a current running from his body to mine. I realize I’m standing only an inch away from Hot Jerk and take a sudden step back.
“Don’t worry, Sunshine. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, sounding resigned.
“I’m sorry,” I say, truly feeling sorry but uncertain as to why. “It’s just that I’m a single girl, all alone on the side of the road and you’re a…” A what, Kate? A stranger? Are you going to go all stranger-danger right now? “I don’t know you at all. Can you blame me for being a little freaked out right now?”
“Not at all. And you should be freaked out. You never know what type of people are out there and would stop for a pretty little thing like you.”
My cheeks heat up…definitely from the heat, not the compliment. I’m sure the pinkish hue that now stains my cheeks is due to all this time spent in the sun. Yep, that’s it. But what an odd thing for him to say…is it a warning? Somehow, I don’t think so. I think I’m safe with this guy. I feel it in my bones.
“So you’re good at this kind of thing?” I say after a minute, gesturing to the car and trying to change the subject.
He smiles a little; I really like his smile. “Yeah, I’ve enjoyed tinkering on cars ever since I took auto shop in high school.”
I smile back at him and watch as he uses a small flashlight I hadn’t realized he’d had to look around the engine. I can’t help but notice his furrowed brow and the strong lines of his face as he focuses on the task at hand.
“I think I found the problem. Was there steam coming from under the hood when you stopped?” He asks, standing up straight and facing me.
I nod my head. “Yeah, really freaked me out. I’ve been out here about an hour already. It stopped after maybe thirty minutes.”
He nods. “It overheated.”
It and me, both.
“I have a jug of water in my car; let me get it.”
I watch him as he walks around to the back of his car and opens the trunk. He returns a moment later with the water and carefully pours it into a small opening near the front of my car.
“This should get you to the next exit,” he says. He tops it off, replaces the cap, and lowers the hood, dropping it at the very last minute to allow it to catch. The bang it makes as it drops causes me to jump.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “I really appreciate it. I don’t know what I would have done if I got stuck out here all day. Or worse…”
“You’re welcome,” he says with a smile, then begins walking back to his car.
“Wait,” I say.
What am I doing?
He stops and turns around slowly. When his silver eyes meet mine, I shiver despite the heat. “What’s your name?”
“Jay. Jason Spencer.”
Jason Spencer.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Jason Spencer,” I say, stepping forward and sticking out my hand. “I’m Katherine Dumont, but my friends call me Kate.”
He takes my hand in his, and I feel it…the electricity.
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Sunshine,” he beams at me.
By the time he lets go of my hand, I swear I’ve melted into the ground.
Wow.
Wow.
I can’t help but watch him walk away...and hope, wish, and pray that I’ll see him again someday.
***
Three days later, I’m sitting in one of my favorite sandwich shops reading. As I snack on a chocolate chip cookie and sip on some sweet tea, a ruckus on the other side of the dining room attracts my attention.
It’s a couple of guys around my age horsing around with each other, but that’s not what keeps my attention.
It’s him.
Jay.
No, it couldn’t be. But it is. Jason Spencer is in the same restaurant as me. What are the chances? Do I try to get his attention? Gosh, I want to!
One of his buddies spots me gawking at him and nudges his elbow.
Shit!
Jay turns to see what his friend is pointing at—or who, rather—and narrows his eyes at me for a moment, probably trying to determine if he’s hallucinating. Either that or he’s already forgotten about me and is wondering why the odd girl is looking at him.
I smile and give him a small wave. My heart nearly beats out of my chest when he returns my smile and starts walking towards me.
“Sunshine,” he says in that deep, husky voice of his.
“Jay,” I smile, certain that my face has already experienced eight shades of pink since we first made eye contact.
“I didn’t realize you were from around here.”
“I didn’t realize you were from around here, either.”
Nice, Kate. Real smooth.
He laughs. “Right. Well, my friends were just leaving,” he gestures to the group of guys making their way out of the shop.
My smile fades away. Just my luck.
“Do you mind if I join you?” he asks, putting his hand on the back of the seat opposite me.
My smile returns as I shake my head. “Not at all, please sit.”
***
Jay and I spent four hours chatting in the sandwich shop that afternoon. We even ended up staying for dinner. When he asked me out to dinner and a movie the following night, I accepted without a second thought.
There was just something about him. Something about us. We clicked.
And now, here I sit alone in my parents’ large, cavernous house.
Waiting.
He’d said he’d pick me up at six, but it’s seven now. He said he didn’t have a cell phone, so we never exchanged numbers. I can’t even call him to make sure he’s okay.
I shake my head at myself. He’s gorgeous and older than me by more than three years. I’m just a girl to him. A stupid, naïve girl.
I go up to my room and change out of the little black dress I’d purchased this morning just for our date, kicking it to the floor of my closet and shutting the door. I dress in some comfy pajamas and retreat to my bed, curling up under the covers.
It would be stupid to cry. I don’t even know him. I’d just wanted to know him.
I grab the remote off my nightstand and turn on the television. I flip through the channels, hoping to find reruns of
The Nanny
or
Golden Girls
, when an image flashes by.
Wait, what?
I flip back, trying to find it.
There it is.
There
he
is.
Jay.
