Southern Chance - Natasha Madison Page 0,4
off my shoes, and my phone rings. I pick it up and see it’s Casey.
“Hey.” I answer the phone softly.
“Hey, yourself,” he says, and I hear the covers rustle in the background. “Where are you?”
“No clue,” I say, sitting on the bed and falling back. “Someplace that has a Piggly Wiggly.” He laughs.
“That could be anywhere from Alabama to Florida.”
“I think we have another twelve hours to go,” I say. “Why was it a good idea to drive?”
“Because your flight can be traced here, and if your friend wants to stay under the radar, the best thing to do is drive,” he says, and I shake my head. “Either way, I’m happy you’re finally coming home.”
“Don’t start with me, Casey,” I say. “I get enough of a guilt trip from Mom when I don’t come home for the holidays.”
“Yeah, well, she’s already cleaning out your old room and cooking all your favorite dishes.” He laughs. “Expect lots of home-cooked meals,” he whispers, “with butter.”
“God,” I groan. “I just got under one hundred and ten pounds. Do you know how many hot yoga sessions I had to do and salads I had to eat? Kale is not tasty.”
“It is if it’s deep fried and then drenched in butter,” he says. “Anyway, I’m off to bed. Five a.m. comes quickly.”
“I’ll be home tomorrow. I am going to push through,” I say. The bathroom door opens, and Olivia comes out in a cloud of steam. “See you then,” I say and disconnect.
Olivia has her hair wrapped up in a white towel and another towel wrapped around her chest, and she’s carrying her clothes in a ball in her hand. “That shower felt great.” She dumps her clothes on the bed and comes over to the food that I bought. “What do we have here?”
“The second-best thing I could get,” I say, getting up to a sitting position. “The Piggly Wiggly is closed.”
“I don’t know if I should be happy about that or sad,” she says, grabbing the trail mix and opening it. “Maybe sad.” She turns and walks back to the bathroom to spit it out. “That trail mix is at least a year old.”
“I have no doubt the chips are fresh,” I say. Getting up, I walk over to the bathroom and turn on the water. “I want to be gone by three if that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Olivia says, sitting on the bed with four bags of chips and two Snickers. “Why did we stop eating chips?” she asks after shoving five into her mouth.
“I mean, it’s a carb,” I say, pulling off my sweater, “and deep fried, and there is a fuck ton of sodium.”
“I don’t care,” she says, putting another handful into her mouth and opening the Snickers. “God, I forgot how much I love chocolate,” she says, taking another bite.
I shake my head and take a fast shower, letting the heat hit my neck. I won’t admit it, but I’m nervous as fuck about going back home. I said I would never go back there, and now here I am, twelve hours away from driving back into a town I never wanted to return to.
When I get out of the shower, I wrap myself the same way that Olivia did, and when I walk out, she’s under the covers and the wrappers from two chocolate bars are on the side table with a bag of chips. “I remember now why we stopped,” she groans. “I feel sick.”
“That’s because your body isn’t used to sugar or starch,” I say, laughing. Getting a shirt, I put it on with my underwear. I pick up my phone and set the alarm for two forty-five. “What are the chances that we’ll hit a Starbucks tomorrow morning?”
I slip under the cold white covers and turn off the light. “I’m going to say almost zero, but you never know.” I put my head down on the pillow.
“Thank you,” she says, and I look over at her in the dark room, “for going back home. I know that the last thing you want to do is go back there.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say, ignoring the hammering of my heart. “I’m just not sure you’re ready for it.”
“I’m ready,” she says softly, and I close my eyes, falling asleep within minutes. When the alarm goes off, I groan, reaching over and seeing that Olivia is sitting up in bed.
“Did you sleep?” I ask, blinking away the sleep.
“For an hour, I think.” Her voice is soft. “I gave up