Chapter 8

She spends the next twenty minutes grumbling and muttering to herself, and I am perfectly fine with letting her do that as long as it means not having to have a discussion. Just when I start to feel a little sorry for her, she finds a way to make me hate her.

She spends so much time acting like I don't exist that it surprises me when she raises her voice. "Can we stop here at this gas station?"

"We're only twenty minutes from campus. Can you wait?"

"No, I have to go right now. Please?" It's the 'please' that tips me off. She's never this polite unless there's something she wants. Something more serious than having to pee.

I probably should floor the gas pedal and blow right past the station, but now I'm curious. "Yeah, okay. Just don't take too long."

I pull in front of the store, past the gas pumps, and park. When I open the door, prepared to follow her inside, Mia clicks her tongue. "Are you going to follow me into the restroom, too?"

"Should I?"

"That's going to look weird to the guy behind the counter." She looks through the window, and I see the kid working the register. He can't be much older than her. "It'll look like you're, like, my pimp or something. Or my trafficker."

I almost blurt out a laugh until I realize she's serious. "Quit stalling and get in there. I thought you were in a hurry."

"I'm not stalling. But I think it would look better if you hang out here." I roll my eyes, which only makes her grunt in frustration. "Fine. Come in, stand outside the bathroom door with that look you get on your face when you're trying to act all-threatening. I'm sure it'll look legit."

"Fine, already. Just go." It's not worth arguing—besides, she has a point, not that I would ever admit it to her. I do have my pride.

Is this what the next four years are going to be like? Because if it is, I'm not sure I want any part of it. Fighting for every inch. I guess that's easier than fighting to keep my hands off her. Hating her is easier than wanting what I can never, ever touch.

Since I have a minute to myself, I pull out my phone and call the boss's direct line. "Checking in," I report when he answers. "All's clear. We made a pit stop at a gas station outside town."

"Glad to hear it. Once you're settled, check in with me again, and make sure Mia knows to keep a list of whatever she feels is missing. You have the bank card?"

"In my wallet."

"Good. I double-checked the account this morning. There's more than enough in there for her books and other supplies." Yes, and he won't let her have the card. I have to carry it. That's a fight I'm not in the mood to have, so I haven't broached the subject yet. It's only a matter of time, though.

The call ends, and I turn my attention back to the inside of the station. A familiar head of dark curls is close to the front counter. I know she has cash on her—I watched her accept it from her father before we left, and she has a debit card, which won't be working much longer—but she's taking too long. I should've gone inside.

My hand's on the door when she steps away from the counter with a plastic bag in hand, wearing a huge smile that doesn't slip when she joins me outside.

"See? The world didn't end. I bought you a pack of peanut butter cups. I know you love them." She reaches into the bag and pulls them out, holding them up for my inspection.

Now I know she's up to something. "You've got to get better at lying if you think you have a chance of getting around me." I don't care how it looks. I take her by the arm and pull her to the car. "What else did you buy?"

"Get your hands off me, you asshole." She tries to tug away, but it only results in my hand closing tighter around her bicep.

"If you insist on getting in the way of me doing my job, this is how I'm going to have to treat you." I practically throw her into the back seat before reaching into the oversized purse that slid off her shoulder. The bit of plastic peeking out from inside turns out to be part of the packaging for a prepaid cell phone.

"Give that back. It's mine!" She scrambles for it but is too slow. I snatch it away, drop it on the ground, and stomp on the phone while maintaining eye contact.

"You know damn well you're not supposed to have a secret phone." The remnants are still lying on the ground when I get behind the wheel and peel away. "Keep pulling this shit, and you won't visit a bathroom alone for the rest of the time you're enrolled at this fucking school."

"Fuck you," she spits from the back seat. "I fucking hate you."

I shouldn't laugh. It's the worst, cruellest thing I could do. But I'm in a cruel sort of mood.

Which is why I meet her eyes in the mirror before smirking. "Keep telling yourself that." Her face goes a deeper red a second before she buries her nose into her father-approved phone again. Probably trying to come up with another plot around me. I know why she wants a different phone, to evade her father's peering and have some privacy, but she can't. Her father would kill me, so she could keep trying, but she's not going to win.

All I have to worry about now is how I'm going to keep hating her without her father around to remind me why I need to.

And whether it's really, truly important that she is kept pure for her future husband…