by Noelle Adams
Carpool
Milford College, Book One
Noelle Adams
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, 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 coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About Carpool
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Epilogue
Excerpt from Office Mate
About Noelle Adams
About Carpool
THE LAST THING I WANT is to share a forty-five minute commute with the most obnoxious (and attractive) man I know. But I can't afford a new transmission right now, so I'm stuck with Marcus for at least a month.
He promises to be good, but Marcus Greene is never good. And I'm not sure how long I can resist him.
Carpool is the first book in the Milford College series, novellas about the faculty and staff of a small liberal arts college.
One
WHEN I WAS TWELVE, Marcus Greene was sixteen—a cocky boy with the worst reputation in town. He smoked and drank and rode a motorcycle he’d fixed up himself. We live in Sterling, a town of four hundred people in the rolling hills of south-central Virginia. Marcus was the only bad boy in town, and he made a serious impression on an imaginative, impressionable girl.
I remember seeing him around Sterling. He was good-looking like all the Greene boys, but he was also dangerous with his torn-up jeans and his penetrating blue-gray eyes. His family owned a farm that was the closest property to my grandmother’s house, and Marcus’s three older brothers were nice and hardworking and safe.
But Marcus...
I’d shrink whenever I ran into him in town. I’d heard stories. My grandmother would shake her head and warn me. “Jennifer, you stay well away from that boy. He’s nothing but trouble.” I believed her. I was one of those smart, well-behaved girls who thought too much and lived in fear of disappointing people who counted on me. I didn’t want Marcus’s bad attitude or dangerous ways to rub off on me.
Sixteen years later, a lot has changed. We’ve both grown up. He’s settled down enough to get and keep a decent job, but he’s never been married or had a relationship last for more than a month. He converted one of the outbuildings on his parents’ farm, and he still lives there. His brothers all married and moved away, but his parents are getting older and they need help with the daily chores. The fact that Marcus has stuck around to help them speaks well of him, so I assume he’s not as bad as my childhood mind believed. I’m still living in my grandmother’s house, although she’s been in a nursing home for two years.
Things are different now, but I still feel the same surge of excitement, dislike, and danger I experienced as a girl when he walks into Hal’s Diner this Friday night.
His jeans are ripped like they always used to be—torn from being worn thin rather than bought in that condition. They fit his long legs and tight butt in a way that’s impossible not to admire, but I do my best.
I don’t like the man. I don’t need to be leering at his body.
His dark hair is cut fairly short, and I’m convinced he doesn’t even comb it. It’s not long enough to really tangle, but it always dries in different directions. He needs to shave, and his jaw is square, and his mouth is thin but mobile in a way that gives the impression of humor and intelligence.
His eyes are that same penetrating, too-pale blue gray, so distinct I can see their color from across the restaurant.
They land on me almost immediately, and one corner of his mouth quirks up.
I look away quickly and smile at my friend, Beck, who is sitting across from me, finishing her chocolate milkshake.
“What is it?” she asks.
“What do you mean? I didn’t say anything.”
“I know, but you looked like something happened.” She glances around until she spots Marcus, who has moved to the counter with long, lazy strides I’m very familiar with. “Ah.”
“What, ah?” I demand, immediately defensive in that way we all get when someone realizes something about us we wish wasn’t true.
“I see now what’s happened.” Beck is pretty in a round-faced, very curvy way. She’s got wavy dark hair and dimples in both cheeks and very impressive cleavage she’s not afraid to show off. Her voice lowers to a teasing whisper. “He’s happened.”
“Would you stop it? You know very well I don’t even like the guy.”
“I know you don’t. But you think he’s hot. And why wouldn’t you? Those eyes. That ass.” Her tone is playful, but the good thing about Beck is that she’s always discreet when it matters. Nothing in her manner will reveal to Marcus that we’re currently talking about him.
“I really don’t care about his eyes and his ass. It’s fine to admire them from a distance, but I can only be into a guy if I like his personality too.”
Beck’s huge blue eyes sparkle. “I know. But I talked to him some when my department was redoing our suite, and he seems like an okay guy. He’s pretty smart, and he’s good at his job, and he’s got a sense of humor.”
Beck is an assistant professor of history at Milford College, a small liberal arts college about a forty-five-minute drive from Sterling. I work in the financial department there, and we met each other and hit it off shortly after she got her job two years ago. Marcus started working maintenance at the college right after high school, and he’s been there ever since, getting promoted every couple of years until he’s now the director of facilities for the whole college.
“I know all that,” I say to Beck. “But he’s also always secretly laughing at people like an arrogant jackass, as if he has no respect for anyone else. He’s been doing it all my life. I just don’t like him.”
“I’ve never noticed him acting that way. He seemed perfectly polite and competent to me.”
I sigh and shake my head. For some reason her declaration makes me dislike Marcus even more. “Maybe he just does it to me since I’m from his hometown. I don’t know. I just can’t stand to be around him, and I never have.”
“All right. We’ll just ignore him then and talk about other things. So what are you going to do about your car?”
I slump as my mind returns to a cause for worry much more significant than Marcus Greene. “I have no idea. The transmission is totally gone. Johnny, who used to own the garage here, said he’d try to rebuild it in his spare time for cheap, but he’s got other jobs to do, so it will take him weeks to get it done. And I really don’t want to put three thousand dollars on my credit card to get it done sooner. I’m finally getting it paid down.”
I’ve got a decent job, and I’m good at what I do. But staff positions at small colleges are notoriously underpaid. I went to college on student loans since my grandmother had no spare money to offer me for my education, and I had a work-study position in the financial aid department. They liked me there and offered me a full-time position as a counselor after I graduated. I’ve moved up over the years to associate director. It pays enough to cover my student loans and living expenses, but all the rest of my money goes to my grandmother’s nursing home.
For years every extra life expense has gone onto my credit card, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon unless I find a rich man to marry or win the lottery.
“If you could move closer to Milford, you might not need a car. You could even live in my spare room. I’m close enough to walk.”
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“I know. I’d give up my grandmother’s house if I had to, but I need to be close to her nursing home. She has no one in the world except me. I’m not going to move forty-five minutes away from her even if it would make it easier to get to work.”
Beck’s eyes were sympathetic. “Yeah. That makes sense. I guess you’ll have to put it on your credit card unless you can find someone to give you a ride for a few weeks until Johnny rebuilds your transmission.”
“There’s no one to get a ride from. No one from Milford lives this far out.”
“Well, there’s one person.” Beck glances over her shoulder to where Marcus is sitting on a stool at the counter.
I suck in a quick breath. “Beck!”
“I know, Jennifer. I know. But how desperate are you? He does live here. He drives to Milford every day, and he keeps roughly the same hours that you do. If you don’t want to put a new transmission on your credit card, he’s an option.”
“It’s forty-five minutes each way! Twice a day. Five times a week. I’d be trapped with him in a car all that time.”
I’m horrified by the thought. And also ridiculously excited.
I can’t even imagine being around Marcus Greene for that long.
Beck is almost laughing now. “That’s true. But if you don’t have any other options... You could at least ask.”
“I don’t want to ask. I don’t like him at all.”
“Okay. Credit card it is.”
I groan and rub my face with both hands. “Oh God, this is horrible. What am I going to do?”
“You could always ask to see if it’s even a possibility. No commitment or anything. If he doesn’t want to help you out, then you’ll know it’s not even an option.”
I lower my hands. I know what I need to do.
If it’s a choice between putting three thousand dollars on a credit card or asking Marcus Greene for a favor, I’m going to have to ask.
I’ll never forgive myself if I’m not even that brave.
But still...
There’s nothing in the world I want less than to spend a forty-five-minute commute with that guy.
I slant a look over at him and see he’s looking in my direction. He’s eating a burger and fries. His mouth twitches up when our eyes meet.
I try not to scowl as I look away.
I have to ask him, and making faces at him before I do is probably not the most effective strategy.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
And if he says yes, how the hell am I going to get through the next few weeks of being trapped with Marcus in a car for so long every day?
IT TAKES ME ABOUT TEN minutes to work up my courage and turn over in my mind again and again every single possibility that might come from asking Marcus a favor like this.
Finally Beck’s urging and the knot in my gut about putting so much money on my credit card force me to my feet.
Marcus is still on a stool at the counter. He’s finished his meal, but he’s chatting with Cheryl, who has been a waitress here since I was born.
I’m in a weird, nervous daze as I walk over—that feeling of watching yourself do something you can’t quite conceive of actually doing. When I reach him, I have no idea how to get his attention, so I plop myself down on the stool next to him.
He turns to look at me with arched eyebrows.
I’ve got light brown hair with a few glints of auburn, brown eyes, regular features, and a medium-sized frame. I’m not any sort of beauty queen, but I’m basically attractive. A lot of guys look at me as though they appreciate what they see.
Marcus doesn’t. He never has. He always peers at me with a cool, superior expression that has driven me crazy all my life. He dates women of a variety of looks and sizes, so I can’t imagine he has a problem with my appearance. He’s just never thought about me that way.
That fact bothers me as much as everything else about him.
Some guys think I’m pretty. Why doesn’t he?
He’s staring at me now, waiting for me to say something. And I have no idea what to say. I can’t even remember why I came over here.
His eyebrows lift even higher, and I finally get a word out. “Hi.”
His mouth gives that familiar twitch. “Hi? You’re telling me hi?”
My nerves are quickly being swallowed up by annoyance. “Maybe you’re unfamiliar with the concept, but polite people say hi.”
“You don’t say hi to me.” The blue gray of his eyes is lighter than you’d expect the color to be, so it stands out starkly in his handsome face.
“Well, I am now. And someone with manners might say hi back.”
He leans closer, and my breath hitches when a surge of attraction rushes over me from my ears to my toes. Damn, the man is way too hot. It isn’t entirely fair.
“Hi,” he says with a drawl in his voice.
I roll my eyes. “Nice.”
“I do my best.”
I swallow hard. I can see he’s waiting for me to say something. To explain my purpose in coming over here. Cheryl has been lingering, eavesdropping with an amused expression, but the couple in the corner booth call her over, so she has to walk away.
Just as well.
I’d rather not have an audience for this humiliating conservation. “I need a favor.” I had to force it out.
“From me?”
“Yes. From you. You’re the only one who can help me.”
“Interesting.” He tilts his head to one side, studying my face with a familiar amused arrogance.
I try not to roll my eyes again, but I don’t entirely succeed. I should have known he wouldn’t make this easy on me. My voice is almost prim as I say, “Do you have any interest in carpooling to work for a few weeks?”
I evidently surprise him because his eyebrows lower and his habitual smirk fades. “Carpooling?”
“Well, it wouldn’t exactly be carpooling. It would be you giving me a ride.”
“What’s wrong with your car?”
“The transmission died. Johnny Castle said he’d try to rebuild it, but he’ll have to do it in his spare time, and it will take a few weeks.”
His broad forehead has wrinkled into three vertical lines between his brows. For some reason the expression makes me feel better, like he’s thinking about what I’m saying, like he’s taking me seriously. “You could take it to the garage in Clifton. They always do good work, and they won’t cheat you.”
“I know. I got an estimate from them.”
“And?”
I bite my bottom lip and admit, “I can’t afford it.”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to ask something but closes it again. It’s several seconds before he says in a softer tone, “I guess that nursing home for your grandma costs a shitload of money.”
It’s a relief not to have to explain everything to him. He seems to understand. Both his tone and his expression are gentler than I’ve ever seen them.
“It does. I could put the repair on a credit card, but I hate to do that—especially if I have another option. Since you’re driving back and forth to Milford at around the same time I do, I thought I’d ask.”
He keeps looking at me. Doesn’t say anything immediately.
I have no idea what he’s thinking, and it’s unnerving. I chew on my lip until I can’t help but add, “I’ll be happy to chip in for gas and wear and tear on your car. I know we’re not friends or anything. I wouldn’t be asking if I weren’t desperate.”
His mouth twitches up again for the first time since I asked for the favor. “You think I don’t know that? You remember when you were a kid and your grandma fell and hurt herself but wouldn’t let you call 911?”
I narrow my eyes since his voice is teasing again. I should have known his less obnoxious persona couldn’t last for long. “Yes, I remember that.”
He gives a soft huff of amusement. “You came knocking on our door. You should have seen your face when it was me who answered. I’m sure you were hoping f
or my mom or brothers, but you got stuck with me. You looked like you’d rather talk to a serial killer. And I remember exactly what you said.” He clears his throat and pitches his voice to mimic mine—exaggerating the primness. “I’m sorry to bother you, but my grandmother has fallen, and I can’t get her up. Is there anyone available to come over and help me?”
“I was trying to be polite.”
“You were trying not to show how disgusted you were that it was me you were asking for help.”
I hadn’t been disgusted when it was Marcus who’d opened the door that day when I was thirteen years old. I’d been so nervous I’d hardly been able to speak.
Just as well he hadn’t realized that. I’ve always been good at hiding any sort of vulnerability from the world.
“That was years ago. This is an entirely different situation.” I’m pleased that I sound cool and calm.
“Is it? You still look like you’d rather ask for a favor from a vampire.”
“A vampire wouldn’t be able to help me with this. The help I need is during daylight hours.”
He snorts. “And there’s really no one else you can hitch a ride from?”
“Not anyone who lives this far out from Milford and who makes the drive the same times I do.”
He licks his lips slowly. It’s almost certainly an idle gesture as he thinks. But the sliding of his tongue over the thin curve of his lips gives me a hot rush of dirty thoughts.
I can’t help but wonder what that tongue would feel like sliding against my mouth, my body.
I really don’t need to feel like that.
“It’s fine if you’d rather not,” I add, feeling uncomfortable for any number of reasons. “I know we’re not friends or anything. I’m just desperate.”
“Yeah. That much is clear. Only desperation would lead you to ask me for anything.”
I roll my eyes, unable to stop myself. “If all you want to do is mock me...”
“I would have thought you’d know that was part of the package. You get a ride from me, and I get to mock you to my heart’s content.”
