Free Breakdown (Crash into Me) by Amanda Lance Page A

admit,” he mumbled to himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a hard time getting a girl’s number.”
    A weird surge of panic and something I couldn’t identify struck me. “You aren’t getting my number.” I fled to the whiteboard, but William was already putting his phone away, a grin still firmly planted on his face. “You’re stealing it!”
    “Not very do-gooder of me, is it? But, not only does this make it easy for me to check up on you, but I can invite you to the races too.”
    I swallowed my heart back into its proper place. “Races?”
    “Yep.” William looked up at me through his mess of hair. “There’s one tonight if you’re interested.”
    The end of my lips twitched as I took in the memory of our game of chicken with the cops. Even if nothing like that happened again in my life, I was sure the hope of something similar might keep me going for years to come.
    “Yeah.” He shrugged. “It may or may not be fun, but you gotta admit, it’s a better alternative to suicide.”
    I shook my head. “But not to jail. Not to mention the gruesomely slow death my mom will submit me to if I get arrested.”
    “It’s going to be at the Devil’s Promenade—”
    I cut him off with an eye roll and the best smart-ass comment I could come up with. “Because that doesn’t sound like a place the police would go to…”
    “Like I was saying , there’s gonna be lots of cars, booze, girls—do you like girls, Jumper?”
    “Not as much as you apparently.” I rolled my eyes and shut off the water. If William was wondering why I washing dishes by hand when they had already been in the dishwasher he hadn’t asked. I was grateful for it too, since I wasn’t feeling particularly clever enough to lie. Out of dishes now, however, I pretended to look through the cupboards. If I didn’t have to look at William, I reasoned, then maybe I wouldn’t be so easy to read.
    “So you’re not into girls?” He stared off at the ceiling as if considering something and went to scratch his imaginary beard. “I don’t know if I’m happy about that or not. Guess it’ll just make my imagination work overtime.”
    I opened a cupboard door and pounded my head against it. “You’re an ass.”
    Although I couldn’t see him, I got the sense that William was taking a minute to study the license on the table. I hadn’t bothered to pick it up yet, and now I was beginning to wish I had. It was true that I hadn’t wanted anyone to know I was suicidal until it was too late, but my vanity made me care almost as much that this stranger knew my birthday and weight, my eye and hair color as well as the fact that I wanted to die.
    “And you’re Charlotte Ferro? That’s Italian, right?”
    I hit myself with the cupboard door again. “Such. An. Ass.”
    “I’ll take that as a yes then. You don’t look like a Charlotte. Nonetheless…” He looked at the features of my face as if he was trying to figure out something important. I turned away and blushed. “More like a “Jumper” to me, a “Lottie” at best.”
    “Will you leave now, or do I have to hit you over the head with a rolling pin?”
    William smirked and stood up, stretching his arms to make his biceps look long and lean. “Closing in on the stereotypes of your culture? Very nice.”
    Smiling now, I pointed to the front door, sure that if he didn’t get out of my house soon I might seriously think about asking him to be there every time I wanted to die. My human antidepressant.
    “Get the hell out of here!”
    William chuckled softly while I followed him out of the kitchen and into the hall, giving him a shove as hard as I could. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t budge, remaining at the door where I first found him.
    “Thanks for the snack, Jumper. I have a new appreciation for the culinary arts—”
    “Stop trying to flatter me and get going.”
    He stumbled as I shoved him again, this time more successfully past the front steps and out of the house. I