“ ‘Daren. I hope the game of life has been good to you. Even if you don’t feel like you’re succeeding, remember you’re still in the early innings. Lesson number five: The only game that matters is the game of life. And a few lost innings aren’t a lost game. By now, I’m sure you’re both frustrated with me, and probably ready to get your handcuffs off. Go to the lavender ranch at the end of Canary Road for your final clue. Then you’re done!’ ”

Her face lights up. “The last clue! We’re almost finished.”

“Awesome,” I say, munching on a cookie as I frown at the setting sun. “All we have to do now is go to an abandoned lavender field… in the middle of the desert… at night… without flashlights…”

“Yeah,” she says, biting her lip. “Not ideal.”

“Maybe we should wait until morning.”

She nods. “You’re probably right. But I don’t have my motel room still booked. That’s why my suitcase is in the car. I thought we’d be done by now and I’d be headed back to Chicago. And as much as I love being your sugar mama, I don’t have any money to book another room. So let’s stay at your place tonight.”

“At my place? Uh…”

“What? Do you live with eight frat boys who eat with their feet and fart a lot, or what?”

“No. Not exactly.” But that would be better than the truth. Anything would be better.

“Then what?” She juts her chin.

“My place is just a bit of a mess and not really ready for company. You wouldn’t like it.”

She sneers. “Then why don’t you shell out the cash to get us a hotel room? It’s about time you and your designer shirt start contributing to this little adventure. I mean, I’ve paid for everything. Like our room last night—”

“You would have paid for that room even if we’d found the inheritance,” I point out.

“Okay, then what about my car? Who paid for all the gas that’s been toting you around all day? Me.” She pauses. “Where the hell is your Porsche anyway?”

“Uh… in the shop.”

She furrows her brow. “I thought it was parked far, far away.”

I scratch my cheek. “It is.”

She looks at me, skeptical. “It’s parked far, far away in a shop?”

“Yep.” I nod. “Far, far away in a shop of all the other repossessed cars in the county.” I force a smile.

She pulls back. “Your car got repossessed?”

“Yes,” I say, shifting in my seat. “And it’s not my car. It’s my dad’s. Technically.”

She looks confused. “Why?”

“Because I had to sell my own car to pay some bills and I needed a way to get to and from work. Ergo, I drive my dad’s car.”

“No.” She blinks impatiently. “Why was the Porsche repossessed?”

“Oh.” I inhale. “Because I don’t have the money to make any more payments on it. My dad made a year’s worth of payments on the Porsche before he went to jail, which is the only reason I was able to drive it for so long. I couldn’t sell it because my dad owed more on the loan than it was worth, but I also couldn’t afford to keep it because the payments were ridiculous and I have no money,” I say. “Ergo, the Porsche was repossessed.”

She scans my face. “So you don’t have any money?”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “I already told you that.”

“I thought you were being dramatic.” She sighs. “Well I don’t have any money either. So unless you feel like sleeping in my car, we need to stay the night at your place.”

For a moment, I seriously consider sleeping in her car.

“Fine,” I say, sucking up my housing insecurities with a groan. “We’ll go back to my place. But just for the record”—I point at her—“I warned you that you wouldn’t like it.”

She smirks. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

I shake my head as we pull out of the parking lot.

Famous last words.

21 Kayla

Daren’s been acting weird ever since we left the bakery. Weird in a fidgety, shifting-in-his-seat, jutting-his-jaw-every-five-minutes kind of way.

Gripping the steering wheel, I follow his directions as the sun disappears and the rainy day transforms into a cloudy night. I glance in the rearview mirror for the hundredth time and bite my lip. The same black car has been behind us since we left the town square. It could be nothing. Or it could be Big Joe.

“What?” Daren says, watching me bite down on my lip. “What’s wrong?” He turns to look behind us.

“I think someone is following us again,” I say.

He watches the headlights in the distance for a moment. “It’s probably just someone headed the same direction as us. If it was this boss guy of yours—what’s his name again?”

“Big Joe.”

“Really? That’s what he goes by? Big Joe?” Daren scoffs. “What is he, a mobster?”

I don’t answer and his eyes widen.

“Are you shitting me? Your mom owed money to a mobster?” he says then runs his free hand through his hair and mutters, “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m not sure that he’s a mobster,” I say defensively. “I just know he’s a bad guy.”

Just then, the car following us takes a turn and is no longer behind us. I sigh in relief as I stare at the empty road in the rearview mirror.

“See?” Daren smiles at me. “No one is following you.”

I nod and let out a little laugh. “Wow. I feel dumb. I keep thinking we’re being followed and we’re clearly not. I’m so jumpy. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’d be freaked out too if I thought someone who may or may not be a mobster was after me.” He playfully grins, which helps ease my anxiety. “But you’re safe.” His eyes stay on mine. “And besides, you have me.” He wiggles our cuffed hands. “I’ll protect you. You know, with my free hand.”

I chuckle, my fear slowly draining from my veins as he winks. I’m oddly comforted by the fact that Daren is physically attached to me. I’ve gotten so used to being on my own that I’ve forgotten how nice it is to have someone to share things with. Excitement. Adventure. Fear. Having someone at my side makes everything better. And it certainly makes this whole thing with Big Joe less scary.

“Oh my!” I smile at Daren. “You’re my knight in shining… steel manacles.”

He bows his head. “At your service, milady.”

My smile stays in place for the next few miles as we joke about sword fighting with handcuffs on, and soon all my fear has completely melted away. Daren has that effect on me, I’m learning. He has a way of distracting me from things that might otherwise get me down. It’s kind of… sweet. He’s sweet.

We drive to the ritzy side of town where the neighborhoods are all gated with grand entrances and Daren directs me to a gated community called Westlake Estates. I turn in and pull up to the security booth at the front of the community. No one is manning the booth at this late hour, leaving the security completely at the mercy of a keypad.

I lean back in my seat so Daren can easily reach the keypad. “Do you want to—”

“Five six four five,” he says.

I stare at him. “Did you just give me the code to your gated community?”

“I did.”

I grin. “Oh my. I might just have to start calling you my friend now.”

He scoffs. “It’s about time.”

With a laugh, I punch in the numbers. A buzzing noise sounds from the box before the nine-foot-tall grand gates slowly start to open.

I marvel at the rolling hills and water-featured entrance of Daren’s community and I swear I can almost hear angels singing as we drive through. This is easily the most expensive neighborhood I’ve ever been in.

“Just follow this road all the way to the stop sign,” Daren says. “Then take a right until you come to a driveway at the end of a cul-de-sac.”

I do as he says and he points ahead of us. “That’s it, right there.”

My lips part. Of course he lives on the top of a hill in a cul-de-sac—a cul-de-sac that no other houses are on. He owns his own freaking cul-de-sac! I’m so collecting gas money from him. I cruise up the steep driveway at the base of a mansion. And it is a mansion.