PROLOGUE

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PROLOGUE

  "God, I'm sorry," I mumbled, feeling the dry sand scratch my bare thighs. The guy I'd run into stood up, and offered me a hand. "I got it..."

  I stood up, trying not to look at the stranger. I frantically grabbed my phone that I'd dropped.

  "Here," he reached for it first, and handed it to me.

  "Spring break twenty-thirteen bitches!" drunk people screamed from behind me. I took the phone, and felt panic rise in me.

  "Are you okay?" the guy asked. I looked to him. He wore reflective sunglasses, had silver earrings, a hat on backwards, and super tan skin with bulgy biceps. He wasn't much taller than I was, but he scared me.

  "Um yeah, just looking for my friend," I muttered, beginning to walk on.

  "Did you try calling her?" he asked, now behind me.

  I opened my mouth about to respond and say that my phone died, but if he was a creepy rapist, he might take advantage of that. "She's not answering."

  He was at my side now. God, why couldn't he go away? "You look scared."

I was scared. But he could be a creep and I don't want him to know I was scared.

  "Do you want me to walk with you?" he asked.

  I kept my eyes forward. "No."

  I walked faster. A bunch of guys passed by and slapped my butt and whistled. My cheeks turned bright red and I continued on. Where's Chelsea? She's my bestfriend, but she's crazy.

  The guy beside me turned and grabbed one of the guys who'd slapped my ass by the shirt and slammed his fist in his face. "Don't touch her again." Then he shoved him away and kept walking beside me.

  "Hey man, do you want to fight?" that guy asked, but his group pulled him away. Thank God. This guy was dangerous. What if he did that to me?

  "Listen, you can leave, I'll be okay," I said.

  "No, you could get raped or kidnapped. And it would be my fault for not sticking with you," he said.

  "You don't know me," I replied.

  "My father raised me to respect and protect women," he said.

  "Okay..." I mean, could it be that bad? He'd protect me at least until I find Chelsea. "But you're like twenty-two."

  "I'm seventeen."

  "Okay, seventeen."

  "How old are you?" he asked. My eyes scanned the beach, looking for the familiar wavy hair and hot pink bikini.

  "What does it matter, you're never going to see me again?" I muttered. Where was she? What if something horrible happened? I could never forgive myself.

  "Just curious. What does your friend look like?" he asked.

  "Blonde wavy hair, she's in a hot pink bikini," I said

  "That narrows it down," he retorted.

  "Just shut up."

  "We're rather sassy today, aren't we?"

  "I am, we're not."

  "What's your name?"

  "Alison," I said under my breath.

  "I'm Jason," he said.

  "Nice to meet you," I responded sarcastically.

  "What's with your attitude, Alison?"

  Ugh, I wanted to slap him. My eyes spotted a hot pink bikini. "CHELSEA!"

  I darted toward her. She was dancing on a pole, but I ran to her.

  "Chelsea! What the hell!" I shouted.

  She turned to me and grinned. "Oh hey Ali."

  She hopped out of the bed of the truck, and made her way over to me as if everything were fine.

  "Where've you been?" I asked.

  "Right here! And who's this hottie?" she motioned to Jason. He was still at my side?

  "You can go now, I'm safe," I said. He ignored my comment.

  "I'm Jason, I ran into Alison and saw she was a little fragile, so I walked her over to find you," he smiled and shook Chelsea's hand. I rolled my eyes.

  "Aww! What a gentleman! Did you get her number?" she asked him. They both acted like I wasn't here.

  "No, I was afraid if I asked she might hit me," he smirked.

  "Her number is-"

  "Chelsea!"

  "Here it is," she handed him her phone and I gave her the death stare.

  "You can thank me later, Ali."

  "More like murder," I mumbled.

  "I'll text you later, Alison," he smiled and walked down the beach.

  "CHELSEA he could be a convicted rapist!" I shouted at her as we climbed into her car.

  "Oh calm your tits, it's fine. He's cute," she shrugged and turned on the car.

  "He looks like he's twenty-five!"

  "Did he say how old he was?" she asked, we pulled out of the spot we were parked in.

  "He told me he was seventeen."

  "So what's the problem?"

  "Chelsea he could be lying and trying to get a good time!" I exclaimed. People waved beads at our windows.

  "Just calm down, hang out with him a couple times, just see. You don't have to bang him."

  "He's a tourist, he won't be here that long, Chels."

  "Then no harm done," she shrugged.

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