KARTER Read Online Free PDF

Karter filled my mind as I unlocked the truck and retrieved my phone from my gym bag. Still standing outside the truck, I swiped the screen of my phone. Upon opening the text screen, I smiled. One lone text message was all I had received. It was all I needed. Anxiously, I opened the message.
    Karter Wilson: I can’t paint and I don’t want to ride. All I can think about is you. Dude, what the fuck did you do to me?
    I stared at the screen, knowing what I wanted to say, but feeling as if I shouldn’t send a message which would allow her to perceive me as weak or needy.
    Fuck it, Jak. Be honest with this girl. Be honest with yourself. Tell her what you’re thinking. Then, she’ll know exactly how you feel. If she’s still interested it’ll be for all the right reasons.
    I inhaled, studied at the screen for a second, and typed a brief but heartfelt response. 
    I feel the same way.
    I tossed the phone onto the top of my bag and climbed into the seat of the truck. After a shower and change of clothes, I’d be ready for a new day of relaxation. As I pushed the key into the ignition, my phone beeped. I reached for it and immediately swiped my thumb across the screen as I raised it to my chest.
    Karter Wilson: I’m dying a slow miserable death. End the fucking pain. Come over, pick me up, and then leave if you have to. But come pick me up. Mosley Street Apts. #211.
    Uncertain if she meant to pick her up from her apartment and take her somewhere or lift her from her feet again, I reread the message. Still unclear and not wanting to make any assumptions, I typed a universal response.
    I’m in PT gear and need to shower.
    I read my message. Dissatisfied with the military reference, I erased it and retyped another message.
    I just got done running and I’m in shorts and a tee shirt. Give me an hour.
    I pressed send.
    I tossed my phone onto my gym bag. As I gripped the key with my thumb and forefinger, the phone beeped. I shook my head and smiled as I lifted it from the bag and cleared the screen.
    Karter Wilson: An hour? Fuck that. Did you not read my first message? I’m dying. Like DYING. I’m dressed inappropriately as well. Come as you are. Make it quick. *collapses to floor and drops phone*
    I laughed audibly and shook my head. Damn, this girl seemed to be exactly what I needed. If nothing else, she would keep me on my toes. I looked down at my sweaty shorts and pressed my hand against the chest of my tee shirt. Wet .
    If she’s truly dying I suppose it’s my solemn duty to attempt to save her.
    I typed a quick response and pressed send.
    En route. ETA fifteen minutes.
    I tossed my phone onto the bag and started the truck. As I backed away from the parking stall, my phone beeped. I shook my head and rolled my eyes. After I stopped the truck and pushed \ the gear shifter into park, I picked up the phone and glanced at the screen.
    Karter Wilson: *coughs* Hurry. I’ll be on the floor. *coughs again* If I appear lifeless, it’s your fucking fault. Perform CPR as necessary. *crawls and unlocks door*
    As I drove toward downtown, I found it odd out of everything we had discussed the previous day, we neglected our jobs. Although I purposely didn’t ask her of hers, she offered the fact she painted. At the time I had no idea if it was a full-time job or a hobby. The fact Karter now mentioned she couldn’t paint and was home during the work day led me to believe it may be her job.
    I was reluctant to offer my employment history because I didn’t want her to determine my age - at least not yet. If she was in her latter twenties as I suspected, I was at least ten years her senior. If we continued along the same path, it would stand to reason after six months of further developing attractions toward one another, age would never become an issue. I felt if she provided me an opportunity to show her who I was and how I was capable of caring for her, she’d accept my age as being just what it was - a mere number.
    As I exited