Ride With Me Read Online Lucy Keating

Categories Genre: Romance, Young Adult Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)


In this charming, contemporary YA novel, neighborhood rideshare driver Charlie Owens embarks on a collision course with love when she crashes into the school’s cute but annoying party boy and wrecks his car and her no-strings-attached attitude toward life.

As a driver for her local ride share app, Charlie Owens loves what the open road gives her: freedom, extra cash for an epic road trip, and a path to getting out of her sleepy town of Chester Falls, Massachusetts. She’s seen her fair share of mysterious passengers and explosive break-ups in the backseat of her car, but Charlie lives a no-strings-attached lifestyle and never gets involved.
But when a routine post-party pick-up ends with Charlie crashing into Andre, her school’s notorious party boy, she’s forced to make a deal to drive him anywhere he needs to go, anytime, until his car can be repaired. Suddenly Charlie and Andre are stuck together, and they couldn’t be more different. But Andre’s charm wins over Charlie’s passengers, and she soon finds herself at risk of breaking her most sacred rule: don’t fall in love.

Full Book:

Chapter 1

IF YOU WERE TO ASK ME ABOUT MY HOME, CHESTER Falls, Massachusetts—though I’m honestly not sure why you would, because that would mean you somehow knew it existed in the first place—I would direct you, first, to the town paper. The back page of the Chester Falls Gazette gives a rundown of every crime that has happened in our tiny town that week, and has included the following incidents:

On October 22, a geriatric sheepdog from a nearby farm wandered into a woman’s home and refused to leave. The police were unable to get the animal out, so it remained there on her love seat for the next three hours, watching daytime TV, until its owner came and lured it home with a piece of turkey bacon.

On February 19, a prized alpaca got loose from its pen and went slipping and sliding out in the middle of frozen George’s Pond, and had to be rescued by a four-person team.

On April 20, a frantic caller claimed that a dangerous person was breaking into her home with a weapon. Turned out it was her husband, who had misplaced his keys after one too many beers watching the Stanley Cup Finals with his club league and brought a hockey stick home with him.

And, my personal favorite, May 5, when a travel advisory went out via SMS warning of slick road conditions after a truck carrying three thousand pounds of buttermilk overturned on Route 2.

Riveting stuff. I know.

There is one reason you might know of Chester Falls, actually: it’s the original maker of the Maple Pudding Pie, which was created by Maddie Baker in 1892, and is now sold in supermarkets across the country. If you’ve never heard of a Maple Pudding Pie, then I should tell you two things. One, it is delicious beyond words, with a layer of molasses-cookie crust, maple custard, and whipped cream, and two, it is pretty crucial to our town’s economy. Every year, nearly one hundred thousand pies are shipped nationwide. And I would know, because for the past five years, my dad has been in charge of all of those packages being on schedule—when he’s not watching TV, reading spy novels in a cozy chair in our living room, and pretending that one of these days he’s going to get back to making the wood sculptures that once made him famous. I can’t say I really blame him, though, for sitting around. Chester Falls is great. But there isn’t a whole lot to do here.

“You are going to this party, Charlie,” Sydney says to me on Friday night as we take a left onto Route 102 and start driving north toward the lake. Sydney has been my best friend since kindergarten, since her dad became our town doctor and I was rushed into his office having just eaten an entire bottle of chewable Tylenol, only to barf all over the rug before anyone could pump my stomach. Instead of laughing at me, Sydney, who was playing in the office, came over and gave me her stuffed turtle. This, I like to think, explains why we’re still friends, even though we’re more different now than ever. I enjoy taking long walks in the woods, making trips to the modern art museum in New Winsor to sketch, overthinking my problems to the point of nausea, and listening to all the obscure music I can get my hands on. Sydney prefers to stay at home learning complicated nail design techniques, watching videos of people cooking miniature-sized food, and doing butt sculpting workouts on Instagram Live.

We don’t always see eye to eye, but I’d do basically anything for her.

“When did I say I wasn’t going?” I ask her now as I fiddle with the AC. It’s the first week of April, and it feels like summer. I prefer the fall, when the trees of our mountain town change to nearly all the colors of the rainbow. Before the cold sets in and stepping a foot outside is like a shock to the system, like you might as well be diving into a frozen lake in a bikini. Which people actually do in this town. They call it the Happy Penguins Club. “I’m literally driving us there right now,” I tell Sydney.