“You won’t be because that’s not the kind of person you are,” he says, reaching toward me, resting his hand on my arm. “Whatever you decide to do, you’re going to be brilliant at it.”
I smile at him. “As will you.”
It’s only then that we hear the sliding door opening, that his hand falls away quickly, but not quickly enough.
Allison stands there in a silk robe, the kind of robe that has a fancy French name and probably conceals some very delicate type of lingerie beneath it.
“She’s a little young for you, isn’t she?” she asks coolly. “Maybe I’ll get you a subscription to Barely Legal for your birthday.”
“It wasn’t what it looked like,” James says, just as coldly. “We were just talking.”
I stand to leave, allowing myself one look back at him. Our eyes meet for a single moment. I’m not sure which of us looks more unhappy as I go inside.
Chapter 16
The next morning Ginny helps me make waffles.
“Isn’t Allison great?” she squeals, as I pour the batter onto the iron.
“Mmmm,” I reply. A noise that means nothing at all, but one I know she will take to mean agreement. “Did you have fun last night?”
She raises one shoulder, ambivalently. “Things were a little tense here, so we all cleared out. Figured maybe they just needed to work off a little steam, if you know what I mean,” she says, with a quick raise of her brows. Yeah, I know what she means, and the idea makes me a little sick. Did they make up after I went upstairs? She certainly came outside dressed for reconciliation.
The smell of waffles draws the boys forward. First Dan, and then Max, and finally James. The latter yawns and collapses in his chair. “Grayson,” he says. “I love your waffles. I’m sorry we ever said we didn’t want you here.”
“You never said that.”
“Well, we never said that to you,” he laughs.
Max smacks the side of his head. “Shut the fuck up. We’d kick you out before we’d kick her out. In fact, it’s only that you’re related to the two of them that we’re letting you stay.”
“I’m not related to the blonde troublemaker,” says James, still smiling. “Just the redhead with the big mouth.”
“A redhead who’s gonna spit in your waffle batter if you keep talking,” says Ginny.
Allison emerges then, dressed like she’s heading to the ladies’ tea at the country club — white capris, a cashmere tank, a scarf around her neck. Meanwhile, James is now shirtless, but still wearing Thursday’s shorts, which he may or may not have gone running in. I’m heartened by the fact that he sure doesn’t look like a guy who’s trying to get laid.
She fixes her icy smile on me and comes to the opposite side of the island. “I’ll take over now,” she says, pulling the waffle iron away from me and reaching out her hand, fully expecting me to hand over the batter. I’m kind of stunned. Who the fuck does she think she is, walking into my fucking kitchen and trying to take over my fucking waffles? I grab the waffle iron by its cord and yank it back to me.
“I think I’ve got it, thanks,” I say, with clear sarcasm.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “Because it smells like something’s burning.”
“Boys,” I call out. “Do you smell anything burning?”
They all say no. I try not to gloat.
“Fine,” she snaps. “I’ll set the table.”
I raise a brow at Ginny, cutting strawberries, but she doesn’t acknowledge it, acting as if she hasn’t heard a word of our conversation. And if she did, I’m sure, she’d fall squarely on Team Allison.
Allison then proceeds to complain about the state of the flatware, the number of plates. She then demands a butter dish, of all things.
“There is no butter dish,” I say flatly. She acts as if I haven’t spoken. Or like maybe I’m so backward that I don’t know what a butter dish is.
“Ginny,” she says sweetly. “Do you know where I can find a butter dish?”
“I’ll look,” says Ginny eagerly, dropping her strawberries entirely and going on a wild goose chase in pursuit of something she knows the house doesn’t have. “I’m so sorry,” she finally says. “I guess we don’t have one.”
I’ll just use a saucer,” sighs Allison. She opens the refrigerator and turns to me sourly. “Where’s the juice?”
“I don’t know if we have any,” I reply.
“You don’t have juice?” she asks, her tone rife with accusation. “What exactly do you have?”
Before I can say anything, James speaks up. “Allison,” he warns. “Cut it out.”
She freezes, and the color leaches from her skin. “I’m going for a walk,” she says suddenly. She turns to Ginny. “Do you want to come with me?”
Ginny is giving me a dirty look. What. The. Hell?
“Yes,” she says. “I’m not feeling all that hungry anymore.”
“I assume it’s safe to leave you with my boyfriend this time?” asks Allison, with a bitter smile.
“Allison,” says James, and there is no longer flexibility in his voice. “That’s enough.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she says. “It’s only married men she seduces.”
James lays his head back against his seat after she walks out, as if he’s exhausted.
“Dude,” says Max. “What the fuck is going on?”
“My sister is a pain in the ass,” says Dan. “That’s what’s going on.”
“No,” says James. “She got the wrong idea last night about something and now she’s losing her shit over it.”
“Got the wrong idea about what?” asks Max.
James glances at me swiftly before his eyes drift shut again. “She’s threatened by Elle.”
“As well she should be,” quips Max. “No woman wants to walk in and find her boyfriend sharing a house with a freaking model, especially one with a rack like Elle’s.”
“Shut up, Max,” says James.
“Tell me where I’m wrong,” he argues.
I scrape the waffle I haven’t even touched into the trash. “I’m out of here.”
“Where are you going?” asks James.
“Elsewhere,” I say. “I’ll be back when she’s gone.”
The truth is that the whole situation is making me sick. Allison’s dislike. The way she views me, through that same lens the people in my office did: as some kind of man-stealing slut. Max agreeing. And perhaps worst of all, Ginny, my supposed best friend, and her complete defection to the other side. She didn’t try to defend me in the least.
**
I get upstairs, planning to call Kristy, but I haven’t even found my phone before there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in?” I say, a question in my voice. My first thought is that it’s Allison, because none of the guys ever come to our room — one of many dire warnings laid out by James — and Ginny wouldn’t knock.
James steps in, filling the entire frame of the door. “Can I talk to you?” he asks.