“So…” Blair trails off and avoids my gaze. “I’m just gonna go.”
She watches me for a beat, like she expects me to go back on my word. I don’t break a deal.
Tipping my head to the side, I lift my brows. “Off you scurry then, gutter rat.”
She grants me a severe look, shoulders a stiff line.
Good. Keep that iron pride intact. You’re gonna need it, sweetheart.
As Blair slips from the room, I trail her. I might not go back on my word, but I don’t trust her at all. Desperation makes people do stupid shit, and she’s got three seconds from the next bad decision written all over her scrawny ass.
What’s some grand larceny on top of her other crimes tonight?
At the front door, an odd urge drags a question from me. “How did you get into the community, anyway?” Blair glances over her shoulder and shrugs. I circle around and prop against the door, blocking her escape. She’ll answer my questions before she disappears into the darkness. “Answer me. Gemma’s at college, so that option’s out. You don’t know anyone else here.”
Blair smirks, the self-satisfaction looking irritatingly good on her. “I have my ways.”
She attempts to open the door without touching me while I’m leaning on it.
If she doesn’t know anyone here, I guess she hiked the mountain. It’s how I’d do it in her place. If that’s the truth, it doesn’t sit right with me. “The woods are dangerous at night.”
Her eyes dart up and she falls back a step. The movements are quick, but I watch in fascination as she assesses the other exit options, since I’m blocking her current choice.
“If you planned on walking,” I clarify with a gesture of my hand. “There’s a community patrol, but they don’t always scare things off.”
“I’ll manage.” She reaches for the doorknob.
“What if I make you stay.” It’s not a question. But it’s not entirely me fucking around with control. Despite promising to let her go…I’m not ready for her to leave.
Blair freezes. I’ve got her there.
Her perceptive gaze finds mine. I keep my expression smooth, not giving her any hints if I’m bluffing or not. She swallows.
“I, uh, can’t.” She’s suddenly shifty. Her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt at her side. I fold my arms. After blowing out a breath, she elaborates, “My mom will be home soon. I need to be there before that.”
Blair waits me out for the span of one heartbeat to the next, then twists the doorknob.
My resolve cracks. I can’t let her go out there like this. Christ, she’s stubborn. I look forward to bringing that bad habit under my command.
“Seriously.” I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Do you need a ride to the gate? Or an Uber?”
Blair scoffs. “Still playing the gentleman act?”
Sharp laughter barks out of me. In a quick move, my arms circle her waist, twirling her around. I cage her against the door, planting my palms on either side of her head as I lean down in her space. Her body heat seeps into mine, her tits brushing against my t-shirt. If I take another step closer, I’ll pin her with my body.
“Hardly,” I rasp. “I’m worse than the danger that lurks outside. I don’t want anything to happen to my new toy.”
Her mouth twists and her dark lashes flutter. Color fills her freckled cheeks as her attention skates to my forearm flexing beside her head.
I expected big, brash reactions from her, although she never gives me a response like that when I taunt her in school. What I’m unprepared for is the way she keeps still, assessing the situation rather than trying to immediately knee my balls.
“Come on.” Blair sighs and rests her head against the door. “I’ll be fine. Really.”
It almost works on me, but the tight tremor in her shoulders gives her away, destroying her air of casualness. I make her more uncomfortable than walking through the woods at night.
I step back and chuck her under the chin with a crooked finger. This is a discovery I can use to my advantage later.
“Don’t get eaten out there.” I tuck my hands in the pockets of my sweatpants. “Can’t have you dying before the fun starts.”
Blair stares at me in disbelief, then rolls her eyes. “You’re un-fucking-believable.”
The door swings open and slams shut behind her. It echoes into the exposed beams high overhead, the modern chandelier rattling with the faint tinkle of glass and metal.
Tch. I file her insolence away. She’ll pay for that, too.
I wander back to the kitchen and lean on my elbows against the island. The scent of her cheap imitation vanilla shampoo clings to me. I’ll have to shower again to get this shit off me.
The quiet settles over the house once again. It happens faster than expected, the oppressive weight of silence almost shocking me. For a short time, I almost forgot. Now that the excitement of the night has faded, I’m left alone in my house with only my cars and my thoughts to keep me company.
When I swallow, my throat is tight.
I rub my fingertips together and resist the nagging urge to climb to the second floor landing to see if I can watch Blair’s exit. Something tells me she’s already blended in with the shadows.
Taking out my phone, I skim my Instagram notifications. There’s a slew of likes and comments on my picture of Red this morning and the one I shared from practice of my cleats next to a soccer ball. Bishop left a load of emojis in a comment on both posts that makes me snort. It’s funny to imagine that tonight could have gone differently if I hadn’t walked to the garage intent on a joyride when I did.
My thumb hovers over the screen. I’ve never looked before. Does Blair have social media?
A search of her name pulls up nothing. I switch to Gemma’s profile and scroll until I find a recent photo of the two of them. They’re on Lucas’ boat in the middle of the lake, his pug dog cradled between them. Gemma grins brightly at the camera with her arm around Blair while she’s more reserved, attention on Lancelot the pug.
There are two profiles tagged in the photo. One is Lucas’, so the other must be Blair’s. My mouth curves. Thank you, Gem, for always being an open book.
I click on the @disblair username. It’s private. Her profile photo is a picture of her when she had her hair dyed blue-gray. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie and holding her hand up to hide most of her face. One brown eye peeks between her fingers, taunting the camera.
“Shit.”
It can wait for later. Or I could pay her for access to her account. I stroke my chin.
Swiping out of the app, I hesitate. Glaring at the message icon for a minute, I give in, pulling up my text history with Dad.
No response.
Which I knew.
A rough sound tears from my throat.
I fucking knew, and I still couldn’t help checking.
“Goddamn it, you idiot.”
I squeeze the phone in my hand until my knuckles turn white. My weakness pisses me off.
I briefly consider telling my parents about a break in. My breath hisses between my clenched teeth. No, I won’t tell them.
I’ll handle it all on my own, like everything else. They pushed me to be independent and I took it a step farther. I haven’t needed the monthly guilt money they dump in my bank account for more than a year. Through investments and planning with my financial advisor, I can walk away from them whenever I want. The problem is taking that step.