“Good. I’ll wait for you here.”
I find my shoes, throw open my door, and grind to a halt when I see Reed slumped against the wall. The door strikes the wall before I can catch it and the sharp sound jerks him out of sleep.
Hooded eyes take in my clothes, bag, and keys. “Where’re we going?” he drawls, instantly alert.
“I’m going to get something to eat.” As lies go, that one sucks, but I’m sticking with it. “Easton around?” I ask casually. “Maybe he’s hungry.”
Reed pushes to his feet. “He might be. You’ll have to call him, though, because last I heard he was going out for drinks with Wade and the guys.”
Damn. “Why aren’t you there? And why are you lurking outside my room like a creeper?”
He shoots me a look of disbelief. “Isn’t it obvious?”
I shut my mouth, because it is obvious but, more importantly, I’m afraid if I open my mouth again, a whole slew of questions will fall out. Like how long has he been doing this, and it is because he’s afraid I’m going to run away or because he just wants to be as close as possible to me? I’m even more afraid of the answers.
And I have Val to pick up, so I turn and head downstairs. Wordlessly, Reed follows me.
He’s my silent shadow across the grand foyer and its giant chandelier, past the dining room that’s never used, and into the kitchen where I once sat on Reed’s lap wishing I was having him for breakfast instead of whatever dish Sandra had created.
“Go upstairs, Reed. I don’t need you.”
“Whose wheels are you taking?”
I stop short and he nearly steps on the back of my feet. “Oh.”
My honey, glitter, and ant-infested car is undrivable, I realize. I’d parked it in the garage that I’ve never seen Callum use, because I needed time to find a place that could clean it and I had no idea how to explain the mess to Callum in the meantime.
He reaches over and plucks my now-useless car keys out of my hand and pockets them. “Come on. I’ve got you.”
Val’s warning that I should bring someone tickles my conscience, but I don’t want to ask Reed for anything. “Can’t I just borrow your car?”
“First, it’s not a car—it’s an SUV. Second, no.”
I don’t have time to argue. Val needs me. And apparently, I need Reed. But I don’t have to be gracious about it, so I huff an angry sigh and stomp into the mudroom, grabbing the first jacket I can find. The minute I zip it up, I realize it’s Reed’s. Great. Now my nose is filled with his scent.
“Fine, but when we get there, you have to stay in the car.”
He grunts his response, which could either be agreement or I’m not going to argue with you until I have you in the car.
“So where are we going?” he asks as I buckle in. I give him the address, and he slides me a wry look in return. “I didn’t realize the wharf was the only place to get fast food at two in the morning.”
“Heard it was the best in town,” I answer airily.
“You and I both know that you aren’t going out to pick up food. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Not particularly, no.”
I expect him to shoot back some retort like “my car, my rules,” but instead he remains silent. His fingers flex around the steering wheel, squeezing the leather-wrapped circle. He’s probably imagining it’s my neck and that if he squeezes tight enough, I’ll eventually spill my guts and say, oh, gosh, Reed, I don’t care that you screwed your daddy’s girlfriend and maybe got her pregnant. Come inside my bedroom and take my virginity.
Well, if he even still wants my V-card. I mean, yeah, he says he wants me, but what does that mean? Is it just a matter of pride for him? A girl who turns him down is a prick to his ego so he pursues her to build his image back up?
It’s not like I can rely on my instincts anymore. After all, I let Reed in even when he was being an asshole to me. I definitely can’t trust him now that he’s being nice.
I should’ve listened to him when he told me to stay away, but I was lonely and stupid and there was something in him that called to me. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. Maybe my estrogen levels were super high and I got caught up in some kind of hormonal episode. Or maybe it’s just how I’m wired. I spent my whole life watching my mom make one bad decision after the other when it came to men. Is it really a surprise that I’m doing the same thing?
Reed reaches across the console to squeeze my knee. “You’re gonna hurt your brain, thinking that hard.”
His touch makes my pulse speed up, so I move my knee away to dislodge his hand. He gets the message and returns his grip to the steering wheel, while I stare at the dashboard trying to squash the regret that fills me.
“My problem isn’t that I’m thinking too hard—it’s that I’m not thinking enough,” I mumble.