No, the one with the problem is me. I need to get my head out of my ass and my mind off my dick. Then everything will be okay.
Thing is, I’ve wanted her since the moment I laid eyes on her and fought it ever since. Haven’t been able to keep her out of my house, or my mind.
What am I supposed to do?
She comes out and I follow her down the stairs. She stops at the door, turns to look at me.
“Take care,” she says.
Take care. Just two words, and my throat closes. Dunno what the fuck’s the matter with me today. Too much tension, I guess.
“Matt…” She’s still there, pinning me with those clear blue eyes. “Anything else I can do?”
Yeah.
“No.” I struggle to gather my thoughts, regroup. “Be careful.”
“Is it dangerous, you think? Ross wouldn’t hurt us. Not physically, at least.”
That’s good to know, although I won’t forget the way he gripped her arm that day at the garage. Maybe Ross changed.
But I don’t want to scare her more, so I leave it at that and wait until she sighs and walks out the door.
Then I lock and drag the bolt home before I check every window and every door in the house to keep my remaining family safe.
Chapter Fourteen
Octavia
No more messages appear stuck to Matt’s door in the following days—as far as I know, though why would he keep that from me? The rest of the week goes by pretty quietly. Even Adam isn’t around. He said he had to go visit his sister in Springfield.
No more ice cream strolls.
Then I realize there’s no reason why I have to wait for him to go for ice cream. And it’s not as if he’s my boyfriend or anything.
So I grab Gigi and we set off toward the main street under the cloudless evening sky with a promise to Merc who’s playing video games with a friend of his to return with a tub of mint with chocolate chip for him.
That kid’s obsessed with mint. Mint soap, mint chocolate bars, mint donuts, mint brownies. He says it’s a genetic thing he got from his father.
That’s a topic we never touch at home.
Our father.
Mom refuses to talk about him. Says he skipped town ages ago, right after we were born. But if that’s the case, why can’t I remember him? I was four when Merc was born. If our dad left us right after, why wouldn’t I recall a single thing about him?
“So… you and Adam,” Gigi says, cutting through my thoughts. “You guys are so cute together it’s disgusting. Are you two an item now?”
“No.”
“Wow, that was vague.” She sticks her tongue out at me, all mature. “Not sure I got it, try again.”
“We’re not dating.”
“Woo. Goosebumps. That was clear all right.” She drags her fingertips along the rotten fence of Mrs. Koontz’s house. “Why the hell not?”
“Because.” I rub my arms, wishing I’d brought my light cardigan with me. “We just aren’t.”
“Lack of chemistry, huh?”
I shrug.
“Has he kissed you?”
“What? No.”
“So maybe that’s the problem.”
I stop walking. “Meaning what?”
“That you can’t know whether you have chemistry until you kiss.”
“Says who?” Then I narrow my eyes. “Did Quinn kiss you?”
“Now he’s Quinn, huh? Not Quasimodo? You seem rattled, Little Sis.”
I am. I feel rattled.
But not because of Adam. It’s a certain bad-tempered, bearded someone who’s occupying my thoughts day and night, even though I can’t figure out why.
“Well, come on.” Gigi shakes her long hair and winks at me. “Race you to the ice cream shop.”
“You’re crazy.”
“If you win, I’ll tell you if Quinn kissed me and how it was.”
“And if I lose?” I ask as I start running after her.
“Then you promise to give Adam another chance.”
With a curse, I push myself to go faster.
I can’t remember the last time I ran so hard. Gigi beats me by a few seconds, grinning as she leans against the wall outside the shop, acting cool and pretending not to be panting for breath.
Shaking my head at myself, I head inside the shop. That ice cream sounds even better now. My T-shirt sticks to my back with sweat, and my mouth is dry. Gigi giggles as she follows me inside.
“Is it really such a hardship to give Adam another chance?” She pores over the flavors as if she doesn’t have ice cream from this same place all the time. “You see him every night. I thought you liked him.”
“I don’t see him every night.” I huff. “And I do like him. He’s nice.”
“Hm.” She eyes me as I give our order to Jessica. “I see.”
Jessica has been running this joint since I was a toddler. See, I remember her, but not my dad. Isn’t it weird?
Just as weird as being unsure about Adam. I mean, I do like him. And he is cute.
Then why do I feel so defensive when Gigi asks if we’re dating?
Maybe she’s right. If he made his move and kissed me, I’d know what he wants, too. I’d know he wants me.
I just have to have patience. Gigi is right, instant chemistry is a myth, like insta-love. Besides, what if he’s unsure himself? It’s not like I’m helping things by refusing to even hold his hand, sending off confusing vibes, feeding the loop.
“I’ll give Adam another chance,” I say and glare at Gigi who’s grinning widely, showing her sharp incisors. “Happy?”
“Delighted,” she purrs and grabs her cone and the tub for Merc. “Now let me tell you about Quinn on the way home.”
The next day I walk the short distance from the bus stop to Matt’s house, my stomach knotted up. I blame it on the time of the month, and the heaviness on the air, sign of an approaching storm.
Until I ring the doorbell, again and again, and decide something is really off.
I think of the threatening messages, and the kids, and I panic. I bang on the door, then step back and pull out my cell phone to call 9-1-1.
Hesitate.
What if he’s in the bathroom? In the shower?
Well, better safe than sorry, right?
But before I dial the number, the door handle turns.
Phew. I fluff up my hair that I’ve let loose today, then force myself to stop as the door slowly swings open.
My gaze drops down to the little girl standing there. “Mary? Where’s your dad?”
“Upstairs,” she says seriously. “You should stay away, Tati.”
Way too seriously for a five-year-old. And what does she mean? That knot is back in my stomach and it has nothing to do with the time of the month.
“Why, sweetie?” I take her hand and step inside, letting the door close behind us. “What’s wrong? And where’s your brother?”
“Cole’s in the kitchen,” she says and tugs me that way. “I made him some cereal.”
“That’s great. Did you make some for yourself, too?”
“Ah-huh.” She nods emphatically, and I smile even though I’m so worried.
“Good.” We enter the kitchen and Cole looks up with a milk mustache and splashed mushy Fruit Loops around his plate.
“Tati,” he says in his cute baby voice, and I lean over to kiss his sticky cheek.