“Where are you going?” I asked, lashes lowered.
She stopped on the porch steps. “Um, going next door.”
“Huh,” I murmured, leaning against the side of the house.
Her lips turned down at the corners. “Aren’t you going to the cookout?”
I shook my head. “That’s never been my thing.”
“Really? A cookout has to be a ‘thing’ to do?” she challenged.
“Whether it’s my thing or not, it’s kind of irrelevant. Someone needs to be here with you.”
Those full lips dipped into a scowl. “I don’t need a babysitter—”
“Yeah, you kind of do.”
Kat faced me, and it became obvious that she was ready to fully engage. It took a Herculean effort not to smile. After yesterday, the time spent at the lake, something shifted between us. A connection I wasn’t sure how to handle had been forged.
“I do not need a babysitter, Daemon.” Her hand closed over the railing. “I’m just going over to my house and I’m—”
“Going to read a book?”
Fire was seconds away from shooting out of her eyes. Maybe even her mouth, too. “What if I am? There’s nothing wrong with reading.”
“I didn’t say that there was.” I smiled.
“Whatever.” She pivoted and stomped down the steps.
I should’ve let her go. As long as she stayed here, when I was around, she would be safe, and the bonus was Dee wasn’t with her. But as I watched her stalk toward her house—her empty house—I cursed under my breath and pushed off from where I was standing.
“Hey,” I called out, unfolding my arms.
Kat kept walking.
Sighing, I shot off the deck. She didn’t see me, not until I appeared in front of her. Jerking back, her hand flew to her chest. “Holy crap,” she gasped. “A warning would be nice.”
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I called out.”
“And I ignored you!” Lowering her hand, she drew in a deep breath. “What do you want?”
“Not to be ignored.”
Her head tilted to the side. “Really?”
My lips twitched. “Yes.”
She shook her head as a warm breeze tossed loose strands across her face. “For some reason, I don’t think that’s the case.”
“Maybe not.” I stepped toward her, slowly this time. “I have some cow meat in the fridge. We could make hamburgers.”
“Cow meat?” Kat caught the strand of hair and tucked in behind her ear. “That…is a gross way of saying hamburger meat.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I started past her, bumping her arm with my elbow. “We can have our own little cookout. I’ve got a grill.”
Kat stared straight ahead as I kept walking.
“Are you coming or not?”
Her back was to me, and for a long moment I thought she was going to ignore me, and well, that would be really awkward. Especially if I had to go back to her, throw her over my shoulder, and force her to eat my grilled cow meat, because I would do it. No one should eat cow alone, I’d decided. Plus, I really wasn’t going to analyze why I didn’t want to think of her spending the holiday alone.
Kat turned around, catching that piece of hair again and wrapping it behind her ear. “Do you have cheese?”
I arched a brow. “Uh. Yes.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Swiss cheese?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
A second passed and then she smiled, flashing straight, white teeth. “Okay. Only if you make me a Swiss cheese hamburger and you don’t refer to it as cow meat.”
Dipping my chin, I felt the corners of my lips quirk up. “Deal.”
Dee ended up taking the fall for why Kat looked like she was lit up like the Vegas Strip. It had been her decision, and it had made sense, since I wasn’t sure anyone would’ve believed I’d make the same mistake twice.
As expected, Matt wasn’t thrilled about it. None of them were. I didn’t blame them.
And also, as expected, when I told Kat she had plans that evening, as in sticking around so I could keep an eye on her, she stated she had other plans. Everyone and the lamppost knew she didn’t have other plans.
Kat was just being stubborn.
After school on Tuesday, I followed Kat home. She’d gone to the post office first, which pissed me off. The girl looked like a lightbulb to the Arum. She knew that, and still moseyed her sweet behind to the post office to pick up an armful of packages.
Packages that contained books.
As if she needed more books.
When I had pointed that out to her in the parking lot, she stared at me like I’d kicked a small child into oncoming traffic and had stated quite firmly, “You can never have too many books.”
Then on the way home, she brake-checked me when I’d ridden up her bumper too close to get her to drive faster than I could walk. Didn’t she get that every minute out here we were exposed? I worried every day until I could get her home, next to me, where I could protect her.