AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m too stunned to react. I stare at Vivian in shock and see anger in her eyes as she stares at me. Anger? At me?
She grabs my arm again. "Come on."
I pull my arm from her grasp. "No! You just gave him back the only evidence—"
She grabs my arm again, this time digging her nails into my skin. “Come on.”
She pulls me away, and I follow. I don’t know what else to do. Of all the things I thought might happen, Vivian showing up and pulling me away from the house is not one of them.
She leads me to the van and holds out the hand that isn’t cutting grooves into my forearm. “Keys.”
“No,” I say, hating how petulant I sound.
She takes a deep breath and repeats in a voice that’s barely calm. “Give me the fucking keys.”
I stare at her, tears welling in my eyes. She waits a second, then reaches into my pocket and yanks out the keys. Then she drags me around to the passenger side, opens the door and says, “Get in.”
I get in. I hate myself for doing it, but I get in. What the hell just happened?
She gets in the driver’s seat and peals around. We stay silent on the drive down the street to her house. When she parks, we sit there for a moment before she says, “Can I trust you to walk into my house without acting like a spoiled brat, or do I need to drag you again?”
I don’t answer her. I just push open the door and storm to her front porch. I hear the van door slam and hear Vivian’s heels clicking on the walkway. She brushes past me and opens the door, then pulls me inside.
As soon as the door closes behind me, she whirls around. “What the hell were you thinking?”
My anger flares up, but as soon as she says that, it’s like my brain clicks into gear. I imagine what it must have looked like to Vivian or anyone else walking up and seeing that. An angry teenager shouting at a man who just lost his daughter while waving stolen property in his face and calling him a killer.
Heat climbs my cheeks, and Vivian sighs and plants her hands on her face, massaging her temples. “For God’s sake, Nate.”
Her anger is dissolving now that we’re safe out of public view, and that somehow makes me feel worse. I don’t feel like the man she’s sleeping with anymore. I feel like her little boy, and she just pulled him into the house to have a lecture and a timeout.
I realize just how utterly stupid that thought is, and it only makes me feel worse.
“Have a seat,” she says.
“What?”
“Sit down.”
“Where?”
“I don’t give a shit. Just sit down so I know you’re not going to storm off and act like an asshole.”
I head to the table and sit down. The fact that I’m meekly following her instructions grates on me.
Just a sulking little boy.
She starts making coffee, and I say, “I don’t want any coffee.”
“Well, I do,” she snaps.
She makes the coffee, sighing heavily and shaking her head. She’s wearing a khaki skirt and a casual button-down, and her hair’s pulled back in a ponytail. It’s the first time I’ve seen her wearing normal clothes, and she looks hot as hell.
God, I hate that I still notice how hot she is right now.
She stands impatiently in front of the coffee pot and waits for it to finish. When it’s done, she pours two mugs. They’re garden-variety department store mugs rather than the handcrafted designs Mrs. Winslow has. Weird the things my mind chooses to focus on right now.
“I said I don’t want coffee,” I tell her.
