Page 45 of Trailer Trash

A chirp fills the room.

My phone. There. Barely visible under a throw pillow.

Killian is closer and snatches it as if he has any right.

“Hey!” I scold.

“Who’s Jaxson?” he murmurs, reading the screen.

Oh, shoot.

I try to swipe it from his hands, but he holds it higher.

“A date?” he growls.

“It’s nothing,” I explain anxiously, trying to keep the unpredictable patient calm. “It isn’t serious.”

Killian’s hand grips the phone tighter, and he glares.

“Let me get this straight. You are going on a date with some random fucker instead of me?”

“He isn’t random.”

“Bullshit, I looked through your phone. There weren’t any guys.”

“You what?” I gasp.

He doesn’t backtrack at all. “You live alone. I was making sure you’re safe.”

“No! You were spying on me.”

“Not well enough. You’re about to go whore around. I didn’t see that coming.”

Whore around?

I can barely process this.

“Killian,” I say slowly, my brain struggling to catch up. “Jaxson is from nursing school. He isn’t random.”

And to make sure Killian understands he and I will never happen, I add the brutal truth.

“I’ve liked Jaxson for a very long time. I’m excited about the date.”

It’s hard to say even after he just invaded my privacy, but something deep inside of me doesn’t want to hurt Killian.

I feel the change. The energy shifts. The air thickens. And for once, Killian is speechless.

“We should go to the restaurant,” I whisper to end this conversation — and us — once and for all.

The silence drags, then finally, he says, “Sure.”

One word.

One terrifying word.

He hands me my phone, then turns around like I didn’t just upset an incredibly unstable man. That alone should make me call Clark.

Instead, I follow Killian.