Page 128 of Heart So Hollow

Colson just stares at me, still chewing. And I stare back, because that should be explanation enough. He swallows the chocolate, glances to the side in confusion, and then back at me.

“So, you don’t want to get lunch because you drank a smoothie yesterday?”

I blink.

Are you kidding me right now?

“No,” I clarify with a tone sharp enough to cut glass, “there was a smoothie in my refrigerator yesterday morning and I didn’t put it there.”

“I thought you liked those,” he replies, unfazed.

Now he’s just grating on my nerves. It’s bad enough that I had to deal with Hannah creeping around the house after I moved in with Bowen. I can’t just sit idly by while Colson does the same.

Quit being a coward and just say it.

I look him dead in the eye, “Did you put it there?” It’s an accusation rather than a question because I know he did it, I just don’t know how.

Colson chews his thumbnail, thoroughly enjoying my irritation. He doesn’t seem to care who I think’s been creeping around my house.

“Would it make you feel better if it was me?” he taunts.

“Just like it was you who put—” I pause, waving at him in disgust, “in my coffee? That qualifies as assault!”

“Well,” Colson smiles with amusement, but his tone is laced with poison, “no one can ever say I don’t know what you like to drink.”

“Did you do it?” I almost plead with him, “Did you really…” I don’t even want to say it out loud, it’s too messed up and yet, so absurd.

“Guess that depends whether you remember what I taste like,” he says with nonchalance.

I stare at him for a moment, narrowing my eyes as I study his face. The longer I look at his eyes, the more I recognize the subtle glint that directly corresponds to the way the corner of his mouth twitches. Then I realize I still know him. I still know how his mind works.

“Colson, you’re so full of shit,” I sneer.

He gives a shrug, refusing to admit to anything, as usual, “We don’t have to get lunch if you’re not in the mood. I also said I’d take you to Colorado. We could still go.”

As much as I don’t want it to and contrary to my utter contempt for him, a wave of butterflies sweeps through my stomach.

I look down and shake my head, just as much to tamp down my own intrusive thoughts as to deflect his endless barrage of inappropriate commentary, “You have to stop saying things like that.”

Colson raises both arms above his head and stretches from side to side, “Why?”

“Because that’s not even a thing. You know I can’t do any of that.”

“Can’t—” he cocks his head, “or won’t?”

“Won’t,” I say firmly.

“Well, if you don’t have time for that,” he lowers his voice, “I could just take you on a date—a real date—maybe even one that doesn’t result in PTSD.”

I stare at him blankly, “What for? You already do whatever you want regardless of how I feel about it—whether I know about it or not.”

“Come on, Brett,” Colson scoffs as he stands up and meanders over to the waist-height filing cabinets lining the wall, “I’m kind of surprised you’re still like this.”

“Like what?”

“I mean,” he takes a seat on the edge of the cabinet, “since Barrett’s a trauma therapist, and all…”

My eyes round and I jerk my head up. He remembers Barrett? And how does he know what she does? Then again, Barrett’s profession isn’t a secret and you can find out anything on the Internet. I clench my jaw and don’t respond, but my silence tells him everything.

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