Page 119 of Rush of Jealousy

“So, naturally I would want you under my roof so we can spend more time together and get to know one another. This is a normal progression in relationships, sweetheart.”

I count to ten. And again. “We have been in a relationship no longer than forty-eight hours. Can you at least exercise some self-control?”

“I did. Hence, why I let you sleep at your place last night.”

“Oh, then I should thank you for being so reasonable!”

“Yes, yes you should.”

The sound of the doorbell makes me jump and nearly knock the phone out of my hand. I ignore it.

“Graham, this is not how you show me that you can be civilized. You never even asked me!”

“Well, then bring nothing here. I’ll provide whatever you need or we can go shopping together. I just figured you would want something from your place that will make you feel like home.”

“Being here in my home makes me feel like home.”

“I plan to see a lot of you, and I don’t feel comfortable with you being there with Ethan walking about naked whenever he feels the need to strip down and wave his dick around.”

I giggle at his words. Claire and Ethan definitely like utilizing every surface of this townhouse for some kinky reason. “I don’t know…”

“Keep your bed there, visit it whenever you want. You can have girls’ days or nights or whatever, but at least have the understanding that you will mostly be here. If you don’t want to bring anything, send away the movers. If you want to bring some of your items, then have them pack them up. Just direct them to do what you want done, and it’ll be done.”

“Fine,” I grumble.

“I’m gladyoucan be reasonable.”

I huff at his patronizing tone, tossing my hands up into the air. “Bye, Graham.”

I throw on a hoodie and jog down the stairs to let the men inside. I give them directives to pack up all my sewing materials, a few drawers of clothes, my collection of romance novels, and my electronics. Sadly, the job could have been handled by half a man and a pickup truck. I don’t have very many personal belongings—and definitely not many sentimental things that are must-haves.

I meander into the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge and text Zander.

Angie: What time are you free today for me to stop over?

Zander: How about 1? The roommates will be gone.

I check my voice messages and see that I got a recording from the manager at the Campus Smoothie Cafe. My finger hovers over the call-back button, and I decide to just take the leap. No better way to get closer to Paul without blowing my cover than working where he works.

“Hi, this is Angela McFee. I am returning your phone call about coming in for an interview this morning.”

“Yes, of course, how about stopping in around eleven? Were you able to study the recipe booklet in case we are interested in moving forward with the practicum part of the interview process?”

“Yeah, I think I have all the recipes memorized, and I read through all of the health protocols.”

“Great. I’ll see you shortly.”

I end the call and jog back upstairs to get ready for the day. I work around the movers and am thankful they are done by the time I need to leave. I grab my bag, slip on my new favorite silver ballet flats that Graham got me, and head out to my car.

I arrive at the cafe with fifteen minutes to spare, so I use the time to review the recipe booklet on my phone. There are twenty different smoothies that have base ingredients. Add-ons cost extra and can easily adapt any drink to meet health, fitness, or dietary needs. Even though there are cheat-sheet cards posted around the prep station, it is best to have everything memorized to speed up the process of getting customers served the drinks fast.

I pull my hair back into a bun and secure it on the top of my head with several bands. I take a deep breath, exit the car, and walk up the sidewalk to the cafe. I see Paul behind the counter and give him a wave and a smile. I haven’t seen him in person since the Halloween party—when he got drunk and I snooped through his room. That was a strange night with so many missing pieces to the puzzle. Maybe I can get closer to him and learn more.

“I see you are serious about the job,” Paul says smoothly from behind the counter.

I shrug. “Yeah, I need to pay the bills.”

“Well, it’s all about the tips,” he says, pointing to the jar resting beside the register.

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