Page 25 of Siren's Game

"Millie is the only goddamn reason I answered your text to begin with. Trust me, if it wasn’t for her, I would not be here." An annoyed sound comes from the very back of her throat as she buries her hands in her hair, and I see her blinking rapidly from the corner of my eyes. "Please just take me home."

I turn my head to take a quick look at her, worried. She went from angry as fuck to eerily quiet within a matter of seconds. Without waiting for an answer, she reaches to the console and starts typing her address into the navigation system when we come to a stand at a traffic light.

For the rest of the ride, she's completely silent, her arms crossed in front of her chest and facing the window to watch the city fly past us through my tinted windows.

An uneasy feeling makes my stomach tingle and my throat itch. Maybe I went too far. Maybe.

Then again, I couldn't just watch some random man grab for her and just . . . do nothing. That's just not happening, so I’m absolutely not apologizing for getting her away from that guy.

The car announces that her house is coming up to our right and I whistle lowly when I catch a look at the skyscraper, and another one when I make the car come to a stand in the parking bay. It looks really damn luxurious inside, at least what I can see from here.

"Bye," she mutters when I put the car into ‘park’ and jumps outside, slamming the door behind her without waiting for an answer.

I stay where I am and watch her. She walks like a storm, her hair flying up and down with each step, people scurrying to make way for her as she approaches the entrance with confidence.

She stops right next to the security guard and has a short conversation with him, her expression finally softening.

And when she glares into my general direction, I take that as a hint to leave. So much for chivalry and waiting for the woman to reach her front door. Then again, I guess she made it safely to the door guard, so I’m sure she’s going to be alright.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

My phone started ringing the second I opened my apartment door, and when I saw my mother’s name flash up on the screen, I knew I wasn't getting out of answering it.

Actually, I’m surprised it took her this long to call. I was expecting it in the restaurant already.

So I accept her call, right as the door falls shut behind me.

"Since when do you have a girlfriend?" she demands as I set down my keys on the dresser by my front door and shuck off my shoes, kicking them into a corner.

"It's all still pretty new," I tell her, doing my best not to lie and sound remorseful, grimacing as I walk into my living room. I hate lying to her, even if it’s by omission or lightly twisting the truth.

Then again, I’m hoping for Kayla to just play along and make it feel like a bit less of a lie.

The ball is in her court now. She could release a statement denying everything, which would probably lead to making me the butt of media jokes. Or we keep this charade up and distract the media from our best friends actually dating.

But wait. My mother doesn’t even use her phone for anything but calls and it’s way too early for the pictures to have hit any kind of magazine that she would read.

"How did you know about Kayla?"

"Because I have people with cameras lingering in front of the store and asking me if I met her," my mom says dryly, and I rub my hand over my forehead, pulling the skin between my eyebrows with my fingers.

Fuck. I did not think about that. "At first I was a bit angry and didn’t know what they want from me. Janette filled me in, and I had to research who she is. She's so pretty and talented. But I guess you know that."

"Of course," I say, again flinching at the lie. I mean, yes, she's pretty, but I haven't really seen her in action yet; I don't know if she's talented. If Mom says so, I guess it's true, though. And I know I’ll never hear the end of her learning about my supposed girlfriend from the student who works at her shop. "I'm sorry about the paparazzi. I'll let Van know to send over security."

"No worries, darling, your daddy's got it handled."

Disgust paints my face at the 'd' word and I only barely suppress a retch.

"Do you really have to call him that?" We've had this exchange countless times already, at this point it's just the two of us teasing each other when it comes up.

"Shush. So anyway, tell me more about her."

"As I said, it's pretty new."

I always tend to forget that my mother is the master of uncomfortable silence. When she wants information from you, she will remain quiet until the silence becomes so awkward you tell her everything she wants to know in an attempt to fill it. I’m not getting out of this conversation. "She's fierce. Very headstrong."

"Ah, she sounds like a handful. Just what I always pictured for you." I can hear the untold 'Not like Abby.' My mother really didn't like my ex-girlfriend, not that she ever said it to her face. But she found her too agreeable, too nice.

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