Page 110 of Not That Complicated

He gave a startled laugh. “Do I want to move into your murder house with you?”

“When you put it like that, yeah. Stupid question.”

“You just want me around to scare the ghosts.”

“That never crossed my mind. I wasn’t thinking. It just fell out.”

“Guys, seriously,” Fraser said. “Are you letting me in or not?”

“Not,” I said. “This isn’t your house, this has nothing to do with you.”

The journalist muscled Fraser aside, and stuck out a hand. I unthinkingly shook. “Kate Chisholm,” she said. “I’m with theWantage Gazette. Mr Underwood, what were your first thoughts on finding the bodies?”

“What the fuck, mainly,” I started to say. Adam’s arm around my waist tightened. “You can read about it in my upcoming exclusive interview with Jasper Connolly of theChipping Fairford Inquirer.”

“Can I ask—”

“I’m sorry, no.”

She gave me a calculating smile. “I’ll have to ask Fraser if you don’t give me anything.”

I shrugged. “If that’s going to satisfy your editor,” I said. “Cheater who lived there for a few months says he always knew something was offdoesn’t sound like much of a headline to me, but what do I know? Excuse me.” I stepped back, Adam giving ground, and closed the door.

“Wait,” I said, and opened it again. “Please get off my property or I’ll notify the police! Have a lovely day.”

I shut the door and turned to face Adam. “What was that?” I asked.

“The shit-stirring of a desperate attention ho.”

“No, I got that.” I hitched a thumb behind us. “But what was all...you know.” I waved both hands at him. “That. The whole shock and awesome kissing thing.”

“What can I say? I’m young. My hormones got the better of me.”

“Right.”

We stared at each other. For once, I wasn’t the only uncomfortable one in the room. Registering that made my own discomfort ratchet up a few hundred percent.

Three hundred percent at least.

Then I remembered that I had asked Adam to move in with me, and my discomfort shot into the red zone.

I had asked Adam to move in with me.

The morning after.

In front of the last man I’d lived with.

Who’d cheated on me.

With Adam.

Who I slept with once, and apparently he banged the sense clean out of me because, again, I just asked him to move in with me the morning after.

What the hell was Adam feeling awkward about? He couldn’t top that. Nobody in the history of awkward could top that.

We fidgeted at each other and the silence dragged on. When I glanced up at him, his eyes were boring into mine. I couldn’t maintain eye contact. And I couldn’t stop looking back up.

Oh, this was horrendous.

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