Page 15 of One Bad Idea
Cassidy's question hung between us.Did I get her messages?I tried to laugh. "Do Ilooklike I did?"
"But how did you get here?"
Wasn't it obvious?"How do you think?" I said. "I drove."
She frowned. "But I thought your car was in the shop."
I hesitated. It wasn't just in the shop. It was totaled, thanks to that incident with the cement truck. The only upside was that I hadn't actually been inside the car at the time, thank God, orI'dbe the pancake, hold the syrup.
But in my first frantic voicemail to Cassidy, I hadn't mentioned any of this, mostly for lack of time. Now, I regretted mentioning my car at all. And Iespeciallyregretted telling her that I wouldn't be able to pick her up.
All of it was a huge mistake – and one I would've surely corrected sooner, if only I hadn't had such a hard time getting my hands on a vehicle.
And then, by the time I did, my phone was as dead as a doornail. On top of that, I'd been racing against the clock – not only to help Cassidy, but also to avoid getting busted in a truck that I wasn't supposed to be driving.
The whole thing was a giant mess, and I'd be facing a load of grief when I returned to Nashville – assuming that I wasn't arrested somewhere along the way.
As these thoughts swirled in my head, I considered how horrified Cassidy would be if she ever found out the truth. And she'd feel guilty, too. She always felt guilty, even when she shouldn't.
In reply to her question, I looked away and mumbled, "I uh, borrowed something."
"Sorry, could you repeat that?"
I looked back to her and sighed. "I borrowed a pickup. You didn't see it when you came in?"
She gave me a perplexed look. "In the driveway?"
"No. On the street."
"Honestly, I was pretty focused on the house."
I gave her a rueful smile. "Yeah. Me, too."
Just then, a noise near the bedroom door made us both turn to look. In the open doorway stood a guy who looked eerily familiar. This was the first time I'd seen him, but I was pretty sure that I'd met his brother – the jackass who'd answered the front door.
They had the same dark hair, the same muscular build, and the same dangerous eyes. But at leastthisguy was wearing a shirt.
From the open doorway, he gave us a long, inscrutable look. As he did, I felt myself squirm in embarrassment. It was beyond easy to guess what he was thinking."Who's the psycho in the closet?"
Cassidy gave him a tentative smile. "Oh, hi."
He didn't smile back. "Hi."
Feeling more self-conscious than ever, I glanced around. So did Cassidy.
The room was a total mess, with open drawers and clothes scattered across the floor. As I watched, Cassidy's gaze landed on the final drawer that I'd ransacked. It was overflowing with lacy undergarments, most with price-tags still attached.
From here, I couldn’t see the tags, but I'd gotten a decent look earlier. All of the stuff was incredibly expensive, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I'd be expected to pay for it.
Technically, I hadn't ruined anything – well, except for the shirtless guy's sandwich, but that was a different matter entirely.
Cassidy turned back to the new guy and summoned up a reassuring smile. "Don't worry," she told him. "I'm gonna clean everything up. You won't even know we were here, honest."
I bit my lip. This was easy forherto say. She hadn't seen the sandwich.
The stranger still wasn't smiling. But he wasn't frowning either.That was good, right?
He replied, "I wouldn't count on it." And then, he turned his cool gaze on me.
