Page 16 of Summer Shivers
Nothing could have prepared me for what awaits me when I open the door nor the question that follows.
“Why the fuck did you call me?”
eight
TYLER
I look at her,waiting for an answer. She’s a wreck. Looks about as good as I feel, which is shit.
“Ty?” Genevieve blinks rapidly. “Is that you?” Her hair’s a mess of curls and tangles, eyes bloodshot and puffy, face splotchy like she’s been crying. Which I’m sure she has. Still, my eyes travel her scantily clad body with a mind of their own. Nipples I remember well, protruding through the thin tank begging for attention. Skimpy boy shorts resting on narrow hips that used to be generous and grabbable, followed by thighs now way too skinny.
What the fuck has she done to herself?
“Yeah, it’s me,” I answer drily.
“How did . . . what?” She looks confused, head cocked, eyes squinting.
“You called me last night. Why?”
She scratches at her head. “I didn’t leave a message.”
“Nope.”
“It wasn’t my phone.”
“Nope.”
“How’d you know it was me?”
I push past her into the house, no longer satisfied standing on the front stoop while she gets her shit together. Door wide open for all the world to see her half naked in her fucking panties.
“Coffee?” I ask, my tone brusquer than I intend, but it doesn’t bother me.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I mean, yes, but not made.”
“Come in,” she adds unnecessarily after I’m locking the door behind me. “I’ll put a pot on.”
“Get dressed first,” I say, gesturing to her lack of clothing.
“Oh!” She looks down at herself, like she’s surprised. “Oh, god, I’ll be back.”
She leaves the room and I take the time to survey the house. About what I’d expect, huge windows with non-stop water views, lush leather furniture, wood floors, granite counters, crystal chandeliers. Bunch of shit that’s unnecessary and fancy. Crap no one buys for their own enjoyment but for how it looks when others visit.
“Sorry about that,” she says returning, having put on stretchy pants and a matching jacket, hair now pulled up with some kind of bootie or slipper on her feet.
I take a seat on a stool at the kitchen island and watch her move around the room. The feel of it all way too domesticated already.
“So?” I ask, impatient for an answer to my earlier question.
“Yeah,” she says. “Wow. How are you?”
“Cut the shit, Genevieve. What the fuck is going on? Did you kill your husband?”
She blinks back at me, eyes watering. “Do you really think that? You of all people?”
“After what you did to me, pretty sure you’re capable of anything, darlin’.”
“What I did toyou? What about what you did tome!” she cries.
