Page 42 of Hearts Adrift
I squirm with the mere notion that’s wrestled its way into my mind since leaving the beach. I don’t like it at all. It is far too risky and has the potential of blowing up in all of our faces.
But seven minutes later, here we are. Pulling up to the hidden parking area in front of my house.
“Is this …?” he starts to ask.
“My sisters should still be at the Fair,” I tell him. “Not sure about my dad. His car’s here, but that means nothing ‘cause he walks everywhere. Fair’s just down the street. If he’s home, we have to sneak past him.”
“Are you stashing me away in a closet or something?”
“Hmm, I don’t see the game room light on … which usually means he isn’t home. Think we got lucky.”
“Finn,” he tries, but I’m already out of the car, pushing on. It’s at the back door that he catches up—the hat I gave him still tucked partway over his face, shades on, collar of his jacket up over his neck—and he puts a hand on my arm to stop me. “Isn’t this taking it a bit too far? You’re about to hide me in your home after someone’s snapped creepy pics of you, someone who can potentially be dangerous …”
“Y’know what I realized on the drive over? Our lovely photographer might not even know you exist.”
He doesn’t follow. “What do you mean?”
“I’m convinced now,” I go on, “that itwas, in fact, my ex. All he saw was me coming out of the bungalow. Did I bring a hookup there? Did I just need space away from my sisters? Theo may not even know that you exist. He didn’t mention you at all in themessage. Just me having a late night. Probably to taunt me. Or he thought it was funny. Sothis,” I say, gesturing at the door, “is merely aprecaution. Until we can be certain no one’s found you.”
He tucks the hat I gave him over his face more. “If that was your ex, why send the pics from a burner number? He could’ve easily just sent them from his own number.”
I give it half a second’s thought. “People … do really weird things when they’re jealous. Or feel hurt. Or tryingnotto look jealous or hurt. Don’t know. How would I? I’ve never had an ex before. This is new territory for me.”
I push open the door, and in we go.
The house is silent. No TV or radio on. No footsteps. It doesn’t take me long to determine no one’s home. “Clear,” I call back to River—only to find him right by my side.
He’s already taken off his hat, shades, and jacket, now slung over his arm as he looks around. “Livin’ large on the Gulf Coast, huh?”
“It’s too big,” I complain. “I think we only stayed here because it’s a family home, and my dad has memories here with Mom. Us, too, of course. Then there’re Grandma and Grandpa who invested their lives into the Harbor …”
“Wish I had a big family legacy to speak of,” he says with a wistful smile, circling into the kitchen. “I’m the first in mine to break out of our sad cycle of self-destruction to make a name for myself. Well … maybethatis still up for debate … the self-destruction part. Got a knack for putting my career in jeopardy. You might be surprised to learn this isnotthe first scandal I’ve caused.” He stops at the counter by the window. “You can see the bungalow from here.”
“You’ve been involved in other scandals?”
“Do you watch me from here?” he asks, looking at me.
I trip over my own foot, try to correct my balance, slamsideways into the fridge door, knock off three magnets and send them scattering to the floor, then play it off like I’m just leaning against the fridge with my arms crossed. “No,” I answer finally in a squeak.
“You’ve watched me take my coffee out onto that back porch early in the mornings?”
I blink and push away from the fridge. “You take your coffee on the back porch? I’ve never seen—”
“So youdowatch me.”
I choke off a wave of outrage. “I didn’t—I-I said—”
He grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me right up in front of him. “You’re so easy to fluster.”
“I don’twatchyou like a creep.”
“What if I’m into it?” His face draws closer, his voice lowering to a near growl. “Maybe I’d strut out there naked, if I knew you were my only audience.”
My only audience…
How ironic, that for a man running away from an ever-watchful world, the idea of me watching him turns him on.
“Why do I get the sense that you’re hard?” he asks, his voice gravelly and playful.Because Iamhard, I’d say, if I had any voice left. “Can I check?” he asks almost politely.
