“No.” His voice held no shame. “You left it open on your bed.”
Did I? I’d been in such a hurry…I wasn’t sure. Either way…“It was inmyroom.”
“Open on your bed,” he repeated as if it made it okay.
I spun back around to look at him—no, to light him up—making the boat tip side to side. But he was no longer in his seat. He was walking toward me, wearing a stupid, lovesick gaze.
“Charlie,” he said, low and husky. His eyes had me in their sights, locked and loaded, and I felt the hit straight to my chest.
Without thinking, I stepped back, forgetting where I was. I stumbled, tripping over the seat.
He reached out to steady me. “Hey. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!” I yelled, jerking my arms free. “You invaded my privacy!”
His head bobbed side to side. “Well, technically, you wrote a reply song to my song. So I think if anyone had a right to read it, it’s me.”
“No.” My hands went to my hips. My chest heaved with hurt. “That didn’t give you the right.” My mind was racing and I was struggling to catch my breath. “Did you go through the rest of the notebook?”
His head tipped to the side likewhat do you think?
My jaw jutted. “You read them all.” I blinked, working with all my might to keep the tears in. I never would’ve thought he’d do something like this.
“Tell the truth.” He didn’t look smug or satisfied. Just frustrated and confused. “What are you angrier about? That I read the love songs you wrote about me, or that you got caught in a lie?”
“Caught in a lie?” My voice was shrill. “What lie?”
His shoulders dropped. “That you’re not in love with me when you actually are. The same way I’m in love with you.”
“N-no, I’m not. That’s…you’re making assumptions. Maybe I just like to write songs.”
“No.” His jaw clenched. “They were too specific. And you wrote my name all over the pages. And your name. Our names together. Mr and Mrs. Dupree. And hearts. There were hearts everywhere. Around every single song.”
Hot shame hit my cheeks. I had done that. Like an infatuated tween ships herself with her favorite celebrity because…I never thought he’d see. Never thoughtanyonewould see.
He took a step toward me.
“Stop!” I held my hand out. “Don’t take another step.” I scrambled to the back of the insufferably tiny boat. If he touched me, I might actually kill him. Or crumble in his arms. Both were unacceptable responses.
He prowled closer, his determined stare never leaving mine.
“Don’t!” I screamed. “Cash Dupree, keep your cocky self on that side of the boat!” I pointed to the bench I’d tripped over, drawing a dividing line. But his expression told me that wasn’t happening. My eyes darted wildly for some kind of leverage.
And then I spotted my salvation.
“Or so help me, I will pull the drain plug!” I reached down and hooked my finger around the metal ring to show I was serious. His determination wavered momentarily, his foot pausing mid-step. “Ha! Wouldn’t want to explain that to Ford now would you?”
His lips pressed together like he was calling my bluff. Then he finished his step, leaving nothing but air between us.
Desperation shot through me and I pulled the plug. Water poured through the opening, making atriumphantglug, glugsound. Surely, that would stop him.
“Put. It. Back. You know you’re not going to sink the boat. And wearehaving this conversation.”
I dangled the plug over the water like I was a three-year-old threatening to flush her favorite toy out of spite. “No, and you can’t make me.”
His nostrils flared and his arm shot out, fingertips grazing the front of my shirt.
In a fit of pure madness, I launched myself out of the boat and cannonballed into the lake. The water swallowed me whole, cold and disorienting. The impact knocked the plug from my hand. I looked around frantically, but it took a few seconds before my eyes adjusted to the murky depths. The plug was nowhere. Crap! Ford was going to kill me.
