“I know.” I steal a quick glance over my shoulder as Astrid leans in hard across the table. Her white skintight jeans show off the perfect heart of her bottom, and I can’t help but scowl at her. I hate the thought of having her around Bram. Stupid, I know, but it doesn’t change the fact I feel that way. Bridget catches my eye, and her lip curls into a half-smile. It spells out danger more than it does anything amicable, so I turn back around. “I’ll do it.”
“You will?” Lena lifts a carefully lined brow. Lena has always exercised her right to emulate a Disney villain.
“Yes. But only because you have to be there and endure their wrath. I’ll be your buffer.”
She gives me a swift kick under the table. “I’m your buffer, and you know it.”
“I know it.” I kiss the lip of my mug and take a careful sip. I glance back at the cocky hens to my right, and Astrid turns to look my way, her eyes slit to nothing. There’s an inherent coldness about her, and I’ve felt this from the beginning. I’ve got news for Lena—these ladies don’t know the meaning of the wordnice.
Lena shakes her head, and those dark bangs cut rigid and uneven flirt with her brows. “Your paranoia is on high. It’s not Mom.”
I give a slight nod as if agreeing, but, deep down, I’m afraid it is.
Someone is watching me. Perhaps having me watched. Yes, my paranoia is on high. Someone has died. Someone is calling out to me, calling me out. Regardless, something is happening. And I have a foreboding feeling this will not end well.
