The nerve of this guy?—
“Making plans. For their parties,” Crane explains slowly, sinking his teeth into his plump bottom lip. “What else would they hear us doing?”
I’m flirting. He’s flirting.
Wait, are we flirting?
“Um, I guess I can do tonight. Is seven okay?”
Crane nods, tugging his phone out.
“Put your number in my phone. I’ll text you, so if you come up with a good excuse for not coming, you can let me know.”
My cheeks flame at his words, and I shake my head.
“You never contacted me. Not once. In five years, Crane.”
The humour dies in his eyes as he nods.
“I know. I didn’t want to drag you into a murder case.”
I tap at the screen on his phone, my mind buzzing with thoughts.
“Your dad didn’t die; I’ve seen him around town.”
Crane shrugs.
“He better hope I don’t see him around town, or therewillbe a murder.”
Yikes.
“See you at seven.”
He rises out of his seat, winking at me as he makes his way to the door.
I can’t help but watch him until he disappears, my body screaming at me to run after him.
My phone beeps, and I stare down at the text from the unknown number.
You’re still so fucking beautiful.
TWENTY-EIGHT
SIERRA
The rain is unforgiving later that day. When I pull into my drive, I gaze at the short distance from my car to the porch, knowing it's inevitable that I'm going to get soaked.
I wouldn’t mind, but it's almost five-thirty in the afternoon; I won’t have time to sort my hair out if it gets ruined by the rain, and I'm meant to be meeting Crane at seven.
My heart thuds in my chest at the way that sounds, like it's completely natural to meet up with Crane.
He’s really back.
A stupid grin takes over my face as I grab my keys, bracing myself for the torrential rain.
Hurrying to the door, I let out a squeal when I slip, my arms failing to grab anything to steady myself on the way down.
White-hot pain rips through my thigh as I land on the asphalt, and I groan, my fingers moving to the area instinctively.
