Matthew looks curiously at me, so I walk further into the kitchen and pretend that I’m getting us some snacks. He doesn’t need to witness this nasty side of my personality. Knox brings out the worst in me.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m asking if you need me to bail you out of prison or something because why else would you be calling me, of all people?”
“Gigi,” he says plainly, as if we just spoke to each other yesterday. “There was a family meeting at my Grandfather’s house thirty minutes ago.”
“How nice for you.”
“But not so nice for you, and why the hell would I call you of all people for bail money?”
See what I mean?
He’s a total jackass.
“What do you mean it wasn’t so nice for me?”
“It’s been decided.”
My stomach drops.
“What’s been decided?”
“There’s been a recent threat made to the family, so a decision was made that I am to live at your place for your protection.”
“My protection?!” I try not to guffaw.
“Uh, yeah.”
“I don’t need your protection and I don’t want it. You tell the family that I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.”
“If you had bothered to show up for the meeting, you could have told them yourself. Now it’s been decided for you.”
“You keep saying that. Stop saying that! Nothing has been decided regarding my life.”
“We can discuss it further when I get there. I don’t like to argue when I’m driving.”
“You better not be driving here.”
“Where else would I be going?”
“Don’t you come here, Knox. I’m serious. I’m busy.”
“I’ll be there in less than an hour whether you like it or not, so you need to become unbusy real fast, Queenie.”
The line goes dead.
Gah!
I’m muttering obscenities under my breath as I pull some rice crackers out of the cabinet and red pepper hummus from the refrigerator. I’m not going to allow some random call from Knox to ruin my date like he’s ruined so many others in the past. We’re adults now. I’m not the same clueless, teenaged girl who allowed him to run all over me. How dare he just call out of the blue for the first time in a million years and “tell” me what he’s going to do.
Not happening, homie.
If he comes by I just won’t buzz him in the front door, period. That’s the great thing about having an apartment over an hour away from anyone with the last name Masterson or King. I’m the gatekeeper of my life now.
“Sorry, but I only have healthy stuff in the fridge,” I explain to Matthew as I set our snacks and some water bottles down on the coffee table. “I hope you like hummus.”
“Hummus is great. Thank you.”
