“Dammit, Knox, you’re going to give me whiplash!”
“So, I’m a family friend?”
His left eyebrow twitches a bit after asking the question. Ooh, he’s really pissed.
“Is that what you’re mad about?”
“When did you become such a goddamn snob, Gigi? When did all of us become something for you to be embarrassed about? I swear I just don’t understand it.”
“I’m not sure what you wanted me to do back there. I thought bad boys moved in silence and all that good shit. Did you want me to formally introduce you to the table and give them your full legal name so that Ben or Jake or whoever the hell that was in there can get to you too?”
“You still don’t believe me about him, do you?” he glares at me as if I’m the dumbest woman on the planet.
“No, I don’t just automatically assume that Ben is a serial killer, or a hired assassin because you suspect he is. I don’t suspect the worst in people. That’s no way to live, Knox. What’s easier for me to believe is that Ben could be a man who may have changed his name to escape a past he rather not remember. God knows, that’s starting to sound like a great idea to me. What do you think of me changing my name to Keisha or Deidre?”
Knox turns the music back up and Nirvana’s Dumb is playing. I roll my eyes as he pulls the car back onto the busy street and starts tapping his hand against the steering wheel as the song plays. When I sigh heavily because the song is practically curdling the blood in my veins, he turns the volume up louder.
“Deal with it or you drive,” he says, knowing full well that’s impossible. I’ve never wanted a driver’s license more in my life until this moment. I turn on my side underneath the seat belt and send one more text but this time to my mother.
Me: Come get Knox Masterson out of my house or I’m not coming to Thanksgiving dinner.
Mom: We’ll miss you. LOL! Gobble. Gobble.
Ugh.
Thirteen
Gigi
Three days later
* * *
“I’m a prisoner in my own home,” I say to Knox as he stands in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts in my kitchen, cooking something that smells divine.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You won’t let me go to work or hang with any of my friends or breathe!”
“You can return to work once your father tells me what he wants done about Jake.”
“Felons need jobs too.”
“You still think this is a joke, don’t you?”
“I specifically asked you not to mention what happened the other day to my parents.”
“But then you tried throwing that potted plant at me when we got back to the house, so all bets were off at that point.”
“I apologized for that, but to be fair, I went temporarily insane after thirty minutes of all that lithium rock.”
“When are you going to learn that you can’t throw for shit? Your aim is off and your release is slow. You should stop trying to throw things at people.”
“We’ve always handled our issues between us, Knox. Didn’t we agree in the ninth grade over mushroom pizza and a Coke that we would never snitch on each other? You know how irrational and overprotective my parents are when it comes to me. For some reason I don't understand, my brother has always gotten a free pass but not me.”
Knox taps the spatula in his hand against the edge of the frying pan forcefully as he blurts his response, “He had his hands on you, Gigi!”
“And I appreciate you looking out for me, but you didn’t have to tell the crazy people who raised me about it. Now they’re going to ask me a million questions about my job, again. Where do you work, Gigi? Who is your immediate supervisor? What’s the pay? What are the hours? Who do you talk to? What are the names of the other people you work with? Dad will probably do a deep background check on everyone there until he knows what brand of toothpaste they use.”
