She shrugs, hunching forward. “I talked to the police. They said the same thing. But it was there. I gave it to them as evidence.” She looks up, her blue eyes searching my face. “I don’t know what they think, but they don’t seem to think it’s him.”
I’m sure the cops don’t know what to think. The situation’s murky. There was a girl who claimed she’d been raped by Casanova in her dorm room. Everyone thought the perp was escalating by assaulting her with other women only a few feet away who might hear her scream. A few days later the truth came out. She’d made it all up and had planted a rose in her own room. It was a ploy to get her boyfriend’s attention back after he’d blown her off.
Of course, there have still been three legit abductions. I’m not trying to actively keep track of the case, but not noticing is not an option when the headlines are constantly screaming about him. It’s not clear why the cops can’t seem to get a line on him. They’ve had time. Someone must have seen something, even if they don’t know it.
“I want to stay here until the end of the semester.”
“Where? At Granthorpe?” I’m sure her mother and my dad have urged her to come home to finish out the last couple of weeks online.
“Yes, at Granthorpe. But also here.” She looks around my house meaningfully.
I barely manage to keep myself from barking out a surprised laugh. “No way. I don’t know what Declan told you, but my sending him to walk you home shouldnothave been considered an invitation to come over. Or even to talk to me.”
“You sent Declan?”
My eyes narrow. Did Avery think Dec came over on his own because he was interested in protecting her himself? What bullshit.
“It was a nice thing to do, Shane. I appreciate it.”
I don’t answer. Looking out for Avery is not something I’m going to do on the regular. I stopped that a long time ago. Sending Declan to her last night was a moment of weakness, probably because I was buzzed.
“Just a one-off. Your safety is your own problem. If being on campus worries you, leave.”
“How will it make you look if your little sister gets taken from right under your nose? When you’re supposed to be such a tough guy?”
“Is that my reputation?” I ask with mock curiosity, ignoring that she’s trying to saddle me with the label of older brother. What interests me more is her saying I’m supposed to be a tough guy. That’s not something she should know. My father always claims he never tells anyone about my mom’s family. Has that changed?
“Even us lowly freshmen hear things. Like that there’s an underground fight club. Like that you keep the peace at those events by carrying a gun.”
Ah. The fight club. I did have to pull my gun once to keep spectators from getting in on the action when a frat boy was getting the shit kicked out of him by a townie.
“Those old rumors will not die,” I say casually.
“But you do have a gun, right?” She tucks strands of shiny hair behind her ear.
I remember how silky that hair is, and my fingers want to reach out and touch it.
“You had a gun in Ethan and my mom’s house. My mom said so.”
“And we know she’s a reliable source of information,” I say sarcastically.
Her eyes rise to meet mine. “I saw it.”
“How could you have?” I counter, my tone even. “The basement was off-limits to you, just as the second floor was off-limits to me. No way to see each other’s stuff, right?” I always suspected she snooped around my bedroom when I was out.
“I broke the rules one night. Which you already know.”
“You didn’t see a gun that night. You were on the couch in the lounge area. A gun was not.”
“I saw it,” she says firmly, refusing to even look embarrassed. No apology. No remorse. Like mother, like daughter.
“Hmm.”
She smells like spicy vanilla-scented body wash. It makes me want to lick every inch of her. No matter how much time passes, no matter how many times I remind myself that she betrayed me, there’s a part of me that does not care. The physical chemistry between us is fucking relentless. Being near her is a mistake.
“So can I stay? In exchange, I’ll do your housework for you. And cook. Breakfast every morning. And dinner, maybe three nights a week?”
“I’ve got a maid. And I don’t need a cook, especially one who can barely fry an egg.”
