CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I slide my key in the lock and open the door a crack before turning around and waving to Aspen as she hangs half out of the black SUV that picked us up from the airport.
“See you on Sunday!” she yells before Jake, the driver, honks the horn twice and drives away.
Now that we’ve bonded over a weekend in Arizona, I’ll never be able to get out of a girls’ brunch again. But for the first time in… forever I’m excited about having a close group of girlfriends. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll even get used to hanging out with rich people.
My skin would definitely appreciate it. I roll up the sleeves of my sweater and stare at my arm for a few seconds before walking into the house. It tingles and feels so… clean. And smooth. It’s the weirdest sensation ever.
Mid skin admiration my body bends and the floor reaches out for me. I stick an arm out to catch my fall as the box I tripped over bashes me in the shin.
“Mother…” I grab a dining room chair and successfully stop myself from face-planting in the carpet. “What the hell?”
I rub my injured leg and keep my death grip on the chair so as not to lose my balance. In the space that used to be an empty entryway is now a trip hazard. In the two days I’ve been gone an entire forest of brown boxes has collected. Boxes line one wall, stacked two or three high. Another three scattered on the floor in random positions. A short rectangular one causes my trip on the walk in.
“Hey, you’re home.” Drew walks out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a dish towel and acts like it’s a random Sunday night. Not one where I almost tripped and fell to my doom.
“What’s up with the boxes?” I ask when he doesn’t start explaining.
He tosses the dish towel over his shoulder and looks directly at the boxes in question. “Oh those. Yeah be careful so you don’t trip.”
“Really, Drew?” He’s a horrible liar. This whole “it’s no big deal” act isn’t working on me.
“They were dropped off a few minutes ago. Don’t worry. We’ll pick them up soon.”
“Who dropped them off? Who will pick them up? Where are they going?” I drop the duffel bag I packed for the weekend on the floor. “What the hell is going on?”
“Well…” He turns and walks back into the kitchen.
Of course I follow him. My previous relaxation melts away with each step. Why is it that every time I get annoyed it involves a man? The edge of my flip-flop barely crosses onto the linoleum in the kitchen when I realize there’s a better way to get answers. I turn on a heel and return to the random boxes in the entryway.
The small rectangular box I tripped over isn’t taped down, the top closed by the four flaps folded over one another. I pry them open and rummage through the contents. Inside is an odd assortment of black cords and various controllers and video game systems. A few game cases are stacked up on one side, a green X on the spines.
“What are you doing?” Drew sprints to the box and fumbles to get the top down almost sitting on it in his rush.
Aware of at least five more boxes, I walk to the next one. But before I reach out to open it Drew blocks the way. “This is private property. It belongs to our new roommate.”
My eyes narrow in his direction. “New roommate?” I lean in close and whisper, “Tell me you did not let Jesse move in here.” My crazy-eyed look should be enough to scare him into telling me the truth.
He shakes his head. “I definitely did not let Jesse move in while you were gone.”
“Are you lying to me?” He’s such a horrible liar sometimes I can’t tell if he’s lying, being sarcastic, or telling the truth.
“No.”
“I swear to you, Drew, if you let that weirdo move in you are in serious trouble. I will make you rue the day.”
“Oh I’m gonna rue the day.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes like he’s not at all concerned about the pain I will dish out. “I swear it’s not Jesse. Don’t worry. You’ll never see this person.”
That’s even more alarming. I side step him and tear open another box before he reaches me. This one is full of clothing. There’s a stack of jeans, a few nicely folded colorful polo shirts, and one black Stanford sweatshirt laying right on top. There is only one person who lives on the West Coast of America and would keep this assortment of clothes in their wardrobe.
I latch on to the sweatshirt and pull it out of the box, turning it and my body toward Drew. “You let Grant in our house?”
“Clare…”
The sweatshirt sails in the air as I throw it at Drew’s head. “You promised.”
“I didn’t have any other choice.”
