“He’s coming back. Isn’t he?”
I shrug again, swallowing back the emotions that still loom at the surface, raw and vulnerable.
He studies me some more. No one makes me squirm with a single look quite like Oscar Stone. Okay, it’s possible Theodore Reed had a similar effect.
“Another day? We’ll talk about it another day?”
Biting my lips together, fighting to keep my composure that’s ready to evaporate, I nod.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
My name is Scarlet Stone, and I was raised by a womanizer.
Oscar still singsin the shower—Rod Stewart, “Maggie May.” For as much as I’ve hated him, I will always love him a hundred times more. The first time I heard a Rod Stewart song was Oscar singing this exact song in the shower. By the time I heard Rod’s voice on an album, I already knew all the words to most of his songs, thanks to Oscar Stone’s shower performances.
“You’ve still got it.” I grin when he struts out of the bathroom, buttoning the last button to his crisp, white dress shirt. I hand him a cup of tea.
“Thanks.” He grins his cocky grin because no one has to tell him he still has it. “So what’s on our agenda for today?”
“Ouragenda?” I eye him over my steamy cup of tea.
“What is this?” He wrinkles his nose.
“Herbal peppermint.”
“Herbal? Really, Ruby?”
I shrug. “Caffeine is not on my anti-cancer diet.” My anti-cancer diet is nothing more than nutritional theories from a handful of holistic experts—ideas that appeal to my common sense and have no negative effects on my overall health.
“I’m terrified to think of what else you’ve banned from your life.” He puts the cup on the worktop then looks in the fridge with an even bigger scowl on his face. “You didn’t answer me. What’s on our agenda today?”
“I answered you by suggesting there is noouragenda. I have to work and you…” I purse my lips for a few seconds. “I’d say your agenda will simply be to stay out of trouble and inside the confines of the law.”
He slips on his black beanie, positioning it just right. “That’s not so easy when I haven’t swotted up on American laws.”
“They’re quite simple. Don’t steal anything or kill anyone, and if you drive today, remember to stay right.”
“That’s so wrong.”
I nod with a grin. “It really is, but… their country, their rules.”
“Your country too.”
“Yes, and I’m trying to fit in, but the southern accent is dreadfully painful to master. I can’t make the y’all sound quite right.”
Oscar laughs. “Don’t.” He shakes his head.
My nose wrinkles. “It’s bloody awful, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Don’t change a thing. You’re absolutely perfect.” He gives a resolute nod.
“Thanks. I have to go.”
“It’s raining.”
“I have an anorak and a change of clothes in a carrier bag.”
“Scarlet.” He frowns. “You are not riding that mangled, rusty excuse for a bike in the rain.”
