“What’s in the root cellar?” she asks.
“Mold.” The word flies out of my mouth with all the force a normal person would use to sayhazardous waste with a side of serial killers.
Her lips purse, and her eyes telegraph a very clearI don’t believe you. “What’s in the root cellar?” she repeats in a voice that has my dick twitching and my brain conjuring dirty librarian fantasies.
“Look, I know you have no reason to like me or trust me right now, but you should trust me on this.”
“When’s the last time you were in the root cellar?”
To the best of my knowledge, she doesn’t know where the entrance is.
But also to the best of my knowledge, teenagers have a way of figuring this shit out, and the first time June has a sleepover here and offers to show her friends around, they’ll notice.
Anytime I bring kids out here to work, we stay far away from the house.Respect for the owner,I always told them.
And they were good kids, so they listened.
“You’re gonna have to trust me on this,” I repeat, trying my own teacher voice on her.
She folds her arms over her chest.
No watch.
No jewelry.
Just toned arms covering her lovely—erm, her chest.
It’s just a chest.
And they’re just arms.
I am not attracted to them in the least.
Especially not in ways that I shouldn’t be.
“The last time I trusted you, I ended up trapped in a janitor’s closet with a crazy person. So please excuse me if I’d like a little further information on what, exactly, is going on in my uncle’s root cellar.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t sound sorry. I sound desperate and irritated, and I know it. See, again, I don’t apologize well. So I take a deep breath, and I try again.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, and this time, I almost believe myself. “That was not my best behavior. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry. And I’d like to make it up to you by taking care of a mess before June and her friends find it.”
She studies me with those plump lips still pursed, her eyes far more alert than they were a minute ago, faint lines marring her forehead. “I told Junie that you’d have to be a completely different person before I’d ever consider dating you.”
And now my balls are sweating. “I don’t want to date you. I just want to do something nice for Tony’s family. And Tony. This is really more for Tony than it is for you.”
“You don’t want to date me.”
“I’m a serial heartbreaker.”
Not the single brow lift.
Jesus.
Not the single brow lift.
Such a small gesture to say so much.You really think anyone could care enough about you for you to break their heart? You’re not that attractive, Flint Jackson. And you’re an ass to boot.
Or maybe it says,I’m well aware there’s more to that story, and if you think I’m going to take you at face value, you are sadly mistaken.
