As we reach my car, Easton fumbles for the passenger door handle, glancing at me over the roof.
“He knows something. I swear he knows.”
“Stop,” I say, unlocking the doors. “If Callahanknew, he wouldn’t stare you down and walk away. He’d have you in his office and the cops would be writing you a ticket.”
“You’re being so dramatic.” Easton slides into the car beside me, shaking his head skeptically. “But did you see the way he looked at me? Like I hadthiefstamped on my forehead!”
I look both ways before pulling out of the parking lot. “Seriously, dude, you need to work on your poker face.”
As I drive, Easton stares out the window, expression pensive—maybe even a little distant? But I suppose guilt does that to a person.
“So.” I clear my throat. “What’s up with Marcus lately? You said he’s being a prick. Why couldn’t he give you a ride?”
Easton sighs, head thumping back against the headrest. “Who knows. He’s been MIA since he started dating Macy. Guess he’s too busy drivingheraround.”
Someone sounds jealous…
“I’m sure that’s not all Marcus is doing with his time. I mean, I know for a fact they go on atonof fun dates—the zoo, walks on the lakefront…She even helps him with his landscaping job.”
“You just made my point,” Easton says flatly, tone heavy with sarcasm.
“Do you miss him?” I ask after a pause.
“Do Imisshim?” He snorts, the sound sharp in my quiet car. “No. He’s an asshole.”
“Well okay, then.” I laugh, the sound lighter than I feel.
It’s a short trip to his house, and as I turn into his driveway, I glance at him again. He’s been watching me for several moments now, his lips twitching like he’s about to say something more, but of course, he doesn’t.
I cut the engine and the silence hangs between us, filled with everything we’re both too stubborn—or too scared—to admit.
A small dog catches my eye, sniffing at the bushes near the driveway. Its tail wags furiously, a blur of excitement.
“Who’s that?” I ask, nodding toward it.
Easton watches the dog for a moment, his brow furrowing.
“That’s Rudy. He’s supposed to stay in the backyard.”
“Doesn’t seem like he got the memo.” I put the car in park, grinning as the dog begins digging a hole beneath a bird feeder. “Looks he’s got a lot of energy. What kind of dog is he?”
“He’s a wheaten terrier. Rudy is basically a monster.”
“He doesn’t look like a monster to me.”
Even as the words leave my mouth, the dog continues aggressively digging as if it were on a timed mission.
“That’s my cue.” He grabs his backpack from the back seatand reaches for the door handle. “Anyway, thanks for the ride. I’d say I owe you one, but…”
Easton smirks.
I roll my eyes. “No comment.”
I refuse to react to his barb, the little reminder that our relationship is based on blackmail.
Just as Easton pulls the handle to exit my car, the front door of the house swings open. His mom, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, steps out barefoot, her eyes immediately landing on us.
The dog.
