“I take my cheat days seriously.”
“These pancakes…” she groans, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, making my cock twitch, “I apologize. I stand corrected. These are the best things I’ve ever eaten.”
I flash her a wicked smirk. “I’m glad you can finally admit I have a superior food palate.”
She glares at me as she takes another bite of pancake—yep, she’s still pissed.Her lips twist as she chews, and I can tell she’s thinking hard as she devours the fluffy goodness. We sit quietlyfor a few moments, and I give her some time to process all of this.God, I’m such an idiot. My hands shake with every bite I take, wondering what she’s thinking. She said she was mad. Is she like…madmad? Or just…mildly irritated?
Fuck. If only I could see inside that beautiful head of hers. But I don’t have to wait long to learn what she’s mulling over, her voice breaking the rhythm of knives and forks as she asks another question.
“So, back to the texts.”Shit.My mouth goes dry, and I take a sip of my coffee as she continues. “How long did you say you’ve been getting them?”
“I didn’t,” I say, quickly shoveling a giant bite of pancake in my mouth, savoring the glorious blueberry delicacy as I try to avoid her question at all costs.
Her glare tells me I’m not going to get away with this.Dammit.
“Jordan, if you don’t want me to call the police right now, I’m going to need to know everything so we can figure this out.”
“Every-hing?” I mumble, my mouth still full of delicious, golden-brown avoidance.
“Yes. Every detail. Every text. Everything that seems out of sorts. Every…” she trails off as her eyes widen with absolute panic. “Oh my God. Son of a bitch—I completely forgot.”
“What?”
“When we were at the game, I got a message from the apartment complex that I had a package delivered. I’ve been getting random gifts lately. Apparently, there’s another one there. They all come with a poem, too. That’s creepy, right?” She wipes her lips with her napkin. “Do you think this could all be connected?”
I shoot up straight in the booth.Ohhhh shit, double shit, triple shit on a hockey stick. Pull yourself together, Boucher.“Oh no. Forsure,no. I mean, probably, definitely not connected.I mean…” I clear my throat, “I wouldn’t even say it’s creepyper se. Maybe it’s just…someone trying to do something nice?”
Her lips twist, my heartbeat thrumming in my ears. “Yeah. Maybe. I thought it was a secret admirer or something, but now that I know these people are threatening us, and apparently have my phone number…” She pushes her plate away, trapping her lip between her teeth. “Do they know where I live? Having another package delivered this same day has to be connected, right?”
My pulse skyrockets throughout my entire body.I didn’t send her anything.I haven’t since I talked to Vladi, and he said that was not the way to impress her.Fuck. “Beverly, can you grab our check?” I shout across the diner, and she nods, giving me a thumbs up and heading to the register. Then I look to Kennedy. I swallow hard, knowingeverythingis going to have to come out tonight. As much as I want to, I can’t keep this in any longer. “We gotta go.”
She freezes, coffee cup half raised. “Why? What’s happening?”
“I’ll explain on the way.” She sets her mug down and grabs her purse.
“Beverly, never mind!” I shout, setting some cash on the table. “This should cover it. If not, I’ll hit you next time I’m here.”
“Jordan,” Kennedy says, calming some of the anxiety humming through me, “you just put down two hundred dollars. I think that’ll cover some pancakes.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right. Okay.” I reach for her hand before stopping myself. “Let’s go.”
“Good seeing you, Jordan! Kennedy, don’t be a stranger!” Beverly waves as we race out the door. As we get into the car, I try to take in a deep breath to calm myself down for more reasons than I care to admit.
One, Kennedy could be in real trouble.
Two, I could be in real trouble with Kennedy.
Three, I’m going to have to tell her I was the one sending the gifts.
Four…all of the above,andwe get murdered in the process.
God,pleaselet there be an option five.
36
kennedy
Ididn’t know a Range Rover could go this fast, but apparently, all it needed was Jordan Boucher racing to my apartment like a maniac to make it go pretty damn quick. And my heart isn’t far behind, feeling like it would register higher than the speedometer in the car. He hasn’t really explained why we are flying through the streets of Milwaukee, outside of the fact he realized I was right and all of this could be connected. I still feel like I don’t have the full picture, but I’m too consumed with thoughts of exactly what is at my place to think coherently.
