Haven doesn't realize I know, or at least I don't think she does, but I'm aware they were living a couple of towns over before her father, Frederick Leigh, became Mayor Leigh of this town where half of the residents live off food stamps and welfare. I can't figure out why no one has ever questioned the mayor’s real source of income.
Haven is busying herself with a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. "I—ah—I'm allergic to nuts," I tell her.
"Oh! I'm sorry." She caps the jar and throws the half-made sandwich into the trash. "Any other allergies I should know about?"
"Nope," I tell her, moving in closer.
She flings the fridge open and grabs a container of sliced meat and a bottle of mayo. My stomach is snarling in pain at the sight of a sandwich. In less than a minute, she pieces the mouthwatering foods together and hands the plate to me. "Soda or water?"
"Anything is fine." Do I look starved? Deprived? I could probably answer my own question as I devour the food within four large bites.
She turns around with a can of soda, holding it out to me, while also admiring the crumbless plate in my hand. "Holy crap, hungry?"
"I'm fine. Thank you for the sandwich." I down the soda, creating a moment of silence between us as she watches me with intent and possibly a bit of question.
When I crunch the can within my fist, she reaches over and pinches the material of my shirt between her fingers. "You're still soaked?"
"I'm fine," I assure her.
"Give me your clothes," she demands.
A short laugh growls from my throat. "Excuse me?"
"Take off your clothes and hand them to me, please."
I toss the can of soda into the trash beside me and slip my hands into my back pockets. "So, I told you it wasn't a good idea for me to come inside, and now you're telling me to take off my clothes. You wonder why I thought coming in here was a bad idea?"
"I saw you in your boxers at the lake. Did you forget?" For a girl who doesn't get out often, she has an aggressive attitude like I've never seen in any other chick.
"I'm really okay. I'd prefer to stay dressed," I tell Haven, lying through my teeth. I'd actually love to peel every layer of clothing off, toss them in her dryer, and show her I don't care about what her father would do to me if he found out I was in this house.
"Are you suddenly a prude? Or like a reborn virgin?" Her words taunt me—piss me off.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I hiss.
"Prove me wrong?" she says with an arched brow.
Without taking my eyes off her, I unclasp the button on my jeans and drop them to my ankles, stepping out of my boots and kicking everything to the side. Then, I peel my snug-fitting shirt over my head and drop that to the floor too. "Happy?"
She doesn't respond. Instead, she leans down and scoops up the clothes, carrying them down the hall and into a room. With no desire to stand nearly naked in her kitchen, I follow her to the room I watched her walk into.
"So, either you don't have a washer and dryer where you live, you really enjoy wearing wet clothes from the day before, or—"
My lungs deflate as I chew on the inside of my cheek. "Or what?"
"Where are you living, Raine?"
As if the look on my face could speak louder and clearer than anything I might respond with, she cups her hand over her mouth, and her forehead crinkles with three deep lines. "Are you—?"
"Depends on the day," I tell her.
"That's why you were going home with random women, or trying to…from what I saw." That's all she cares about while finding this out? It's a bit disturbing that she has determined my current circumstances so quickly.
"I'm seriously fine," I tell her.
"I know," she agrees. "Doesn't mean your situation doesn't suck." That isn't what I expected to hear from her. "Would you think I was a complete jerk if I told you I’d trade places with you?"
"Yeah, I would," I tell her honestly. She doesn't get it. She's living the life I want. Not knowing where I'll be sleeping each night is insanely distressing, and not something I'd wish on anyone.
