She looks terrified, big dark eyes flitting from Smith to us to the alleyway exit. She’s scared of him. Of us. Of everything, probably.
“How old are you, young lady?” Noah asks, his voice suddenly soft and genuinely kind. He sounds like a kind grandpa calling her young lady, but her face relaxes a tad, so it’s working.
“Legal,” Smith says with confidence.
“I didn’t ask you, I asked her.” Noah doesn’t look away from the girl. She looks up at Smith with fear in her wide eyes. He nods at her.
“Eight—” she breathes deeply. “Eighteen.”
I scoff. No way in hell is this girl eighteen.
“Are you a sophomore?” Noah asks.
She nods, then her eyes widen, and she shakes her head.
Smith just rolls his eyes, not caring that she’s outed him for dating a sixteen-year-old child. My blood heats to a slow rolling boil, feeding the fury coursing through my veins.
The girl being here complicates things, but it also seals Chad Smith’s fate.
Our sister was fourteen.
I will never get over that.
Noah won’t, either.
We could never walk away from someone like this.
Chapter 22
Oh, Hell No
CALLIE
Isilently scream when the door shuts behind Wes and Noah.
What the actual fuck? What just happened? I was hooking up with Wes, and it was about to be fucking incredible, and he and Noah went out to run anerrand? In head-to-toe black.
I pace the apartment, swiping my phone off the counter during one lap. I could text Jake. He’s here in Boston, I could go stay with him, or ask him about Jones or Shane or whatever. Again. I could text Lola to commiserate, but I really need to extend an olive branch first because I’ve been ignoring her since that night at O’Connor’s.
“Dammit!”
What is up with Wes? I know he’s in shady shit, that’s obvious. But this feels like more than shady. More than a little light criminal activity. Nothing good happens at two o’clock in the morning, especially dressed the way they are. They both walked out with black balaclavas in their hands, which, on the one hand is super-hot, but on the other handis what someone uses when they don’t want anyone to be able to identify them.
This man is a criminal.
I don’t want to be with a criminal.
Maybe this little errand of theirs came just in time. Because once I cross that line with Wes, there’s no going back. I can no longer pretend this is a business transaction. If I’m honest with myself, it’s been more than that for weeks.
I’ll leave. Book a ride to bring me to my car and then drive back to Portland. I’ll tell Wes we need to keep things professional from now on. No more touching or kissing or long, lingering looks or spending time together talking or laughing. Pure business.
Yes. Exactly what I should do.
I pull on my jacket and pat my pocket to make sure my keys are there, then slip back into my heels. My feet scream at me. I slide the bolt open and slip out the door. Last chance to change my mind, but then the door clicks shut behind me. I spin and twist the knob, but it’s locked.
Looks like I’m leaving.
I trot down the stairs and pull out my phone, fully intending to book that car. I open my map app real quick to figure out where exactly I am. But instead of clicking out of it, I think about what Noah said when he interrupted me and Wes. Heading to Maple? My eyes scan the map and there. I see it. It’s farther than I’d prefer to walk, but I start in that direction anyway. It’s almost on the way to my car.
