Maybe she’s on edge because of her little stalker situation. God knows, I’ve given the whole thing more thought than I’d ever admit to out loud. Because while Idon’t understand why anyone would go to such fantastically creepy lengths for anyone, much less her, someone is, and I don’t like it.
I glance her way and back down to James, who’s babbling away. “Yes, please sit in silence all night. Tomorrow, too. In fact, any time I'm around, zip those pretty little lips right the fuck up.”
Her dark eyes cloud with hurt, but before I can process it, they clear, and she's back to looking completely unaffected. “You're just full of compliments tonight, aren't you?”
“Did you hit your head?” I ask, turning to fully look at her. She paints a tempting picture, dressed in a pair of baggy black sweatpants and a cropped hot pink tank top, with her rich brown hair piled on the top of her head. At least until she talks, anyway. As stunning as she may be, Scarlet Armstrong’s nothing more than the cause of my next headache.
“What?” She draws her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her knee.
“Just trying to figure out which part of me asking you not to talk was a compliment.”
Her plump, somehow always-glossy lips curl into what can only be described as a menacing grin. “You said I had pretty lips, Ellis.” She bats her long, sooty lashes at me. “Tell me, do memory issues run in your family?”
Fucking hell.She's got me there, but I'm not going down without a fight. “I’ve got eyes, Scarlet. You’re obviously attractive. But it's just skin deep, because on the inside, where it counts, you're nothing but fucking poison.”
I regret the words as soon as I say them, but when it comes to Scarlet, I can’t help myself—when she goes low, I go lower.
“Oh. Okay, then.” She swallows roughly and then sucks in a ragged breath before popping up to her feet. “I-I’m gonna order some dinner. Pizza sound good? Okay, great.”
She hoofs it into the kitchen before I can even begin to formulate a reply.Here’s to hoping she doesn’t order something gross like pineapple.
“You think she’s mad?” I whisper conspiratorially to James, trying to fight against the sliver of guilt attempting to bludgeon its way past my defenses.
He grunts and forcibly turns his body away from mine, twisting around like a human pretzel. I’d chalk it up to normal baby wiggles, except the kid’s staring directly into the kitchen, almost as if he’s looking for someone…for her.
“It wasn’t eventhatmean, right?” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince, but James’s entire body tenses up as he mercilessly fills his diaper.
Symbolic, because somehow, at only eleven months old, he knows I’m full of more shit than his Pamper.
“Okay, my dude. Let’s get you changed.”
It’s a short walk down the hall to his nursery—otherwise known as my old bedroom.
Gotta say, it’s a lot cuter with his stuff in it than it ever was with mine. Honestly, Nora transformed the space in a way that goes beyond the paint on the walls. I swear that woman has magic running through her veins. Every single thing she pours her time into ends up better off than it was before. She took this house and made it into a home.
James gurgles happily as I zip his onesie. “You feel better now that you’re all fresh?” I ask, tossing his diaper into the pail that Atlas insisted on, despite it damn near requiring a PhD to use.
“Wanna watch some tv? Maybe a littleEnemies & Escrow?” I plop us back down onto the couch. “I’m sure your mama won’tmind. Maybe you’ll be Lake Fortune’s next real estate mogul, huh? You never know.”
I glance down at my watch as the opening credits roll. It’s been at least fifteen minutes since Scarlet ran off to hide in the kitchen.
Idly, I wonder if she somehow got lost. I mean, damn,how long does it fucking take to order a pizza?
As the seconds tick by, that small sliver of concern somehow manages to morph into a full-blown splinter—the deep kind, the kind you need a numbing shot and scalpel to dig out. Which I guess is deserved, since I went beyond low. I fucking went subterranean.
On screen, the office manager and her former best friend are having a shouting match at an open house, but I’m hardly paying attention. Nope, I’m too busy worrying about Scarlet Armstrong.
After another five minutes, and I’ve had it. “Guess we should check on her.” At this rate, any food she ordered should’ve already been delivered. For all I know, maybe she decided to head home.
“Here’s to hoping,” I mutter as I haul myself up from the couch, cradling James against my chest. He fists my shirt and tugs on the soft cotton, making me smile down at him. How is it even possible for someone so small to have me so wrapped around his little finger?
I’m halfway expecting the kitchen to be empty, except when I cross the threshold, she’s still there.
“What?” she asks, furiously swiping beneath her eyes. Too bad wiping away her tears does nothing to hide her red, splotchy cheeks.
“Are you… crying?” I ask, dumbfounded, because honestly, I didn’t think demons were capable of human emotion, much less literal tears.
“No,” she sniffles.
