Chapter Five #4
With a dramatic huff, Brooke walked back around the car and stopped short of getting in. She looked at Jo over the roof. “Just promise me you’ll try to have fun.”
“I promise.”
“And call me when you get home. I want deets.”
“I will,” Jo promised and, with a wave, turned toward her apartment. She checked the time on her phone. Avery would be here in just over two hours.
Shit. She had to pick up the pace.
In record time, Jo stood in front of the bathroom mirror, humming to the playlist on her phone and adding the final touches to her makeup.
Just a little more mascara and…done. Now, for a little frosting—diamond earrings she’d picked up at one of the consignment shops. Fake, but hopefully, no one would know.
But isn’t fake the theme of the night?
And you’re the biggest fraud of all.
In the reflection of the mirror, the dark green designer gown hanging from the top of the bathroom door mocked her. This was a dress for someone like Charlotte Reese. Rich, beautiful, sophisticated.
“You can do this.”
Slowly turning, she ran a hand over the soft velvet. The gorgeously extravagant dress slipped over her head like water over a statue, the silk underlining slinking over freshly shaven legs.
As if anyone would have seen the forest growing there.
With the bateau neckline, her collarbones gave the illusion of elegance and fragility, which she was neither. But she was rolling with it, wearing her hair up to show them off, with loose strands framing her face.
She sprayed perfume to one side of her neck and froze. A rattle of flatware came from the kitchen.
Her lungs refused her next breath as fear rose to strangle her. Had the robbers come back?
Hands shaking, she grabbed her phone and pressed her back against the open bathroom door. She fumbled to punch 9-1-1. Her finger poised over the Send button, she heard a familiar whistle.
What is he doing here? How dare he just let himself in?
She snorted. Why wouldn’t he? The man had no concept of boundaries.
She glanced down at her phone. Twenty minutes ’til six. Avery would be here soon, and fake dating meant not dealing with each other’s baggage. At least not her overstuffed trunk of dysfunctional shit.
Tucking the phone into her pocket—gotta love a dress with pockets—Jo stepped into a pair of black stilettos and hurried down the hall, anger snapping at her heels.
Sure enough, Chase Murdoch stood in her kitchen, hip against the counter, scuffed boots crossed at the ankles, worn jeans covered in dust from hauling feed sacks, and a belt buckle the size of a dessert plate glinting in the overhead light.
Shirt sleeves pushed up, he held a slice of bread in one hand and a knife slathered with mayo in the other.
“What are you doing here?” Hands on her hips, she rounded the peninsula.
Brooding green eyes roamed over her from head to toe before he tossed the knife in the sink without bothering to rinse it. “I’ve been waiting for you to get back.”
“Why? What’s wrong? Is Walt okay?” She shouldn’t love her father, not after he abandoned her, not after the abuse his wife rained down on her for simply existing, not after he failed to lift a finger to stop it.
But Walt was the only father she had, and though she’d tried not to, some natural order of the human psyche made it mandatory to love her dead-beat dad. Even when he didn’t love her.
“Your dad’s worried about you. I’m worried about you. That’s why I’m here.” He layered on a slab of deli turkey and squished the bread together. “Well, besides making a run for my dad.”
“Why would Walt be worried?” He never has been before.
Chase took a huge bite and spoke as he chewed.
“No one’s heard from you since Christmas.
You’re not answering your texts. We didn’t know if you were dead or alive.
” He swallowed. “And then I get here to find out your apartment was broken into a couple of weeks ago, Brooke moved out, and you lost your job.”
“How do you know all that?”
“Your landlord. That guy’s weird, by the way. Serious serial killer vibes.”
She agreed, but she’d never admit that to Chase.
Shit, shit, shit. When her dad found out…
He’d shake his head and say, “I told you so.” He’d never believed she could make it on her own.
And Lydia? She’d just smile and tell Jo it was too bad she’d transformed her bedroom into a craft room. In other words, Jo wasn’t welcome to come home. Not that she wanted to. It was never her home.
No, her home had been bulldozed to the ground before her grandma was cold. All in the name of progress that would never come to Sparrow Hill.
Chase took another big bite. “You need to come home, Jo. It’s not safe for you here by yourself.”
“I want my key back. Now.”
He shook his head. “Someone should have one in case of an emergency.”
“Brooke has one.”
“What can she do?”
“More than you can. You’re an hour and a half away.”
“Fine.” He dug in his pocket and slapped the key, still on the keyring with the letter J, on the counter. “A guy can’t win with you.”
“You sure as hell can’t.” She scooped up the key and stuffed it in the pocket with her phone. She didn’t trust him not to take it when her back was turned. “Move.”
Gathering her skirt to one side, she swerved around his outstretched legs to avoid the dust on his pants and sidled up to the sink.
A second knife and a fork lay next to the one he’d just used, along with a glass coated with milk and a plate smeared with chocolate frosting from the last piece of devil’s food cake in her fridge.
Asshole. She’d been saving that as her reward for spending an evening with Avery and his snooty friends and family.
It was just like Chase to take the last piece.
Unless maybe he wasn’t the one who’d eaten the cake and left the dishes.
Shivering at the thought, she turned on the faucet and, careful not to get her sleeves wet, scrubbed at the dried chocolate. Was Lambert letting himself in and out of apartments, helping himself to food and who knew what else?
She glanced sideways at him. Asshole was looking at her ass. “Were you here all day, in my apartment?”
“I hung out for a while, but I got bored.”
That didn’t answer her question.
Chase pointed the remaining bit of sandwich at the blank wall in the living room where the TV had been, then toward the open beer can on the counter.
“Went out for a sixpack. Thought we’d order a pizza and watch a movie.
Guess that’s out though.” He gave her a sly grin.
“Or maybe we could test that new bed you got.”
“You went into my room?”
“Jesus, I was just checking to see if you were here. Don’t make a federal case about it. It’s not like I’m some panty sniffer.”
Had Lambert gone through her things? Touched her underwear?
“And I even replaced your milk since I drank it all with the cake.” He ran a finger over the top of her grandma’s 1971 avocado-green mixer. “I miss your cooking.”
See there? You were chasing shadows that weren’t even there. And if anyone is going to touch my underwear, I’d rather it be Chase. As long as I’m not in them.
“So,” he said, transferring his finger to her collarbone, “about that bed?”
Shrugging him off, Jo whipped the towel from the oven handle and started drying. “You’re delusional if you think you can just show up here for a little Hulu and Do You after what you did.”
“Why? You still locked at the knees?” He gave her another onceover and scoffed, “Or are you giving it to the guy all this”—he waved a hand to encompass her dress—“is for?”
“Grow the fuck up, will you?” Jo glanced at the clock on the microwave. She had three minutes to get rid of Chase before Avery showed up. “Better yet, go the fuck home.”
He caught her wrist, and she almost dropped the plate. “Who is it? Some Chef Boyardee, or is he a Little Debbie?”
“You’re such a dick.” She wrenched free and quickly put the dishes away, silently willing him to leave. “Isn’t Chelsea wondering where you are?”
Why’d I say that? Now, he’ll think I’m jealous.
“I quit her after I saw you at Christmas when I thought maybe you and me…” He shrugged and his hold on her wrist loosened. “I’m seeing someone else now, anyway, but say the word, and I’ll dump her, too.”
The doorbell rang.
Jo looked at the clock again. Straight up six. She wouldn’t have pegged Avery as the punctual kind of guy, but she was glad he was on time. “You blew your chance.”
Spinning around, she walked on wobbly legs toward the entryway, hoping he didn’t notice.
The clip of his boots followed, then stopped.
Pretending to check her appearance in the mirror, she took a moment to compose herself and to gauge Chase’s location and intent.
He’d propped himself on the living room side of the peninsula, arms folded.
Jo inhaled, moved to look through the peephole, and let out a nervous breath. If she hadn’t let Chase get under her skin, she might have smiled.
Gloves in one hand, Avery ran the fingers of the other through dark hair as he glanced down the hall, back at the door, then down the hall again. Was he nervous? Ready to run? Or just eager to get their pretense underway?
Whatever the case, she hoped he didn’t freak out because she was about to blow rule number one, two, and three all to hell.