Chapter 6
SIX
Lake
The dog is drooling on her chin, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.
I do, though, judging by the glares she tosses my way repeatedly during the short drive to my house. “If you’re an ax murderer, I swear to God,” she mutters, still holding on to the little demon dog like it is the most precious object on Earth.
And not a tiny terror with a smooshed-up face.
I’m almost tempted to ask her to finish that sentence.
But that would mean talking to her more.
And I can’t decide if she’s annoying as fuck, or…kind of amusing. And, frankly, I’m worried I’m settling on the side of amused, which is a complication I really don’t need.
Hence why it’s tempting to stop my car and order her to get out.
Unfortunately, I’m an asshole with a bit of a conscience—or else I wouldn’t have rescued her from the side of the road in the first place—so I can’t dump her out in the snow to turn into a human popsicle.
As much as it pains me, the only place I can take her is my house—
Wait.
She said she rented a place nearby, and—
“Where are you staying?”
A narrow-eyed glare in my direction. “1262 Forest Bend.”
I blink.
Then frown.
Because…what the actual fuck?
“You’re mistaken,” I say sharply.
“I’m not.” She shakes her head, reaches around and grabs her purse from the back seat, and pulls out her phone, jabbing at the screen.
“My friend arranged for me to stay at her brother’s place, and…
see?” She points the cell in my direction and since there are no other idiots driving around in this shit storm, I brake and pull to a stop in the middle of the road, staring down at the screen as I scroll through the conversation.
Good news, my brother says you can stay at his place.
What’s the address?
1262 Forest Bend. There’s a spare key under the green pot on the porch.
Is he sure about this?
Yes, he’s sure. He’s never home as it is.
I don’t know, Ella. I feel weird about staying at a random guy’s house.
You’ve met Knox before. You know he’s a good guy. Just accept that someone is willing to do something nice for you for once, Nova, and take this time to get your head and heart together—
Knox.
Knox.
How many assholes in this world are named Knox?
I’m not a fucking genius, but there can’t be that many.
Probably as many as women that are named Nova.
I glance up at her, at Nova, and decide that the name suits her. There’s something bright about her, an inner light and—
What the actual fuck am I talking about?
An inner light?
Have I just been booked to chat on a shitty, woo-woo podcast?
It’s a name, that’s all.
And she’s a woman. Which means that she’s trouble—a trouble I don’t want.
Unfortunately…
“1262 Forest Bend is the address of my house,” I say, shoving the phone back at her—and nearly getting my fingers bitten off by the little demon named Steve in the process.
Silence. A long, slow blink. Then, “But you’re not Knox.”
“No,” I mutter. “I’m Lake. My asshole teammate—who doesn’t even live on this side of town, by the way—is Knox.”
More silence.
Wind buffets the car and I start forward again, though I’m tempted to turn around, to drive over to Knox’s apartment and dump Nova on his porch. It’s too late. We need to get somewhere safe and out of this weather.
“The address is for your house,” she whispers.
I hit the gas, knowing that the snow is building up and I’m going to need the speed to get up the final hill, ignoring that her little gasp makes me want to reassure her that I know how to handle my car, my street, that I’ve been driving in the snow for as long as I can remember.
I just stay quiet and keep going.
And then we’re approaching the entrance to my house, the driveway that slopes down into the garage. I hit the button and wait as the wide metal and wood door slowly opens, then pull inside, hitting the button a second time.
The storm is slowly closed away behind us, and when I shut off the engine, a hushed sort of quiet surrounds us.
Quiet except for the snorting from the little demon.
“This is your house,” she says quietly.
I just look at her and get out. “The garage is insulated, so if you want to camp out here and call your friend to figure out what the fuck is going on, feel free. But”—I pop open the door, allowing in a rush of cold air that cuts right through my clothes and sends her shivering again—“it’s clearly not warm.
” I nod at the door to the house. “Come in when you’re ready. ”
I climb out, slam the door behind me, and go to the trunk, pulling open the hatch, grabbing a couple of bags of groceries, and heading toward the house, but when I reach for the knob and start to open the door, I happen to glance back.
And she’s sitting there.
A stunned look on her face.
“Fuck,” I mutter, shoving into the kitchen and setting the bags on the counter.
I go back for the rest of them.
She’s still sitting there. Head down, shoulders slumped.
Doesn’t matter.
I load up, walk by the closed passenger side door, refusing to look through the glass as I move into the house and drop off my second load of groceries.
But when I start to turn away, start to peel off my now stifling layers of clothes in the heat of the house, some demented part of me takes over and pulls open the door. I pop my head out, telling myself it doesn’t matter what I see out in the garage.
Only…she still hasn’t moved.
“Christ,” I mutter.
I stomp back out and yank open the passenger’s side door, reaching for her.
Steve growls like the little demon he is, teeth clicking together as he lunges for my hand.
I bat him away, snag her arm. “Come on already,” I snap.
She blinks, glances up at me. “It’s your house.”
“Yeah.” I reach over her, scooping up Steve and tucking him under my arm like an unruly football as I unbuckle her seat belt. “We’ve established that.”
Then, trusting that she’ll follow since I’ve stolen the tiny demon, I turn for the house again.
Steve calms the moment I step over the threshold, nose working—and covering my arm in snot—as he takes in his surroundings.
“You pee or shit on something,” I growl at him, “and you’re out.”
If it’s possible for a dog to look at me derisively, this mutt has done it.
Calling my bluff in a second.
Little asshole.
But I just set him on the floor, let him go off and explore.
And probably chew up something valuable.
Because just like I can’t leave a defenseless woman on the side of the road, I’m not going to put a tiny demon dog out in the snow during Snowmageddon.
Even if he looks like he ran into a wall.