Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,79

the sheer destruction…” His voice gets softer. “This was personal.”

“You don’t have to tiptoe around the truth.” I rub my forehead and sigh tiredly. “We both know it was Ralph.”

His jaw clenches but he doesn’t look surprised. “You’re positive?”

I nod. “We kind of… got into it last night, when I was leaving for my Mom’s.”

A weighty pause. “Got into it?”

I swallow nervously and rush to get the words out. “He thinks I ruined his life. So, he kind of… threatened me.”

Another long, stony silence.

“Ralph’s always had a flare for the dramatic,” I whisper quickly. “He said I had to pay for making him an internet meme. And, frankly, I don’t know how he can possibly blame me. I mean, it’s not like I control the internet. Tumblr has a life of its own! All it takes it one weird facial expression caught on camera and BOOM! Instant meme. Just ask that girl on the Olympic Figure Skating team—”

“He threatened you.” His words clip out like bullets from a gun — sharp, staccato, shiver-inducing. “And you didn’t think it was important enough to mention.”

“I didn’t exactly have a chance.” I start to squirm in my seat, uncomfortable beneath the weight of his glaring eyes. “There wasn’t a good moment.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said bullshit, Gemma. You could’ve told me at any point — hell, it didn’t even have to be in person. You could’ve called me on the fucking phone I gave you.”

“It’s not my phone.”

An unhappy sound rumbles from his throat.

I roll my eyes.

“Are you ever gonna do it?” he asks abruptly.

I stare at him, confused. “Do what?”

“Let me in.” His eyes narrow. “Because this running away, pushing me away, keeping me at arm’s length shit is getting old. Especially now, when you’ve been threatened and your apartment’s a shambles. This is serious, Gemma.”

I know that.

Deep down, I know exactly how serious it is.

But, right now, with Chase glaring at me like I asked for Wreck-It-Ralph to destroy my apartment, it’s easier to be angry right back at him.

Angry is always better than scared. Even if that anger is directed at the wrong person.

“Well, I’m so sorry not everyone uses your wrecking-ball approach to barging into other people’s lives!” My words are practically dripping with sarcasm. “Not everyone moves at hyper-speed, Chase. I’ve known you about a minute! I wasn’t aware I had to inform you of every little thing that happens in my life!”

“I’m not asking for total transparency, Gemma. I’m asking you to be smart. I’m responsible for you, and—”

“Why?”

His eyes flash. “Excuse me?”

“Why are you ‘responsible’ for me?” I snap. “You’re the one who said he didn’t do relationships, who said he didn’t date. And here you are, trying to control me, like some overprotective, overbearing boyfriend!” I’m practically vibrating with anger. “News flash: you’re not my boyfriend — you made it pretty clear where you stand on that front the first night we met — so why don’t you stop acting like this is anything more than you wanting to get in my pants and trying to make up for your sociopathic cousin!”

I don’t mean it – not a single, stupid bit of it. I want to snatch the words back as soon as they leave my mouth.

But it’s too late. They’re already out there, floating in the air between us. I watch their impact — the way Chase’s eyes go flat, how his mouth sets in a firm line, and a wave of remorse crashes over me. My lips open, ready to apologize, to take it back, to fix it.

“Chase—”

“There are t-shirts in the top drawer. Should be an extra tooth brush beneath the sink.”

“What?”

He doesn’t acknowledge my question as he rises to his feet. “Don’t leave. There are reporters stationed outside. Your apartment isn’t safe. And, if you go, I’ll just have Knox track you down and drag you straight back here.” His words are so controlled, you’d think he was talking to a total stranger as he walks to the elevator without another glance in my direction. “Goodnight, Gemma.”

The doors slide open, he pushes a button, and he’s gone before I have time to muster outrage at his orders. Yet, even as the minutes tick by, alone in the dark apartment, the anger still doesn’t come.

All I feel is regret.

***

I try to stay awake, to wait for him to get back from wherever he’s gone to escape my bitchy words — something I really can’t blame him for doing — but I’ve had a crap