like you, though,” he says, shifting to face me.
I keep my gaze low. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, even though I already know. I’ve found a skincare regimen, discovered a workout routine, grown a few inches, and lost more than a few pounds.
It’s kind of pathetic that how you physically look affects how people treat you.
It doesn’t change anything on the inside. I’m still the same girl who, when insecure about how I dressed, he’d tell, “Fuck off. Fuck them. And fuck you, because you look kick-ass.”
“It means,” Holden starts, “and I’m going to regret saying this, but you’re kind of a smoke show, Mia Mac.” He makes a gagging face that has me laughing.
I flick the brim of his cap. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” he says, adjusting his cap back in place. “And this Leo guy hasn’t seen you since you left there, right?”
I nod.
“Just be careful, okay?”
“It’s a non-issue, Holden. Really.”
He shrugs. “Maybe for you.” His expression turns serious. “Just promise me.”
“I’ll be careful,” I assure.
“I mean… with your heart.”
I blow out a breath as he stares me down, and I realize maybe… when it comes to Leo, Holden’s better at reading between the lines than I am. Or was. “I promise.”
It was a mistake telling Holden that Leo had accidentally walked in on me coming out of the shower. His face turned red, and he scoffed, “Sure…” then air quoted, “Accidentally.” And then he drove us a half-hour away to the nearest hardware store and paid for a lock for the bathroom door.
After getting groceries for dinner, he drops me off at home, having a “prearranged meet-up” (hook-up) that he had to get to.
Papa’s in the living room when I enter the house, watching an episode of MacGyver I’m sure he’s seen a hundred times already. “Where’s Leo?” I ask him, dumping the bags on the kitchen counter.
Without taking his eyes off the TV, he answers, “Shower.”
I work on a quick dinner and am almost done when Leo appears. He’s in dark denim and a plain gray tee—keys in one hand, book in the other. Like Holden, he, too, has changed a lot in two years.
Not that I’m looking.
Not that I care.
He stops in his tracks when he sees me. Then he turns his head toward my grandpa, but his eyes stay on me. “I’ll be back later tonight,” he says.
I pretend to focus on the salad and ask, “You’re not staying for dinner?”
“Um…” He’s moving toward me; I can sense it. He stops beside me, his front brushing my side, and I can feel him everywhere, all at once. With his voice low, he says, “I figured I’d give you and your grandpa some time alone. Let you catch up.” It comes out a question—as if he’s asking for permission or acceptance.
Like I give a crap what he does. “You should’ve told me. I wouldn’t have made so much.” Blahhh. A simple “okay” in response would’ve sufficed.
Leo doesn’t move. Not a muscle. Not even on his broad chest to show that he’s breathing. I look up at him, my brow raised.
He simply stares back.
And he’s close. So close.
Now I can’t breathe.
Ugh!
Blindly, I reach into the grocery bag and take a second to find what I’m looking for. I pull it out, slam it against Leo’s rock-hard stomach. He breaks our stare so he can look down at the lock. Licking his lips, he takes it from me, flips it between his fingers. “What’s this?”
My voice a whisper so Papa doesn’t hear, I say, “A lock for the bathroom door.” He quirks a single eyebrow, and I add, “Holden got it for me.” Pshh. Because that part’s important.
“I’ll see ya tonight,” he says, so cool, so calm, so damn collected.
He takes a step back, and then he…
He smirks.
Dang it!
Holden was right. The motherfluffer is dangerous.
In every possible way.
Chapter Seventeen
Leo
It’s easy to find a diner. It’s the only thing open. Mia had described her town to me in the past, and she said it was small, but I lived in a small town, so I figured: how different could it be?
It’s very, very different. The sign upon entering reads: “Population 200.” In white paint, the 200 is crossed out and replaced with 198. I imagined an old couple dying peacefully in their sleep, and the entire town mourning. Then some sucker was tasked with the job of changing the sign. Hopefully, no one has a baby soon because that sign’s going to need another makeover. A strange