he grabs my wrist in an attempt to get his phone back. He struggles, but we end up both holding it, fighting for control of the device. “What’s up?” I whisper again. “Why isn’t she going?”
“She doesn’t exist. I made her up to get my mom off my back,” he admits reluctantly, almost blurting it out but still whispering quietly so his mom doesn’t hear. Shocked, I let go of the phone, and he snatches it back victoriously. “Mom, I’ll have to call you back, ’kay?
I’m not done, though. Before he can hang up, I yell, “Absolutely, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Connor is helping me out with a little laptop problem right now, but I’m sure we’ll have it straightened out in no time and will be there for dinner.”
I see him flinch when I use his name. Or maybe it’s that I just promised his mom that I’d be at this family dinner. Whatever it is, he can suck it because I’m going to use this opportunity to get my laptop back. I know he has it. He all but admitted it, because who would offer to buy a new laptop if they weren’t feeling guilty for stealing the original? Only some Daddy Warbucks kind of guy, and though my hair is red, I’m not getting Orphan Annie vibes when Connor looks at me.
“That’s awesome, dear! So glad to hear it,” Connor’s mom says just as quickly since she’s probably used to her son hanging up on her, if I’m catching the vibes right. “Okay, I’m going to go before Connor disagrees. Tootles!”
The line goes dead, and Connor looks at the device in his hand as if he can’t believe what just happened. Slowly, so slowly I can almost feel the secondhand ticking by as he moves, his eyes lift to mine. Cold fury burns in their blue depths, the gold flecks flashing like sparks. I smile and offer a little finger wave. “Hey, fiancé. Now, about my laptop.”
Chapter 7
Connor
How did I lose control of this situation so damn quickly? Two hours ago, everything was cool. I woke up, drove out to a storage locker I keep to grab a few personal items, and then swung by a twenty-four-hour big box place to get the other things I need.
I sigh, not sure how this could have happened. Controlling the uncontrollable, predicting the unpredictable, adapting and overcoming is what I do, but I’ve been totally thrown off my game by this five-foot-three redhead with the mouth of a sailor and the impulse control of a toddler on a sugar rush after a night of watching the sun come up.
Frustrated, I grab a bag out of the truck and throw it her way. Thankfully, she catches it, though it doesn’t have anything too important inside. I move lightly, knowing the house has already been set up with most everything I’ll need, but I still like to have my own clothes. Reaching in, I pick up a box and head toward the open door in the small one-car garage.
She doesn’t follow, so when I get to the door, I turn and call out, “You coming? Seems we’ve got some shit to sort out.”
I feel like it gives me some control again, and instead of getting angry, I wait. She rattled me, sure. But I’ve learned that when shit happens, you can’t react like you’re in the toilet bowl. You have to keep your mind going. It’s like chess. You might be forced to sacrifice a pawn to protect your king, but you should always be adjusting and playing several moves ahead.
Sexy Red doesn’t strike me as the type who thinks more than five minutes ahead a lot of the time. Feeling like she’s still got me under her thumb, she slings my bag over her shoulder and comes in, stopping in the doorway to look around. “Helen had pretty wallpaper with flowers in here. What happened to it?”
“Landlord must’ve taken it down,” I answer, looking at the freshly painted white walls. Truthfully, I have no idea what Hunter did to this place after the last owner moved out. I probably won’t even be here long enough to use this kitchen, much less remember it. When another job comes through, I’ll be gone.
She doesn’t need to know that, though. I set the box on the small kitchen table, and she does the same, setting my bag on the table and giving me a look of challenge that’s