"Wasn't it?"
"No." He shook his head. "Definitely not. No interludes there."
"Well," I said in a teasing tone, "it's probably a good thing your friend came in when he did, huh?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," I explained, "you might've broken your own rule."
We'd been walking up the stairway, but at this, he stopped and faced me. "Except you're not an interlude." As he spoke, he rubbed his thumb lightly against the side of my palm. "You're something else."
His words, along with the feel of his skin on mine, even in this smallest way, sent a shiver of pleasure straight through me. I longed to ask him what, specifically, I was, if not an interlude.
"Mostly," he continued, "the room's an escape hatch."
"From what?" I asked.
"More like from who."
"Then who?" I said.
"Whoever."
At this, he started walking again, and I fell in step beside him.
I slid him a sideways glance. "Are we talking guys or girls?"
He blew out a breath. "With the guys, well, they're not usually a problem. If they get out of hand, I just, uh – "
I grinned. "Kick their asses?"
"No," he said, sounding almost offended. Then, he gave a small laugh, and said, "Okay, well, sometimes. But normally, I just tell 'em to leave."
"Do they?"
"Almost always."
"And when they don't?"
"Well, uh, that's when the ass-kicking comes in."
I laughed. "And the girls?"
"Girls?" He looked away, and cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, they're a little harder sometimes."
"Why?" I asked.
"For one thing," he said in a teasing tone, "I can't exactly kick their asses."
We'd made it upstairs, where he'd led me to a large bathroom off the hall, stocked with a small wicker-basket of toiletries – little soaps, shampoo, conditioner, lotion, the works. Before he left, he'd also gone to retrieve some casual clothes he said were from his own closet.
"They're not gonna fit," he said. "But at least they're clean." He leaned close to me and said, "Is it bad if I like what you're wearing now better?"
The feel of him, along with his words, had me wishing I didn't have to shower alone. But that's exactly what I needed to do, assuming I didn't want that Bishop guy barging in to join us.
After Lawton left, I locked the door and dove straight for the shower.
While in there, I couldn't help but think about him. I imagined him showering with me. In my mind, I could practically see the soapy lather running down the powerful lines of his body and the curvier lines of my own. In my imagination, our bodies slid against each other, slippery with soap and hot with desire.
The images kept coming, and I found my hands lingering in certain places – places I envisioned him touching, and hoped he'd be touching later. In my thoughts, my small hands were replaced with his rough, powerful ones. What would it feel like to have his hands on me? Really on me?
I couldn’t deny it. I was aching to find out. In fact, I was planning to find out. I'd been trying to resist him, but I knew defeat when I saw it. He was like that pint of ice cream in the freezer, supposedly for emergencies. I was going to have that ice cream sooner or later, and the damage would be the same regardless.
With Lawton, my willpower had officially run out.
And the longer I lingered in the shower alone, the longer I'd have to wait before all those cravings were satisfied. I rinsed off, turned off the water, and stepped out onto the luxurious bath mat.
The bathroom was thick with steam. Wrapped in a plush towel, I stood in front of the ornate, but distinctly foggy, mirror. Using the corner of the oversized towel, I rubbed at the glass, clearing a spot large enough to inspect my face.
From my hazy reflection, it wasn't as bad as I'd feared. I'd already bathed at the Parkers', but I hadn't done much else. My face was free of makeup. This was a blessing and a curse – a blessing, because there was nothing left for the water to smudge, and a curse, because I felt naked in more ways than one without it.
I wiped at the mirror to get a better look, only to have the mirror instantly fog up again. If no one were in the house, I'd simply crack open the hallway door and release some of the steam into the corridor. But with not just Lawton, but also Bishop lingering who-knows-where, that simply wasn't an option.
On the bathroom's far wall, I spotted a second door. Where it led, I didn't exactly know. Walking over, I took a chance and cracked it open, poking my head barely out of the steamy bathroom to check it out.
Instantly, cool air flooded my face as I peered into the darkened space, illuminated only by moonlight, streaming in through a large double-window. I blinked a couple of times, and when my eyes adjusted, I was able to make out enough details to get my bearings.
It was a modestly sized bedroom – obviously a guest room – with a full-size bed on the far wall, a night stand on each side, and a matching dresser opposite it.
The room was ice cold, and it was easy to see why. One of the two windows was open, just a couple of inches, but more than enough to fill the room with frigid night air.
Instead of retreating, I welcomed the cold, moving toward it. The shower had been scalding, just the way I liked it, but the lingering warmth was becoming oppressive, not so much physically – I loved the heat – but intellectually, I knew that cooling down would be smart.
I had no deodorant, and hadn't seen any in the basket. I was mortified at the idea of asking Lawton for some. And, given my plans for the evening, the last thing I wanted to do was to clean myself up only to go to Lawton smelling like a locker-room. Sure, he'd probably smelled more than his share of locker-rooms over the years, but I was fairly certain he didn't consider it a particularly erotic experience.
I'd taken a couple steps toward the open window when I stopped short at the sound of male voices. They sounded like they were coming from somewhere outside the house.
Clutching my towel, I edged closer to the window. The voices grew more distinct, and I peered outside to see if I could identify the source.
By the light of the moon, I made out the vague shapes of patio furniture, along with the big outdoor fireplace I'd noticed on the way in. But I didn't see any people.
And yet, I could hear the voices clearly now. I recognized them, too. It was Lawton and Bishop. Since I couldn’t see them, I figured they were standing next to the house – too close for me to see without sticking my head out the window. I had no plans of doing that any time soon.
I'd just turned away to return to the bathroom when something stopped me dead in my tracks. And that something was my name.
Chapter 27
Clutching the towel just a little bit tighter, I stood, listening. Apparently, they were talking about me. A better person would've kept moving. I should've kept moving. But I didn't. I couldn't. Instead, I turned back to the window, edging closer until I stood right beside it.
Bishop's tone was mocking. "So she just falls over your fence, and you're not suspicious?"
"Shut up," Lawton said with half a laugh. "She's no Brandy Blue. She's my neighbor, for God's sake."
"Yeah? Like Brandy was just a cocktail waitress."
Brandy Blue. That name rang a bell. Brandy Blue, Brandy Blue. And then it hit me. That was the name of the girl who starred with Lawton in that sex tape.
I tried to remember what else I'd read. She'd gone on to do a couple of horror flicks and a short-lived stint on a doctor drama. And there was something else. Wasn't she the so-called starlet that Lawton had left stranded in a Beverly Hills bathroom?
I didn't know her, but I already hated her.
"Listen," Lawton said, the laughter gone. "You compare Chloe to Brandy one more time –" He paused. "Just don't, alright?"
"Listen to yourself," Bishop said. "What are you gonna do? Kick my ass?"
"Do I need to?" Lawton said.
"I'd like to see you try,"
Bishop said. "I know you don't want to hear this. But she's trouble."
I felt my jaw clench. What was up with that guy? Why did he hate me so much? I'd only just met him. Of course, I hated him, too, but he started it.
"You're so full of it," Lawton said.
"I'm telling you," Bishop said, "she's hiding something."
"Yeah? Or maybe," Lawton said, "she's just a nice girl from a nice family, and the concept is so fuckin' foreign to you that you can't stop yourself from being a dick about it."
I nodded. Way to tell him, Lawton.
"A nice girl from a nice family?" Bishop said, his voice laden with scorn. "What are you gonna do? Put up a picket fence?"
"Fuck off. Just because you're still pissed about your little fortune-teller – "
"That's not it."
"Whatever," Lawton said. "Just don't take your shit out on me. Or more to the point, don't take it out on Chloe. Got it?"
"No."
"For fuck's sake," Lawton said, "what's gotten into you?
Bishop was quiet for a couple of beats. Then he answered, his voice oddly quiet. "Nothing."
Lawton's voice was also quiet. "She's different. I like her. Really like her. Don't fuck this up for me."
I felt myself smile. I liked him, too. Lawton was nothing like I'd expected, but everything I'd fantasized about. And he was sticking up for me. It made me feel warm all over.
"Why?" the other guy said. "Because she's got a pulse?"
My smile faded.
"No," Lawton said. "And I told you, stop being a dick about it."
"I'll stop being a dick when you stop being stupid."
"So," Lawton said, a new edge to his voice, "I can fuck Brittney and Amber and whoever else shows up from one side of the house to the other, and you don't say jack. But when there's someone I really like, you're an asshole about it. Is that how it is?"
My stomach clenched as my emotions flip-flipped from disgust to elation and back again. Brittney and Amber. Lawton wasn't talking about tonight. Was he?
"Don't forget," Bishop said, his voice harder, too, "that I'm the one who got rid of them for you. So maybe you should be thanking me instead of giving me shit."
The sick feeling grew and churned. Sure, I'd known Brittney and Amber might've been here tonight, and I realized that Lawton might've slept with one or both of them at some time or another. Somehow I hadn't envisioned them getting together right before I showed up.
Maybe it shouldn't have mattered. It's not like Lawton knew I'd be coming over tonight. And it's not like he and I were an item or anything. But still, the whole idea made me feel just a little bit sick.
"Listen," Lawton said, "if you say one word to Chloe about Brittney – or any other girl – you can get in your car and leave right now."
"Yeah? Well, what about our little side venture?" Bishop asked. "Planning to handle it alone?"
"That has nothing to do with this."
"You know she wouldn't like it," Bishop said. "Girls like that never do."
"That has nothing to do with her."
"You know what?" Bishop said. "Maybe you should just go ahead and fuck her."
Lawton's voice was tight. "What?"
"Yeah," Bishop said. "Go ahead, I'll wait."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Bishop said, "the sooner you have her, the sooner you'll move on."
"Not with her," Lawton said. "She's different."
"'Cause she's supposedly the neighbor?" Bishop said. "Yeah, that's real smart."
Listening, I felt a shiver creep up my bare legs and dance across my spine. Supposedly? What did he mean by that?
Lawton's voice was hard. "We done here?"
"Almost. Listen, I didn't want to say anything, but while you two were doing whatever –" he said "whatever" like we'd been kicking puppies, " – I checked out her house."
My mouth fell open. He what?
"You what?" Lawton said.
Yeah, that's what I wanted to know.
"Get pissed all you want," Bishop said. "But hear me out. She's not just some neighbor girl. I don’t know what her story is. But she doesn't live there, never has."
Lawton's voice was eerily quiet. "And you know this, how?"
"I saw her driver's license."
Standing by the window, I froze. And it had nothing to do with the cold pouring through the slim opening. My license was in my purse. My purse was on the Parkers' kitchen counter, inside the locked house.
That fucker had broken into where I lived and rummaged through my stuff. My breathing grew harsh as I fought the urge to fly down there and choke the living shit out of him.
Lawton voice was oddly quiet. "Just how did you see her license?"
"You know how," Bishop said.
"I don't fuckin' believe you," Lawton muttered.
"Hey, I was in and out," the guy said. "Five minutes. No big deal."
"It's a big deal to me," Lawton said. "And it sure as shit would be a big deal to her."
No shit. The asshole had broken into my house. Okay, so it wasn't really my house. But it was close enough. And he'd gone through my purse. The violation struck me like a hammer to the head. Had he been in my bedroom? Pawed through my undergarments. I felt like killing him.
"Yeah, 'cause you're a regular angel," Bishop said. His tone quieted. "Listen, you're so blinded by this chick that you're not thinking straight. The way you talk, the way you look at her, you'd better be careful. If her address doesn't match, there's more to her story. There always is."
"So what if it doesn't match?" Lawton said. "My address doesn't match my license, either."
"Yeah, because you just moved. And your last place wasn't that much different from this. Hers? It matches some low-rent shithole in Hamtramck."
I stiffened. My mom's address, assuming she still lived there.
"And the owner of the house here?" Bishop continued. "It's some surgeon. Guy's not married, either."
What a liar. He was married. I'd met the wife personally. And if Bishop wasn't lying, his information, wherever he'd gotten it, wasn't nearly as great as he seemed to think.
"So?" Lawton said. "It's probably her Dad."
"Except the guy doesn't have any kids."
I felt myself frown. He did so. I'd seen pictures.
"Not that you know of," Lawton said.
"Will you listen to yourself?" Bishop said. "A single guy with money? A girl half his age acting like she owns the place? You know exactly what that means."
"I'm only gonna say this once." Lawton's voice was cold. "Lay off her. I don't care that her address doesn't match, and I don't care that you're a paranoid motherfucker, and I sure as hell don't care that for whatever fucked-up reason, you don't like her."
"I didn't say I don’t like her," Bishop said. "I'm just saying she's hiding something."
"Yeah, and we're not? Stop being an asshole. If you can't, then get the fuck out."
"You know who you sound like?" Bishop said.
"Don't say it," Lawton said.
"Dad."
My jaw dropped. Dad? As in their Dad? So they were brothers? When I'd asked, Lawton had lied to me. Hadn't he? I tried to recall his exact words. I couldn't quite remember, but the implication had been obvious.
Did I even know Lawton at all?
It was too much to take in. What did I really know for sure? Lawton said he liked me. In a funny way, I believed him. My own feelings were too complicated to consider. But did any of that matter? For all I knew, the dick was right. Maybe Lawton liked any girl with a pulse.
And what was their secret side venture, anyway? Knowing Lawton, I wanted to believe it wasn't anything illegal, but it sure didn't sound good. Without specifics, what did I really know?
At the mental image of what his friend – no, his brother – had done, I felt like screaming. And then – oh my God. Chucky. How had I forgotten about him? Was he okay? Had he gotten out?
I should've thought of him first.
Here, I'd been so caught up in the drama below that I'd almost forgotten my real responsibilities. I should be ashamed of myself. I was ashamed of myself.
Dropping the towel, I hustled to the bathroom and grabbed for the clothes that Lawton had loaned me.
It was definitely time for me to leave.
Chapter 28
With quick, jerky movements I pulled on the T-shirt and then the silky sweatpants. The clothes, far too big, swam around me as I ran a quick brush through my wet hair and plunged out of the bathroom and into the hallway.
I practically flew down the stairs. Bare feet, wet hair, no makeup – I didn't care.
On the main level, I looked around. I needed shoes. Or socks. Or something. I couldn’t stay here. Not anymore. If I had to walk back to the Parkers', that's exactly what I'd do. At least I was dressed in a lot more clothing than when I'd arrived.
But I was still locked out.
Or maybe not.
Bishop had been in the house. How had he gotten in? Had he broken a window? A door? However he'd gotten in, I'd get in too. And then, later, when the repairs came due, I knew exactly who'd be paying for them, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be me.
Maybe the whole thing wasn't Lawton's fault. But I couldn't help it. I blamed him. It was his guest, his house, his decision to let the whole thing go. He should've known better.
I scanned my surroundings. Near Lawton's front door was a much smaller door. A closet? Silently, I crept toward it, listening intently for footsteps or voices. I heard none.
When I cracked open the mystery door, I breathed a sigh of relief. On a row of hangers, I saw at least a dozen coats, some lightweight, some obviously meant for winter. I reached for a dark hoodie and shrugged into it, not caring that it fell nearly to my knees.
On the closet's floor, I spotted a jumbled pile of casual shoes, including the red pair of old-fashioned sneakers that I'd seen on Lawton's feet, at least once, maybe more. I dug them out and slipped them onto my feet. Like the hoodie, they were way too big for someone my size, but they were still better than nothing.
I'd already done the whole run-around-the-neighborhood barefoot and half-dressed thing, and I wasn't about to repeat it.
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