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Because see?
There’s a perfectly legitimate reason for him to have been there. I don’t know why he was trying to imply otherwise. I don’t know why he’s trying to kill me.
Maybe this is exactly likeDatelineafter all.
Only he doesn’t need to plunge a knife into my chest.
He can kill me just by saying the things that have the power to stop my heart.
And make me dream about impossible things.
Such as he came up with this whole elaborate plan, the restaurant, the car, the cabin, because he wants me.
“Ormaybe,” he begins and I know whatever he’s going to say is going to be bad, “I overheard you on the phone that you were going on a date with a guy named Evan and that pissed me off.”
“What?”
“It pissed me off so much that I didn’t stop tothink,” he says, his eyes on me. “And I always think. I always weigh my words and measure out my actions. I have to, after how I grew up. But I couldn’t. Not tonight, and so I ended up at the same restaurant as you.”
“You heard me on the phone?”
“And then,” he continues, ignoring my wishes to stay alive and killing me softly. “I saw the dress you wore. You didn’t have that on when you were sneaking around at my house.”
“I —”
“Did you?”
“Listen, I —”
“You wore that for him?”
“It doesn’t —”
“Because if you say yes,” he keeps going in a low tone, his eyes dark and penetrating, “I may get even more pissed off than I am right now. And it’s been a while but I do remember someone losing their teeth the last time it happened. And that someone wasn’t me.”
“I didn’t…” I take in a trembling breath. “I didn’t wear this because I wanted to. I… My mom and my best friend, they insisted that I should get dressed up a little for my date and —”
His jaw clenches dangerously. “So now you’ve got a best friend who wants you to get dressed up for a drug dealer.”
“He’s not a —”
“You should tell thisbest friendof yours that if I catch you in this dress again, or any other dress that pisses me off to the point I can’t think straight, I won’t issue pretend threats to fire you, I’ll do it for real.”
I jerk back. “You issued pretend threats about firing me?”
He takes yet another sip of his stupid hot chocolate, watching me. “Yes.”
I stare at him a beat.
In disbelief.
Then, “Why?”
“So I could get you to leave with me and not that fucking douchebag.”
I’m so viciously pressing my back into the arm of the couch that it’s starting to hurt me.
Everything’s starting to hurt me actually.
