Page 35 of Trust Me

“He is?”

“Why do you look surprised?”

His nose wrinkled. “Well, he hates my guts.”

“He doesn’t know you enough to hate your guts. Maybe your face, but not your guts.”

His jaw ticked, then he shook his head. “Really. He doesn’t like me.”

My eyes shifted to the left, following the hum of the refrigerator. I thought about the way Remi had reacted to Dean yesterday when they met, then when I was at his place. He was bristling like a cat holding its ground on its own turf.

Breathing a laugh, I rubbed the back of my neck. “I hoped you didn’t notice.”

“So, you know?”

“I . . .” Twisting my lips to the side, I considered how to respond. “He doesn’t hate you.”

Dean snorted.

“Really,” I insisted. “There are very few people he hates, and they earned it. He’s just . . . protective.”

“Protective of you?” When I didn’t respond, he took a long drink. Once he set the cup down, he crossed his arms. “He said you’re brothers. Or something of the sort.”

“We lived together for a little bit. He watches out for me, and he’s going to be suspicious of you until he accepts you’re not a threat or something.”

“And if he determines I am?”

This time, I snorted. “He’s protective and sometimes feisty, but he doesn’t make things up. You’re not a bad guy, so you have nothing to worry about. Besides, if he really had an issue with you, he wouldn’t have agreed to give you the job.”

“Maybe you’re just really convincing.”

I ran my tongue along my lower lip. “I can be.”

“Well,” he sighed, “I guess I’ll give it a shot. As long as nobody will get in trouble. I guess it’s not any worse than hitting up freaking Walmart, and like you said, the tips are a plus.”

“That’s the spirit.” With a grin, I took a step back. “I have to work until eight, but I can make dinner.”

He lifted one brow, which somehow drew more attention to the chiseled lines of his face. “We don’t have to eat together just cause we’re roommates.”

“Sure, but we can.”

“Hm. Oh—” He started pouring more coffee, and I wondered if he needed it to function. “I was wondering about the lease.”

“For the apartment? What about it?”

“When do I sign it?”

My head cocked. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

His eyes widened. “Wait, don’t tell me you never cleared this with them.”

I grimaced. “I have to?”

“Bro . . .”

The way his lips pursed and his brows drew down made me step closer. His eyes landed on me, and as he held his mug with a tight grip, I thought he seemed mad.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, looking at the floor. “Honest to God, I didn’t know. When I lived with Remi for a while, he didn’t tell anyone, but I guess that was a little different.”