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“You live here?” I still haven’t moved.
“Yes. Now, stop standing out on the sidewalk and get your ass inside.” He walks into his house, and I wonder if it’s a smart move to follow him inside. I could be walking into my own death for all I know.
I weigh my options.
I could start walking home, which would not be a good idea in this neighborhood. I can walk in my area in relative safety because I know most of the people. I wouldn’t recommend it if you were a stranger, though. You’re more likely to get a gun pulled on you and robbed. Or something far worse.
My other option is to walk into that house and see what the viper has in store for me.
He’s already stung me once, and I lived, so what’s a second time going to hurt.
Putting one foot in front of the other, I walk to his small porch and step up to the front door. I look at the swing. It appears like it’s used because it has a throw rug and a pillow placed neatly on it. I just can’t imagine Lucas sitting on it, with his gun in hand, swinging on that seat like some sort of serene scene straight out of suburbia.
“I do use it.” His voice pulls me from my thoughts. Lucas is now standing in front of me. “My mother had one when she was young, then we had one when I was growing up. It’s what you call a creature comfort. Something I’m used to. Something I like to do when I need to calm myself.”
“Do you clean your guns on it?” I ask because that’s the picture I have in my head when I imagine him sitting on it.
“No, typically I read.”
“You read?” The strained uptick in my voice doesn’t do anything to hide my shock.
“Yes, quite a bit.”
“Well, color me pink. I did not expect that from your mouth.”
“Come in.” He steps farther inside and I follow. My feet are met with hardwood floors, which are polished to a brilliant shine. The house, surprisingly, feels warm. Which is odd, because Lucas is anything but warm.
“Do you ever bring people here?” I ask, truly curious to know because if he wants to keep up appearances on the street, then this place should stay a secret. It’s the opposite of scary.
It’s normal.
Two white two-seater sofas sit in the living room in front of a large television hung on the wall. Under the television is a gigantic fireplace with what looks like an oak mantel. The windows are gorgeous, with their wood sash bars and stained glass at the arch above. A large coffee table with a few books scattered across the surface sits in front of the sofas. The walls are mostly bare, but there are a few paintings scattered around. There are no pictures or photographs anywhere and very little of anything else. Minimalistic would be the word that springs to mind.
“No, you’re the first to come to my home.”
“Oh, so it’s new?”
“No, I’ve had this house since I moved out of my mom’s.”
“Not even your parents have been here?”
“Not even them. I go to them if I want to see them.”
“So why am I here?” My hands lift to cover my midriff, feeling suddenly sick at a realization, and his eyes catch the movement. “Or is it because you don’t expect me to live?”
For all I know, he brought me here to kill me.
“Now, why would you say that?” He turns and heads off behind a wall at the back of the living area. I follow and find it’s the kitchen. Now this kitchen’s impressive, even if it has that old-world charm. A large oven and range stand in the middle of the huge wood cupboard space. This moves into a breakfast bar where a few white stools with high backs are lined up.
Lucas starts pulling out food and then a knife. I take a step back, but he doesn’t seem to notice me as he starts cutting food. When he’s heated some pasta in a pot of water, he looks up at me.
“Do you plan to ask me questions? Because now is the time.”
“Why am I here?” I spit out the one he still hasn’t answered.
“So I can cook for you, obviously.”
Huh? He’s really hitting me with all the unexpected tonight.
“Why on earth do you want to cook for me?”
Lucas stops cutting and looks at me. “I’m not sure of the answer to that, yet.”
“I want to go home.”
“After dinner, I’ll take you home.”
“I’ve already eaten,” I lie.
“No, you haven’t. Anyone ever tell you, you’re a shit liar?”
“Anyone ever tell you, you’re a shit person?” I bite back.
Lucas throws his head back and laughs. It echoes through the house, and I’m amazed by the sound. It sounds so good. How can one person’s laughter pull a smile from my lips? He shakes his head and looks at me once more.
