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“I’m sorry, are you my dad?”
“I could be your daddy,” I say, smirking.
“You’re fucking stupid,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“I’m not fucking joking,” I growl.
She puts her hand on my chest, and I don’t miss the spark of electricity at her touch.
“It’s time for you to go,” she says, pushing me out the door.
“Don’t bring anyone into this house, beauty,” I say, lowering my voice, looking straight into her eyes.
She crinkles her nose at the nickname but doesn’t say anything.
“You have no right to ask me not to do that,” she says, her hand gripping the door.
“I know, but don’t fucking do it.” She looks at me, like she’s trying to figure me out, but she never will.
I turn and walk away without saying anything. I can deal with a lot of fucking shit, but having her prance around her with some guy would fucking kill me. I’m man enough to admit that. I have no right to tell her that, she’s right, but that won’t stop me from making sure it doesn’t happen.
ChapterEight
MARLEY
What the fuck was that? Clark is so fucking hot and cold. I never know what to expect when I have an interaction with him.
The fact that he’s trying to dictate who I bring to my own house has me wanting to call someone over to hang out. I don’t know who he thinks he is.
I’ve spent the entire day going through everything that I left here. There is a pile of things I’d like to donate, some things I want to put in storage, and then stuff that I plan to take to school with me. I don’t want to leave any trace of me when I go, so I don’t have to worry about Spencer getting rid of it.
Tomorrow is the day I plan to go into Mallory’s room. The last thing I want is for something to happen to her stuff before I’ve had a chance to go through it. I’m not looking forward to it—in fact, the amount of dread I’ve been feeling just thinking about it only continues to fill my stomach the closer it gets.
This is something I have to do, not only for myself, but for Mallory’s memory.
Sighing, I flop down on my bed, scrolling my phone until I manage to drift off, trying not to let Clark and his infuriating smirk be the last thing I think of before I fall asleep.
* * *
The next morning, I’m downstairs making an iced coffee, when Mitch walks into the room.
“How was your night?” he asks, pulling a mug out of the cabinet.
“Pretty uneventful. I’m just trying to get everything squared away for my move,” I tell him, grabbing a seat on the stool at the island in the middle of the kitchen.
“Are you sure you want to go away to college?” he asks, taking the seat next to mine.
“Mitch, it’s an hour away. I’d hardly call that going away to college,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“I know. It feels like I just got you back.” He frowns.
“I’ll come back all the time. Just as soon as you move out of this fucking place,” I tell him, putting my hand on his arm.
“That’s in the works,” he says, smiling.
“Tell me more.”
“Clark and I are planning to start a real estate business. He’s interested in the hands-on part of flipping houses, and I’m interested in the selling aspect. We’ve almost got all the money we need for start-up costs,” he says, smiling.
