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“Look,” Val tossed a stack of papers toward Keene, who caught it without dropping a single sheet.
Keene started to read, his face going from stern to completely blank in half a blink.
Keene didn’t stop until three pages in, then turned to me.
“If you pursue this,” he said quietly, “just know that he’s not what he seems.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked. “Let me see that.”
“No,” Keene stood up and walked the stack of papers to the barrel that we were using to burn boxes.
He tossed them inside without even a glance at the others, then turned around to look at me.
“You can’t just tell me ‘he’s not what he seems’ and then expect me to take that at face value,” I said. “I need more to go on if you want me to stay away from him.”
“Not saying you need to stay away from him,” he said. “I’m saying that you need to be careful.”
Well, that was a whole lot of nothing.
“So he’s not bad?” I asked.
Something flashed in Keene’s eyes. “Not in the traditional sense of the word.”
Well, that cleared up more nothing.
“Keene,” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You have to give me more here.”
“I’ve given you what I want to give you,” he said. “Either take him or leave him.”
With a frustrated stomp of my foot, I whirled around and left the tent.
What I did know was I wanted to see him again.
I’d really enjoyed sitting with him the last few days and hanging out, just talking.
I’d also thoroughly enjoyed his sense of humor, his wit, and the way that he didn’t give any of my sisters the time of day.
You wouldn’t know how many times I’d tried to have a boyfriend over the years that couldn’t resist checking out my sisters while we were together. Though they’d never step over that boundary, the same couldn’t be said for the male.
“I think it’s time for y’all to stop being so suffocating,” I said as I gathered my things and walked up to Keene. “Are you driving me to where I want to go, or can I take the van?”
He tossed me the keys, his eyes alight. “You drive.”
So I did.
This time, I used Folsom for good deeds—such as finding Coffey’s address.
She had it to me within a minute and a half, and I was driving toward his lake house within three seconds of putting it into Google Maps.
I arrived in fifteen minutes, got out, then walked to the door.
Heart in my throat, I raised my hand.
It was well past midnight.
I had probably six hours at most before the bus left with or without me on it.
I really had no time whatsoever to be doing this, but something in me compelled me to take that chance.
I licked my lips, straightened my shoulders, and knocked on the door.
I waited with my breath coming way too fast for the door to open.
Just when I was about to step back to leave because this was a really stupid idea to think he’d be up so late on a Sunday, the front lights in the house flickered. They didn’t turn on, but they flickered as if there was a flashlight that’d been turned on, then hidden.
I shifted from foot to foot, my heart in my throat, and waited a few seconds longer.
The door opened, and there he stood, dressed only in his underwear, staring at me with surprise written on his face.
Oh, and a big black gun in his hand.
“H-hey,” I said softly. “I hope it’s not too late.”
His head tilted to the side.
His eyes scanned me from head to toe, taking in my plain clothes.
I wore a black tank top, khaki shorts, and my Keds.
Truly, I was very blah.
The only grand thing about me right now was that my hair was still partially wet and it wasn’t wild and unruly yet due to the shower I’d sprinted through after the show.
He stepped to the side, putting the gun down on the entryway table.
I moved inside, my heart pounding a million miles an hour.
“I’m leaving in six hours,” I breathed as I passed the threshold.
I didn’t even have time to take in the house before the door slammed shut and a strong arm hooked around my hips.
I breathed out a shaky breath as I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist.
“I think we can do a lot in six hours,” he growled.
Then I felt something cool against my back as he headed for the stairs.
He took them two at a time as I said, “Is that your gun against my back?”
He paused with his leg on the next step to go up and said, “Yes.”
“Okay,” I murmured.
He started moving again once he knew I wasn’t scared.
And I wasn’t.
My dad had been a gun freak.
Not in a bad way. But in a “guns and how they work fascinates me, and in my spare time, I’m going to build them” kind of way.
