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“You’re mistaken,” I say sharply.
“I’m not.” She shakes her head, reaches around and grabs her purse from the back seat, and pulls out her phone, jabbing at the screen. “My friend arranged for me to stay at her brother’s place, and…see?” She points the cell in my direction and since there are no other idiots driving around in this shit storm, I brake and pull to a stop in the middle of the road, staring down at the screen as I scroll through the conversation.
Good news, my brother says you can stay at his place.
What’s the address?
1262 Forest Bend. There’s a spare key under the green pot on the porch.
Is he sure about this?
Yes, he’s sure. He’s never home as it is.
I don’t know, Ella. I feel weird about staying at a random guy’s house.
You’ve met Knox before. You know he’s a good guy. Just accept that someone is willing to do something nice for you for once, Nova, and take this time to get your head and heart together—
Knox.
Knox.
How many assholes in this world are named Knox?
I’m not a fucking genius, but there can’t be that many.
Probably as many as women that are named Nova.
I glance up at her, atNova, and decide that the name suits her. There’s something bright about her, an inner light and—
What the actual fuck am I talking about?
An inner light?
Have I just been booked to chat on a shitty, woo-woo podcast?
It’s a name, that’s all.
And she’s a woman. Which means that she’s trouble—a trouble I don’t want.
Unfortunately…
“1262 Forest Bend is the address ofmyhouse,” I say, shoving the phone back at her—and nearly getting my fingers bitten off by the little demon named Steve in the process.
Silence. A long, slow blink. Then, “But you’re not Knox.”
“No,” I mutter. “I’m Lake. My asshole teammate—who doesn’t even live on this side of town, by the way—is Knox.”
More silence.
Wind buffets the car and I start forward again, though I’m tempted to turn around, to drive over to Knox’s apartment and dump Nova on his porch. It’s too late. We need to get somewhere safe and out of this weather.
“The address is foryourhouse,” she whispers.
I hit the gas, knowing that the snow is building up and I’m going to need the speed to get up the final hill, ignoring that her little gasp makes me want to reassure her that I know how to handle my car, my street, that I’ve been driving in the snow for as long as I can remember.
I just stay quiet and keep going.
And then we’re approaching the entrance to my house, the driveway that slopes down into the garage. I hit the button and wait as the wide metal and wood door slowly opens, then pull inside, hitting the button a second time.
