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There’s a stone fireplace, similar to the one out in the living room, built in between the shelves on one wall, with several pieces of leather furniture in front of it.
“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I whisper in awe, moving to one of the walls and running my fingertips over the spines of the books.
He’s got everything from true-crime thrillers to romance to vintage classics.
“Why in the hell would he keep something like this locked up? It makes no sense,” Ariel wonders, flopping down in one of the leather chairs in front of the fireplace.
“Maybe he’s so crotchety and closed off because he used to be married and this was his wife’s favorite room,” Cindy muses, standing next to Ariel’s chair.
“Oooooh, maybe a bookshelf fell on her and she died, and he just can’t bring himself to step foot into this room!” Ariel adds.
“Oh, no. That’s so sad,” Cindy says with a frown.
“That’s so ridiculous,” I mutter, shaking my head at them.
“Not as ridiculous as what the hell you three are doing in here.”
We all let out ear-piercing shrieks, and I whirl around to find Vincent standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets and a murderous expression on his face.
“SHE DID IT!” we all shout, all pointing at one another.
Vincent shakes his head and sighs.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, holding up the bottle of the wine. “The wine made us do it. And also, I think we might have dented your door a little when Ariel slammed her shoulder into and Cindy tried kicking it down. I’m really sorry and we’ll buy you a new door.”
“Oh, my God, don’t tell him that!” Ariel whispers loudly under her breath. “Now he’s definitely going to kill us.”
Vincent pulls one of his hands out of his pocket, bringing his cell phone out with him as he dials and brings it up to his ear.
“Oh, shit. The jig is up! He’s calling the cops. I can’t go to jail!” Ariel wails, jumping up from her chair and clutching Cindy’s arm.
“There are drunk women at my house. Come get them,” Vincent growls into the phone.
“Fuck. I bet he called the mob. He looks like he hangs with mobsters. Or maybe a biker gang. Oh, no. We’re going to be taken away by bikers and never heard from again!” Cindy cries.
Vincent ends the call and shoves the phone back into his jeans.
“Your boyfriend will be here in ten minutes,” Vincent growls at Cindy, shooting me one last annoyed look before turning and walking down the hall.
I let out the breath I was holding, thankful that there would be no bloodshed tonight.
Cindy and Ariel quickly walk past me, both of them giving me a pat on the back. Ariel hands me the bottle of wine as she goes.
“Here, you might need this. We’re just going to go wait outside for PJ. If Beast starts yelling at you, just pretend to cry. Men can’t handle it when women cry,” Ariel tells me.
My friends leave me alone in the library and run as fast as they can down the hall. When I hear their muffled voices telling Vincent he has a lovely library before the sound of the front door slamming closed, I realize I won’t have to pretend to cry. Tears fill my eyes and my lips quiver as I hug the bottle of wine to my chest, slowly taking my walk of shame out into the hallway so I can accept my punishment for what I’ve done.
Chapter 18: Rules Are Meant to Be Broken
When I get into the living room, Vincent is standing with his back to me across the room, facing the door where the girls just left, his arms crossed in front of him.
“Did you have fun tonight?” he asks, his voice low and emotionless.
Which is unfortunate. I don’t know if I should apologize again and beg him not to kick me out, or act like it was no big deal. Maybe I’ll just pretend like it never happened.
“Oh, yes! We had a lot of fun!”
I watch his shoulders tense and realize I probably should have gone with another apology. I open my mouth to give him the best I’m sorry I can muster, when suddenly, there’s a loud knock on the door.
Vincent’s hands ball into fists at his sides, and I quickly look around the room, wondering if Cindy or Ariel forgot something. I really hope it’s just a door-to-door salesman or something. If my friends show back up here, he might lose it. Vincent takes a step forward and opens the door.
“Hi! I’m Dusty! I’m here to pick up Isabelle for a date. Are you her father? It’s very nice to meet you, sir.”
I groan as the man standing on the front stoop, who looks like he might still be in high school, holds one hand out towards Vincent. The other hand clutches a bouquet of wildflowers, with roots and mud still attached, that I’m guessing he just picked from somewhere in Vincent’s front yard. With the girls coming over and all the wine we drank, on top of finding out that Vincent doesn’t have a room filled with dead bodies but a library filled with books, I completely forgot about this stupid date.
