glancing at my bedroom door, just to be safe. “You have no idea what you’re—”
But he was gone. He’d hung up on me. Again.
Furious, I snapped my phone shut and tossed it onto the desk behind me, then bent to pick up my chair. What the fuck is wrong with him? I slammed the chair on the floor, but that did nothing to help burn off my anger. Andrew and I had only dated for four months and we’d now been apart almost as long as we were together in the first place. So what the hell did he hope to gain by coming here and confronting Marc?
Oh, shit. Marc. I sank back into the chair, facing my desk this time.
Marc would never attack a human, and under most circumstances would make no offensive moves even if assaulted by one, so I wasn’t really worried about him hurting Andrew. But my father would never trust me again when he found out I’d kept the first call to myself. And neither would Marc.
I’d meant no harm by keeping my secret. But seriously,how was I supposed to know that one little human ex-boyfriend could be so much trouble? That not breaking it off with him in person would turn a calm, rational, nice individual into the bitter, angry man I’d just spoken to?
The thing I’d liked most about Andrew was how very normal he was. How incredibly even-tempered and predictable. He was almost boring, which I loved because of how well it contrasted with my claws-and-kicks home life.
The most daring thing I’d ever done with Andrew was, well… him, in broad daylight. In his apartment. Beneath the covers. With the door locked. Andrew wasn’t a daring sort of guy—at least not when we were a couple. Even during our one nooner, only hours before I’d left campus, he’d complained when I nibbled too hard on his earlobe. I’d barely broken the skin, but he jumped as if I’d tried to pierce his ear.
Instead of protesting, Marc would have upped the ante. He was always up for more. Faster. Harder. Anytime. Anywhere.
If Andrew came to the Lazy S, disaster would be hot on his heels.
How does he even know where I live? I wondered as I flipped my phone back open and navigated to the call history screen. I’d never told him, specifically so he couldn’t visit. But it wouldn’t be too hard to find out, even with nothing but my name and an Internet connection.
I pressed the call button and stood again as Andrew’s phone rang in my ear. It rang four times, and by the time his voice mail answered—in a woman’s mechanical voice—I was already pacing. When the beep sliced through my thoughts, I stopped, one hand propped on my hip.
“Andrew, it’s Faythe. Stop hanging up on me! And do not come here! I’m sorry about leaving like that, but it’s over now. You can not come here. Please.”
I hung up and threw the phone at the wall this time, glad only in retrospect that it didn’t break. How did Andrew even know about Marc, anyway?
Sammi.
No one else from school knew about Marc, but Sammi had met him. She must have told Andrew. My heart pounding again, I snatched the phone from the floor and dialed my college roommate. But she wasn’t home, either, so I left a message on her machine asking her to call me back as soon as she could.
Then I sat on the end of my bed and forced my heartbeat to slow, my breath to come evenly. If I went out in my current state, Marc would know something was wrong the minute I entered the kitchen. I couldn’t keep doing this. It was unfair to Marc and bad for my own health. If Andrew called again, I would tell Marc the truth. I’d rather have him mad at me for a few days than taken by surprise when Andrew showed up at the gate.
At the front of the house, the doorbell rang, and I listened as Vic answered the door, exchanging pleasantries with the pizza guy as he paid for our dinner. When anger and frustration no longer pulsed through my veins, I pressed the power button on my stereo remote, shoved my phone in my pocket, and ran a brush through my ponytail, reminding myself one
But he was gone. He’d hung up on me. Again.
Furious, I snapped my phone shut and tossed it onto the desk behind me, then bent to pick up my chair. What the fuck is wrong with him? I slammed the chair on the floor, but that did nothing to help burn off my anger. Andrew and I had only dated for four months and we’d now been apart almost as long as we were together in the first place. So what the hell did he hope to gain by coming here and confronting Marc?
Oh, shit. Marc. I sank back into the chair, facing my desk this time.
Marc would never attack a human, and under most circumstances would make no offensive moves even if assaulted by one, so I wasn’t really worried about him hurting Andrew. But my father would never trust me again when he found out I’d kept the first call to myself. And neither would Marc.
I’d meant no harm by keeping my secret. But seriously,how was I supposed to know that one little human ex-boyfriend could be so much trouble? That not breaking it off with him in person would turn a calm, rational, nice individual into the bitter, angry man I’d just spoken to?
The thing I’d liked most about Andrew was how very normal he was. How incredibly even-tempered and predictable. He was almost boring, which I loved because of how well it contrasted with my claws-and-kicks home life.
The most daring thing I’d ever done with Andrew was, well… him, in broad daylight. In his apartment. Beneath the covers. With the door locked. Andrew wasn’t a daring sort of guy—at least not when we were a couple. Even during our one nooner, only hours before I’d left campus, he’d complained when I nibbled too hard on his earlobe. I’d barely broken the skin, but he jumped as if I’d tried to pierce his ear.
Instead of protesting, Marc would have upped the ante. He was always up for more. Faster. Harder. Anytime. Anywhere.
If Andrew came to the Lazy S, disaster would be hot on his heels.
How does he even know where I live? I wondered as I flipped my phone back open and navigated to the call history screen. I’d never told him, specifically so he couldn’t visit. But it wouldn’t be too hard to find out, even with nothing but my name and an Internet connection.
I pressed the call button and stood again as Andrew’s phone rang in my ear. It rang four times, and by the time his voice mail answered—in a woman’s mechanical voice—I was already pacing. When the beep sliced through my thoughts, I stopped, one hand propped on my hip.
“Andrew, it’s Faythe. Stop hanging up on me! And do not come here! I’m sorry about leaving like that, but it’s over now. You can not come here. Please.”
I hung up and threw the phone at the wall this time, glad only in retrospect that it didn’t break. How did Andrew even know about Marc, anyway?
Sammi.
No one else from school knew about Marc, but Sammi had met him. She must have told Andrew. My heart pounding again, I snatched the phone from the floor and dialed my college roommate. But she wasn’t home, either, so I left a message on her machine asking her to call me back as soon as she could.
Then I sat on the end of my bed and forced my heartbeat to slow, my breath to come evenly. If I went out in my current state, Marc would know something was wrong the minute I entered the kitchen. I couldn’t keep doing this. It was unfair to Marc and bad for my own health. If Andrew called again, I would tell Marc the truth. I’d rather have him mad at me for a few days than taken by surprise when Andrew showed up at the gate.
At the front of the house, the doorbell rang, and I listened as Vic answered the door, exchanging pleasantries with the pizza guy as he paid for our dinner. When anger and frustration no longer pulsed through my veins, I pressed the power button on my stereo remote, shoved my phone in my pocket, and ran a brush through my ponytail, reminding myself one
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