Shame, hot and hurtful, burns through me.
“Great,” I snap. “Well, if we’re finished here, I need to go schedule a prefrontal lobotomy to scrub this encounter from my memories, so…”
I turn on one heel.
“I mean it, West.” I flinch to a stop at the steel in his tone. “Stay away from Croft.”
My eyes flicker back to his, refusing to show any intimidation. “You gonna add the cliché ‘or else’ to that statement, or….”
He doesn’t say anything, but the skin around his eyes crinkles up the tiniest bit — anyone else, I’d say they were fighting a grin. But it’s Nate. He’s probably picturing ways to chop up my body and dispose of the pieces where no one will ever find them.
I swallow hard.
“Oh, goodie. Another scintillating moment of silence,” I mutter, rolling my eyes to prove how cool and collected I am.Psh. “You can see yourself out,Nathaniel.”
I use his full name just to goad him, knowing he detests the formality of it. Spinning around, I grab Boo off the couch and storm from the room before he can say another word.
Before he can see the angry tears glossing over my eyes.
Jackass.
I amsofracking done with Nathaniel Knox and his mind games.
Chapter Four
He probably only dates bad girls.
Perfect.
I’m bad at pretty much everything.
Phoebe West, giving herself a pep talk.
Okay, so, that’s a lie.
I’m not done.
I can’t be.
Where Nate is concerned, I don’t think I’ll ever be completely able to cut ties. Not unless I want to cut my heart from my chest, as well.
But I’m most certainly done dreaming about some kind of deluded happily-ever-after with him — a big white dress and him waiting at the end of the aisle, eyes tearing up with joy at just the sight of my beauty. A disheveled fixer-upper house we lovingly restore together, until each floorboard is imprinted with the strength of our relationship. A nursery painted a safe, gender-neutral yellow.
Phoebe, you lunatic, you are not the heroine of a Nicholas Sparks novel.
After I hear the faint click of my front door closing as Nate leaves, I let Boo out the back for one last pee break onto the tiny patch of grass my real estate agent called a “hidden city gem” just so he could charge me five grand over the initial asking price. Staring up at the stars while Boo makes a show of sniffing every square millimeter of the property in his quest for the perfect spot, I have half a mind to pull out my cellphone and dial Parker. The rage fraying my nerve endings needs an outlet — screaming at my big brother for giving Nate my brownstone key might just do the trick.
My cell screen glows blue-bright in the darkness as I click it on and look at the time.
Midnight. The witching hour.
Fitting, since I was just visited by a demon in black leather and combat boots.
It’s barely dawn in Europe — Parker won’t bother to answer, this early. My best friend, Lila, is no doubt out on the town at some fabulous party or another — chances of sober conversation at this time on a Friday night are nil. My father’s away on yet another business trip — China or Japan, I think. He’s gone so often, it’s hard to keep his destinations straight.
I sigh deeply.
I’ve got a gorgeous house in Boston’s most desirable neighborhood.