I look between them. “I didn’t ask you to decide.”
“You’re right,” Sophie says. “You didn’t. But if Jeremy is already trying to build a story that you’re unstable, hiding youin a motel where he can corner you or photograph you looking desperate helps him.”
“I am desperate.”
“That doesn’t mean he gets to use it.”
Derby leans against the doorway. “Also motels got paper-thin walls, nosy managers, and locks a teenager with a gas station knife could beat.”
I stare at him.
He shrugs. “Hypothetically.”
“Of course.”
Sophie takes a breath. “You and August need somewhere controlled. Somewhere away from the clubhouse but still protected. Somewhere that makes the fake boyfriend story believable if Jeremy keeps watching.”
My stomach drops before she says it.
Derby stiffens too.
I see it.
“No,” he says.
Sophie turns her head slowly. “I haven’t said where.”
“You got your Sophie face on.”
“My face is lovely.”
“Your face is plotting.”
“Also true.”
“No.”
“Derby.”
“No.”
I look between them again, pulse quickening. “What is happening?”
Sophie’s eyes stay on Derby. “Your house.”
“No.”
“My house?” I ask stupidly.
Derby looks at me. “My house.”
“Oh.” Heat rushes up my neck. “No.”
“See?” Derby points at me. “She said no.”
Sophie ignores him and looks at me. “He has a house ten minutes from here. It’s outside town, off a side road, easy to guard, hard to approach without being seen. Two bedrooms.”
“One bedroom and a room full of parts,” Derby snaps.