Chapter 5 What A Jerk
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I glared at his back as he reached to pick up something from the floor. He was still wearing the red shirt from earlier but had exchanged his paint-splattered jeans with a clean, black pair.
I hated how amazing he looked.
"You brought food?" I was skeptical. "Didn't you tell me earlier you didn't want us here? Oh yeah, and treated me like trash."
He twisted around to offer me an unbothered glance. "It wasn't my idea. And I still stand by what I said. You should leave this place. You're not welcome here."
I glanced at the offering he placed on the kitchen table. "So you brought pie?"
"My mom sent the pie. I happen to be the unfortunate one to have to bring it to you."
"Don't sound any more bitter about it. You might shrivel up into a prune and die," I huffed, folding my arms. "Well, you can take the pie back. Tell your mom thanks, but I'd rather not touch it since it wouldn't be beneath you to lace it with poison."
"Take the damn pie. Trust me, I'm not in the mood for another speech from my—" He pushed out an exasperated sound. "Take it, please."
I swear, he turned blue, forcing out that last word.
"Fine," I narrowed my eyes, wondering what his mom had over him that made him so compliant to her. He didn't appear as the type that enjoyed getting ordered around. "So, why were you snooping around inside our house?"
"I wasn't snooping. I was looking for you."
"Me? You could have left it on the porch, or I don't know, do something more civilized, like knocking on the front door."
His jaw clenched. "I have to give the pie to you."
"Why me?"
"Because your mom spoke to mine and mentioned you didn't have—look, I'm not here to explain myself or anything to you. I don't owe you anything. The fact that I've wasted my time, effort, and energy by being here is more than too much."
I watched him stalk toward the door. "Tell your mom I say thank you."
He grunted something unintelligible.
"Do us both a favor and trip over something on your way back," I called after him as he disappeared into the dark.
What an idiot.
I didn't move until I heard the crunch of his boots against the ground fading in the distance. I shuffled toward the kitchen table where the pie was waiting, my stomach threatening my existence.
I hated to admit it, but it looked good. I uncovered the cling wrap, grabbed a fork from the drawer beside the sink, and tore off some of the crust with it to see what was beneath.
A thick, crimson sauce bled out, running down the sides and staining the cream-colored plate.
As I peeled away more crust, I discovered plump strawberries marinating inside the red syrup.
It was a strawberry pie, my favorite.
After a few more pokes here and there, I decided it was safe enough to eat and took a large bite.
So much that I couldn't chew, turning toward the sink to grab a glass of water. I screwed open the tap, waiting a few seconds for all the warm water to run out from the sun-baked pipes and turn cold.
Or lukewarm—which seemed like it was the best I was going to get.
There was a movement in my periphery, right outside the window, staining the dark night like a ghost.
I glanced up, gasping crumbs of the pie, when I spotted a pale female face staring through the window at me.
I choked on my meal, and my eyes teared up. I slammed a fist against my chest, and when I regained my vision, the face was gone.
I ran toward the trash can in the corner and spat out the remnants of the pie, then reached for the cutlery drawer and felt around for a knife.
