Page 85 of The Love Destroyers

Approval glints in his eyes, and I pretend not to notice or care.

“I’m not telling you because I want your approval.”

“I’m giving it to you anyway, so it’s your lucky day. Now, make it my lucky day and tell me that Ellie got Jeffrey arrested.”

“Unfortunately not. He came up with some bullshit story about wanting to surprise her. She’s still pissed though. She didn’t tell him to leave, but she made him rent his own room.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “Has Nicole found anything on Ellie’s phone?”

I laugh. “Not yet. She said there were hundreds of thousands of photo and video files.”

“You’re going to enjoy the hell out of those. Countless hours of Ellie drinking coffee and talking about fluoride.”

“Is she pro or con?” I ask, stopping next to the passenger side of my hatchback—cherry red, a color that, statistically speaking, makes it more likely I will get stopped by law enforcement for going over the speed limit.

Not at all practical, but I wanted it anyway.

“Oh, definitely con,” he says as he stops beside me. “She gave me a five-minute lecture about it when I asked for some tap water in the ER waiting room.”

“Let me guess, Sophie’s the one who got you some.”

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “And she got her dipshit cousin to bring me a soda.”

“She told me you bought her and her aunt lunch the other day.”

“She told you that, huh?” he asks, his gaze floating to the car next to mine, as if he can’t meet my eyes while talking about something nice he did.

“Pretty kind of you, she thought,” I press, lifting my eyebrows.

His gaze meets mine. “It was nice of you to make that call for her. And to send Chuck advice on his divorce.”

“Oh God,” I say, “Chuck. I wonder how their date is going.”

My mother hadn’t sent any texts, so she wasn’t bored, at least.

“You know, she spent half an hour picking out an outfit before I left for the Grove Park this morning. I’ve never seen her do that for anyone. She’s always so decisive.”

“Good,” he says with a grin. “Because Chuck spent an unreasonable amount of time buying groceries earlier. It seems only right that they should both be nervous.”

I jangle my keys, not quite ready to get in the car, and study him. “You think he’s going to be disappointed when he realizes she doesn’t care about cooking?”

“Nah,” he says offhandedly. “He just wanted an excuse to go over there. He’s too nervous for the direct approach, but I’m guessing your mother is the kind of woman who’ll tell him what she wants.”

There’s something loaded about the way he says it. Like he’s wishing I’d tell him what I want.

I would, if I knew, but after everything that’s happened, I keep second-guessing myself. I’m full of doubt. Because I’m starting to realize there are no fast and easy answers when it comes to relationships. Percentages may bear out in a statistical sense, but it feels so different when you’re going through things personally.

I swallow, glancing down into the car.

“You’re right. She probably will. That’s something I’ve always admired about my mother.”

“I admire it about you,” he says.

I can feel him looking at me, and finally look up and meet his gaze. “My mom forced me to do debutante classes because I kept sneaking out of the house.”

His grin is delighted. “Of course she did, and of course you did.”

“But I wasn’t very good at most of it. It was useful in teaching me to hide my reaction to people. But the rest of it was pure B.S. about being demure and soft. I’m not a soft woman.”

“Which is precisely why I’m so hard for you.”

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