Page 125 of Best Served Cold

“You go on telling yourself that.”

“Break up with her,” he says, “and you can have that teenage boy move in with you, not like that’s weird at all.”

“Fuck you,” I shout, feeling a vein throb in my forehead. My rage is at a ten. A twenty.

“No, Rob,” he says, his voice perfectly calm. “Fuck you. You thought you could steal my fiancée and flaunt her around town? No. You deserve this, man. You dug your own grave. I hope you rot in it.”

Then he hangs up.

My whole body is trembling with rage. I’m filled with the need to act. To hit him. To drink. To destroy something, even if it’s myself.

He’s jealous, my mom has told me. Although I can’t begin to understand why, other than that he’s never had a passionbeyond the drive to be the first, the award winner, the golden boy.

Regardless, I don’t doubt that he’ll do what he’s threatened. He’ll reveal Sophie’s past to Nelly, maybe to everyone, if I don’t step away from her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

SOPHIE

I was supposed to spend the night at Rob’s, but he isn’t picking up his phone or answering my texts. I’ve tried three times and left two messages, which seems excessive, but he almost always answers his phone.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet,” Otis says, using one of his grandmother’s favorite expressions. I feel a rush of longing for her, but she’s having the trip of a lifetime, and good for her.

I’m ready to live my best life too. It feels like I’m on the cusp of something wonderful. But when you’re on the cusp, you’re also in a precarious position, in danger of teetering toward total disappointment instead.

I glance at my cousin, feeling a swell of affection when I see he’s sketching logos for The Crafty Muncher.

I’ll have to correct him about the name at some point, but it’s the thought that counts. I’m happy he’s so interested. It’ll probably be a long time before we’re able to open it, but I’m starting to believe itwillhappen.

He sighs and sets down his pencil. “I have to warn you. If Rob did something fucked up, I’m absolutely not capable of beatinghim up. The best I could manage is a dressing-down, and even then, it might be hard. He’s pretty cool, for the most part.”

I give him a fond smile. “You’re pretty cool for the most part, too. He told me you threatened him the other day.”

He lifts up both palms defensively. “Whoa, let’s not exaggerate. I just made it clear that I didn’t want anyone messing with you.”

Walking up to the couch, I lean down and give him an awkward backward hug. “I don’t want anyone messing with you either.”

“Does that mean you’ll grab me a beer from the kitchen?”

“Absolutely. I could use one myself.”

We’ve just settled down on the couch and uncapped the beers when a knock lands on the door. We exchange a look, and Otis nods toward the front of the house. “I’m guessing it’s for you. I’m still on the hunt for Fluffnut, but pigeons don’t knock.”

I go to the door, nervous but determined. Then I open it to find Rob standing there.

Something’s wrong. I would have known it from a hundred paces away. There’s no trace of his usual smile, and there are hollows beneath his eyes. He looks like he’s been dragged into a dark place.

“Will you come take a walk with me?” he asks in a low voice, and my heart flails, because I know this will be a very different walk than the one we took a couple of weeks ago.

Otis peers at us over the back of the couch, scowling, like he knows he might be called upon to deliver his dressing-down and he’d really rather not.

I wave to the two bottles on the coffee table. “You can have them both.”

He perks up a little, which might have made me laugh under other circumstances.

I follow Rob out into the warm night and look at him, taking in the hard lines around his mouth. “Something’s wrong,” I say, deciding to call it out. “Let’s sit on the porch and you can tell me.”

One corner of his mouth lifts, but it’s such a fleeting smile it barely registers. “You’re right of course.” He sighs and then sits down on the top step, lowering his head into his hands and combing his fingers through his hair. I sit beside him, pressing close enough that our legs touch, because I need to be anchored to him right now.

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