Page 6 of The Red Zone
It had been half an hour after I left him high and dry on the back patio. And Ifinallyfelt calm enough to walk across the street for Friday night dinner after replaying our encounter in my head half a dozen times. Which was Scarlett’s latest ploy to create “long lasting family traditions,” although I was certain her words were secretly code for “I need guinea pigs to try out my latest recipes before posting them on the blog.”
I knew it… Abel knew it. But we loved her too much to admit we saw right through her. Her cookbook was coming out in a few months and she wanted to keep her blog views up in the meantime. So, Abel and I plastered on cheerful faces, showed up to her silly little dinners every week, and gave “unscripted” reviews of whatever her newest dish was at the end of the meal.
My mistake, however, was in thinking that she wouldn’t invite October to join us. Of course—of course—I should’ve known he’d go running to my sister’s side the second our little dispute ended. Just like he always did.
Even at his ripe age of twenty-six, he was still vying for the coveted spot of teacher’s pet.
How childish.
“I take it I’m the talk point of the hour?” He swiveled his head so the smug grin I so desperately wished I could slap off his stupid face was on full display.
“You’re a pest,” I snarled, sliding onto the barstool seat furthest from him and averting my attention to my sister. “Scarlett, why is he here?”
“I invited him,” she said matter-of-factly, casually immersed in pouring a glass of wine, as if she hadn’t just blatantly offended me.
“You invited him?” I echoed, pretending like “he” wasn’t observing our conversation from three feet away. “If you didn’t want me to come, you could’ve just sent me a text. Now I have to order dinner for myself.” I flailed my hands, pulling my phone from the back pocket of my shorts and opening up a food delivery app.
“Jesus Christ, Mae…” Scar whispered harshly, likeIwas the one being unreasonable. Which I clearly was not. No debate necessary. “You’re not leaving, and neither is he. The four of us are going to sit outside at the table and have a nice cordial dinner together. Got it?”
Scarlett bounced her gaze between October and me, though neither of us uttered a word in response. Rolling her eyes, she picked up the large serving tray and headed toward the back door with her famous lemon garlic marinated chicken skewers that smelled so good I could practically taste them.
“You need my help, Red?” Abel asked, coming up behind her to grab the food from her wobbly hands as she struggled to maneuver the door handle.
Before the door slammed behind him, Abel’s deep voice resounded through the kitchen. “Don’t kill each other inside our house.”
Great.
This was the second time in one afternoon that I’d been trapped into having an unbearable conversation with October. My blood warmed to the equivalent of molten lava, thinking back on our earlier interaction as I watched him slide off his barstool. I didn’t hide the disgust written on my face as I eyed him walking around the island, open a fresh bottle of white wine then pour himself a glass.
“First, you invite yourself to live at my house, and now, you’re here inviting yourself to my family dinner too. Am I right in assuming your audacity knows no bounds? Or has your infatuation with me become all-consuming?” I pressed, turning to face him with my arms crossed tightly over my pastel blue top.
“Lovely as always, March baby.”
“For the love ofGod, will you please stop calling me ‘March baby’,” I mocked his gravelly tone. “I don’t want to have a pet name like your little whores.”
“Ahh, so you’re telling me you don’t want to be one of my… ’little whores’?”
I scoffed. Was everyone in the business of offending me tonight? If so, where the hell was my memo?
“I’d rather be trapped at the bottom of the ocean without an oxygen tank.”
“Why suffocate down there when you could suffocate on my cock instead?” The smug grin he sported as he leaned against the countertop behind him and brought the glass to his lips was infuriatingly arrogant. “Speaking of which… I’m getting offended that you haven’t found a new pet name for me yet. I take it ‘Toby’ is no longer enticing to you?”
Comical. This man was absolutely comical.
“Oh, really? Please tell me your ideas, because I’m dying to hear what you have in mind.”
“Well, ‘master and commander’ has a nice ring to it.”
“Fuck off.” I shot him a disapproving glare. That movie was almost as horrible as his request for a nickname.
“Do you always have to act like this?” October snarled. “You should really learn to take a joke at some point.”
“Maybe I could take a joke if yours weren’t so obnoxious.”
In the handful of weeks since October had dropped back into my life, I’d been trying to implement a new mantra—I am calm. I am cool. I am collected—in order to stifle my ever-growing rage whenever he was around.
Yet, no matter how many times I chanted the mantra in my head, every time he was within ten feet of me all logic in my brain shut off, and a new phrase took over instead—I am angry. I am agitated. I am annoyed.
