Page 20 of Between Love and War
Richard looks way too pleased. “Homemade.”
“Homemadewhat?” I rasp.
Ryan sighs, handing me a glass of water. “It’s best if you don’t ask.”
And then, just as I reach for it, the bell dings. I look behind me and see Kate entering the store.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kate
Ah, there’s the devil.
The devil who drowned my Kindle in countless inappropriate titles like alien billionaire romances, which I’d read but not when it’s downloaded in spite. The devil who thought sticking his face on my most favorite electronic device is a funny prank. The devil who is smiling at me like he’s fond of me.
And here I am smiling back. No one will ever suspect that we’re—
“Why is your face broken?” Haley says to me, making a face.
“What?”
“You’re smiling weird,” she adds.
I brush her off. Guess I’m not a very good actress. “Nothing, just… this audiobook I’m listening to.” I say, removing my earphones for ‘proof’. That always gets people off my back.
Michael, unfortunately, is not ‘people’. He smirks and asks, “What are you reading?”
“Nothing interesting. Yet,” I say as I take a seat beside him because every other seat is taken.
Haley is busy bombarding Emily online, asking her to watch the Broadway production of Wicked so she can take notes for her audition. Joshua’s already out of the frame. He’s not usually present in these things anyway.
While everyone is gathering snacks, Michael leans over to me and whispers, “You’re welcome for your expanded reading list.”
I whip my head toward him. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“I do, actually, but seeing you self-destruct in real time is starting to get entertaining.”
I roll my eyes at his smug face and stand so quickly the couch creaks under me. If I stay here, I’ll end up saying something unhinged. So, I decide it’s time to get some snacks.
The chatter in the room swells behind me as I make my way to the aisles, mentally cataloging what’s safe to grab when Bon’s voice cuts through the noise like a fire alarm.
“Whosmokes?!”
The room goes dead quiet and I freeze. I whirl around to see my cigarettes on the couch beside Michael. My stupid, incriminating cigarettes that must have slipped out of my pocket when I stood up.
No. No, no, no.
“Kate??” Haley’s voice is high-pitched, incredulous. Her expression is this impossible mix of shock and disappointment, like I’ve just admitted to kicking puppies for fun. “Is that yours?”
“W-what?” I ask, already scrambling my brain for an excuse. I guess I can say that I found it on the ground. But I know that’s no use. I’m still frantically sorting through increasingly bad explanations—confiscated from a student? prop for a health talk? fell from the sky?—when Michael’s voice cuts clean through the tension.
“It’s mine.”
The room falls silent, and every head swivels toward him. Even mine.
He sits there calmly, leaning an elbow on the back of the couch, holding the cigarettes like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His gaze flicks to me briefly—quick, unreadable—before he looks back at the others.
“A guilty little pleasure,” he says, steady and smooth.
