Page 24 of What Hurts Us

“Okay. We would already be lying to the entire town. What’s one more person?”

She laughed. “Because,sweetie, that means you have to convince my entire family that this—” she pointed between the two of us “—is real.”

I eased back onto my feet and stood toe-to-toe with her, crossing my arms as I crowded her personal space. “You think I’m not up for a challenge,snookums?”

She tipped her chin up, meeting my eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,sweet thang.”

9

LAYLA

Callum stood, arms crossed, and stared into the trunk of my car. “This is it?”

I perched my hip against the taillight. “What can I say? I’m an accidental minimalist.”

When Cal put his address into my phone before leaving my motel room, I thought he was messing with me. The wannabe hermit lived a spitting distance from downtown Falls Creek. I’d passed his house nearly every day and had no idea he lived there. Heck, I had jealously admired the neatly edged flower beds and crosshatched swatches of militaristically cut blades of grass.

Before he reached in to grab the suitcase that held my vacuum-sealed wardrobe, Cal took a half-step forward, crowding my space. I didn’t move. A broody cop with commitment issues the size of a Ferris wheel would not intimidate me. Instead, I raised my chin and met his sharp gaze with matching intensity.

“Last chance to walk away,buttercup.” The back of his hand brushed mine. “I won’t blame you if you back out. No hard feelings.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Are you giving me an out or giving yourself one?”

“This is just pretend. And when it ends, we go back to our separate lives. But I’m not an asshole. I don’t want you to think I’ll take advantage of you.”

“We’re roommates,sweet cheeks,” I teased. “Nothing two grown, stable adults can’t handle.”

As the words slipped out of my mouth, a metallic beige Cadillac slowly crept down the two-lane road. The driver, a lady wearing a floral muumuu who still had her silver hair tucked up in sponge rollers, lowered her window and rubbernecked at us. Her jaw was in her lap.

Cal’s gaze never left my face. He paid the driver—who had nearly come to a stop right in the middle of the road—no mind as he lifted a small cardboard box and tucked it under his arm.

He leaned down, resting his forehead on mine. The bridge of his nose grazed mine. “You can trust me. I might not be warm and fuzzy, but I won’t hurt you. You’re safe with me.” His lips were a breath away. “I’ll be good to you, honey.”

This time, there was no humor when he called me honey. It wasn’t like the rest of the sarcastic terms of endearment we had thrown at each other in our banter.

He spoke in a tone that rolled like thunder, low and resounding. I felt it in my bones. If that was how he spoke to citizens while on duty, it was a wonder that the entire town hadn’t fallen madly in love with him. The idea of moving in with him made me a little anxious, but his strong, calm presence had me more zen than a hundred hours of yoga. The tight cotton that was stretched across his chest and arms brushed against the screen printing on my sweatshirt. I was positive he could feel my heart pounding like a high school marching band.

A motorcycle ripped down the road, swerving around the slowpoke car. The roar of the engine startled our moment. I backed away from Cal, giving my ponytail a tug to tighten the elastic. Maybe that would help stimulate blood flow to my brain.

“When, um … when are we going to … you know … tell people?”

Cal tipped his head toward the road without peeling his eyes away from mine. I tore my gaze away from him. The Cadillac had whipped around in a completely illegal U-turn and was gunning it back toward town. “We just did.” With that declaration, he grabbed a suitcase and walked inside.

I reached into the trunk and hefted out my rolling crafting organizer. Before the wheels hit the ground, my phone went off. I fumbled, trying to peel it out of the leggings I’d thrown on. They were a begrudging impulse buy after social media shoved an ad down my throat for two weeks straight. The stitching down my crack made my ass lookincredible, but it was like walking around with an eternal wedgie.

“Hello?” I trapped the phone between my shoulder and ear as I yanked a bag out of the backseat.

Empty-handed, Callum jogged down the porch steps for another load. His eyes lingered on my rear.Internet leggings for the win.

“Bitch!” AB screeched over the line. “Are you seriously datingCallum Fletcher?”

I winced at the shrill voice that pierced my eardrums like a spear and glanced up at Callum. “Uh, where’d you hear that?”

Cal smirked like he knew his plan was working.

“Hutch called me. He was on duty, responding to a call at the nursing home. Ms. Tinsley—you know, the old bat who had a mini-stroke two weeks ago—told him that Mary Margaret Jones told her that Tiffany from the tavern called and said that she ran a to-go order down to Louisa Mae who works at the beauty parlor while she was doing Christie Spellman’s foils. Christie was in the middle of telling the both of them about how her daughter—you know, the one that works down at that fancy waxing place in Durham—was saying that full Brazilians are out of style and thatau naturelis back when all of a sudden, Bea Walker came roaring in. She was hootin’ and hollerin’ about how she’d just driven past Cal Fletcher’s place and saw him pin you up against the siding of the house and practically rip your clothes off while the two of you made out like rabbits in heat.”

Before I could get a word in edgewise, AB continued. I put the call on speaker so that Cal could enjoy the dramatics of the small-town rumor mill.

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