Page 19 of A Little Secret

“Don’t spill the insect guts!” I yell.

“What?”

“Frankie’s”—I gulp—“food is in there.”

“Okay?”

“Don’t spill it,” I repeat. “If you do, I’ll have to buy everyone a new fridge.”

He chuckles but doesn’t give me shit as he pulls some frozen peas out and wraps the bag in a dishtowel. Handing it to me, he squeezes the back of his neck like he doesn’t know what to do now that we’re here and we’re actually kind of, sort of talking.

Fun fact, Griffin. I don’t know what to do, either.

“Thanks,” I finally say.

“You’re welcome.” Scratching the scruff along his jaw, he adds, “Have you fed him yet?”

“The devil?”

“The frog,” he clarifies dryly.

“Same thing,” I point out. “And not yet. It’s on tomorrow’s to-do list.”

He nods. “You’re nice for helping out.”

“They didn’t exactly give me a choice,” I grumble.

“True,” he concedes. “So…”

I peek up at him. “Yes?”

“Am I allowed to carry you to the couch so you can be comfortable, or will Drew bitch about that, too?”

My lips press into a thin line. He’s acting like an ass. A justified ass, but an ass nonetheless.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I murmur.

“You’re really this stubborn?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

Stepping back, he waves his arm in front of him. “Be my guest.”’

“Seriously?”

“You said you don’t need my help, right?” he counters.

My eyes thin as I fight the urge to take the bait. He wants to see me crawl my way to the family room? He should know me better than this by now. Let’s be honest. Looking like a fool is one thing. Looking like a fool in front of witnesses is an entirely different situation.

Shifting in my seat, I give him a cheeky grin. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just sit here for a little while. Thanks, though.”

“And miss the part where they say what the killer did to the body?” He hooks his thumb toward the family room where the murder documentary is still most definitely playing on the screen.

Damn.

He knows me too well.

“You could always pause it for me,” I point out.