Page 11 of The Guy Next Door
“Is that sarcasm?”
“No, but don’t worry. It’s not only you. Apparently, everything I say sounds sarcastic, so my actual sarcasm gets lost in the mix.”
“I promise, not being able to detect your sarcasm isn’t what I’m worried about.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” I drag out. “He doesn’t just tremble in fear; he tells jokes too.” That one definitely doesn’t hit. “Sorry, I’m trying to make this less awkward.”
“I don’t think there’s a way you’ll be able to do that.” His deadly serious expression assures me of it.
“Um…I figure I can’t really make this any worse, so would you mind if I had one of these cookies?” I can’t help myself. They look so damn good; they’re distracting me from the reason I’m here.
“Sure. You want it heated up?”
“Is that sarcasm? Because I wouldn’t mind, if you’re seriously offering.”
His eyes narrow, and he smirks. “I mean, I’ll heat it up for you. But sit at the table. You’re making me nervous standing there.”
I make myself comfy in one of the ghost chairs. “These are more comfortable than they look,” I observe, which earns another look from Leif as he fetches a pair of tongs from a glass of kitchenware and a small plate from the cabinet.
“Guess this isn’t the conversation you figured we’d be having?” I ask.
“That’s an understatement.” He grabs one of the cookies with the tongs and plates it before placing it in the microwave.
“So…are you gonna tell me what happened last night?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“The part where you broke into my parents’ house and pulled me into a closet with a gun—”
“See? Didn’t catch the sarcasm. But at least you’re pretty.”
Too fucking pretty. I need to stop looking at him. He’s freaked out enough as it is.
“Now would be a good time to start explaining shit,” he says as the microwave buzzes to life.
“Where do I even start?”
“I’ve seen you the past couple of weeks around here. You’re living at the Morgans’ place? Renting?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve looked at me weirdly more than a few times. Are you a stalker?”
“Not in the sense you might think.”
His brow creases. “You can understand why that’s a concerning answer, right?”
“I’m not gonna pretend I haven’t been watching you. I have. Since a little before you first noticed me.”
“Why did you rent the Morgans’ house?”
“To watch you.” I don’t have any reason to lie to him. Not about this. I stare him down, surely unable to disguise my determination, my obsession.
He glances around uneasily. The microwave pings, startling him.
“I think you’re asking the wrong questions,” I tell him as he retrieves the cookie.
“And I figured you wouldn’t beat around the bush like this.”