Page 12 of The Guy Next Door
He’s right. I’m stalling. But the truth will freak him out more than thinking I’m some fucked-up stalker. Still, I gotta get it out. “You gonna believe me if I say I was trying to protect you?”
He approaches with my cookie, moving cautiously, watching me as though waiting for any sudden movements. Then he places the plate on the table and steps away, his pepper spray’s security lifted, his finger ready to hit the trigger.
I pick at the cookie, testing the heat as I lick the chocolate off my thumb. Damn, that’s good. I wonder if it’s delicious or if I think that because I haven’t had enough to eat today.
“You make these?”
“Yeah,” he says, his expression twisting up.
Of course he did. The guy’s always in the kitchen, making one thing or another.
“You said protect me. Someone else was here last night, weren’t they?”
“Yeah.”
“I knew it.”
I brave a bigger bite of my cookie, thinking it might be too hot, but it’s just right—a perfect chunky/gooey combination.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Damn, you can bake.”
“Thank you…?” he says, but the way he inflects, it sounds more like a question. “So who was it?” he presses.
“Okay,” I say around a fresh mouthful of cookie, “if I knew who it was, obviously I would have gone to the police, and we could have ended it right there.”
“How could you possibly have known someone was going to break into my house if you don’t know who it is?”
Put this kid out of his damn misery.“You familiar with the Jason Kilbourne disappearance? Guy who went to Wyachet Community College. Went missing from town last year.”
Leif nods. “I didn’t remember his name, but I remember seeing the story.”
“And last March, another WCC student went missing.”
“Yeah…”
“You don’t happen to have any water, do you?”
He glares at me.
“Fair enough. A little over a month ago, you remember posting a note on Instagram? About someone you thought was bullying you by pretending to be a secret admirer?”
His face flushes red. “I remember.”
“I have a hard time figuring why you’d imagine that was a joke. You’re a hot guy. I would think you’d be used to the attention.”
His gaze shifts around uneasily. “I’ve had a rough year, and since I came back home, some of the people I knew haven’t been all that welcoming because of…reasons.”
“You don’t have to be cryptic with me. I know about your meltdown in Atlanta and the stint in the psych unit.”
For the first time, he avoids my gaze, turning away from me. “We’re not talking about that.”
I immediately regret bringing it up. “Sorry. Fuck. No. I don’t want you to think I’m being insensitive. Shit. I guess I was anyway, but trust me, whatever you’ve been through, I’ve had my share of crap too. No judgment. I’m so used to that shit that clearly it seems like a nonissue. I meant, I researched you after I saw the post.”
Just keep on digging that hole, Z.
I eat another chunk of cookie, sticking as much in my mouth as I can manage. Maybe that’ll keep me from saying any other dumb shit.
He heads to the fridge and fetches a bottle of water. As he approaches me with it, he doesn’t struggle like he did with the cookie. Just passes it to me. I take the bottle and down a quarter of it, washing down the cookie, which feels like it’s moving in clumps down my throat.