Cheater (Curious Liaisons, #1)(84)

The spider crawled back into its hole.

I had scared my pet.

A loud banging sounded at my door.

Cringing, I waited for it to stop, but it didn’t.

Finally, I pulled open the door.

My landlord did not look pleased. “You’ve been warned, Avery.”

“Warned?” I frowned. “Warned about what?”

“Rent.”

“I paid rent.”

“You paid last month’s rent. This month’s rent was due three weeks ago.”

Impossible. I did the math. No, no, no, that couldn’t be right.

“And I have someone willing to move in immediately, so . . .” He rocked back on his heels. “You have one day to get packed.”

Great. I had one day to pack up my laptop and spider. No problem. I’d just go find a box to set up on the street corner and pray it didn’t rain.

Tears filled my eyes.

“No.” He shook his head. “No tears, Avery. This is business. I’ve put notices on your door for weeks. This ends now.”

He walked off.

I glanced at my door.

To be fair, the notices were underneath another notice that the building was going to be under construction, and it’s not like I’d actually been staying at my own apartment for the past few days.

I’d been with the devil at his.

My stomach grumbled. I should have eaten at the party.

I slumped to the ground, the door still open, and cried.

Footsteps neared. I didn’t look up. Take your fill, creepy Mr. Thompson! This is the last you’ll see of Avery Bla— “Avery.” Lucas breathed my name. “Avery Bug, what happened? Are you hurt?”

“Only everywhere,” I mumbled through my tear-soaked fingers. “But you know that’s to be expected when the man you love is an asshole and you just got evicted.”

“You what?” He stood and stepped over me.

“Evicted, you know, meaning you’re homeless, and—hey!” I clenched my fists. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he rummaged through my only closet, grabbed two bags, and started pulling all my clothes, with hangers, onto the bed.

“Thorn!”

He didn’t respond. He breezed into my kitchen, opened every single cupboard, frowned, and then asked over his shoulder, “Anything in the fridge?”

My stomach grumbled again.

“Guess that’s my answer.”

“You can’t be here. I don’t want to see you . . .” I was three seconds away from launching myself onto his buff body and beating his back with my fists until he left.

And then he stopped. He didn’t smile; he just stopped, in the middle of the room, and stared me down.

It was uncomfortable.

I started to fidget.

“Any furniture other than this futon?”

Embarrassment washed over me. “No, I haven’t had time to—”

“Good.” He walked back into my bedroom and used my bedspread to hold all the clothes. He then stripped the sheets, threw both pillows at me, and said, “Let’s go—I’ll come back for the furniture later.”

“I’m not going with you.” I held my ground.

Lucas sighed. “It’s me or the box near Pike and First, but I’ve heard that’s currently occupied by a homeless guy and his cart. Your choice though.”

I truly thought about it. A box would be nice; nobody would bother me except for the occasional homeless friend or possible rat.

“Avery Bug . . .” Lucas’s eyes pleaded with me. “Let me take care of you.”

I puffed out my chest. “This means nothing.”

“Fine.”

“It’s temporary.”

“Whatever you say.”

“And I’m not sleeping in your bed.”

“Did I ask you to?”

Well, that stung. “N-no.”

“You can have the spare room.”

“Right.” Tears filled my eyes. So I’d just stay in his room of torture while he entertained Molly in two days. Great. I think I preferred homelessness.

I begrudgingly followed him down to his car.

We rode in silence all the way to his apartment building. And by the time we settled all my stuff into the guest bedroom, the tension was so thick I was actually sick to my stomach—either that or my stomach was eating itself out of desperation.

At least Lucas left me alone while I put my clothes away in the closet.

A half hour later he knocked on the door and motioned for me to follow him, still no words. So this was fun. Not stressful at all.

I was about five seconds away from having a mental breakdown, and I’ve heard those aren’t pretty.

The kitchen smelled like Thai food.

Mouth watering, I floated over to the breakfast bar and burst into tears.

I was stressed.

The food looked amazing.

And instead of the prince rescuing the princess, the asshole rescued the homeless girl.

Why did I get the messed-up story?

WHY?

“Eat,” he instructed, handing me a fork. I didn’t need convincing. I would eat even if he had stolen the food from a blind grandma. Hunger always won out with me.

Mouth full of food, I barely had time to swallow and yell, “Aren’t you eating?”