Shadowland (The Immortals #3)(55)

Even though I’d hoped to be long gone by the time Munoz swung by to pick up Sabine, the second I pull into my drive I glance at my rearview mirror only to find him right there behind me.

Early.

Ten minutes early in fact.

The same ten minutes I’d earmarked for racing home from work and changing into something properly somber, before fleeing the scene and heading for Haven’s front yard where Charm’s memorial service will be held.

“Ever?” He climbs out of his shiny silver Prius, jangling his keys and squinting at me. “What are you doing here?” He tilts his head as he approaches, enveloping me in a cloud of Axe bodyspray.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, slamming my car door much harder than planned. “Funny thing. I—um—I actually live here.”

He looks at me, face so still I’m not sure he heard until he shakes his head and repeats, “You live here?”

I nod, refusing to say anything more.

“But—” He gazes around, taking in the stone fa?ade, the front steps, the recently clipped lawn, the beds of flowers beginning to bloom. “But this is Sabine’s house—isn’t it?”

I pause, tempted to tell him no, that this faux Tuscan, Laguna Beach McMansion isn’t Sabine’s house at all. That he’s obviously made some kind of mistake and ended up at my house instead.

But just as I’m about to, Sabine pulls right up beside us. Jumping out of her car with way too much enthusiasm when she says, “Oh! Paul! So sorry I’m late—the office was crazy and every time I tried to leave something else got in the way—” She shakes her head, gazing up at him in a way that’s far too flirtatious for a first date. “But if you could just give me a minute, I’ll run upstairs and change so we can get going. It shouldn’t take long.”

Paul?

I glance between them, noting her happy, lilting, singsongy tone, and not liking the sound of it, not liking it at all. It’s too intimate. Too forward. She should be forced to call him Mr. Munoz like we do at school. At least until the end of tonight, after which, of course, they’ll mutually decide to go their separate ways . . .

He smiles, raking his hand through his longish, wavy brown hair, like the worst kind of show-off. I mean, just because he has exceptionally cool hair for a teacher, doesn’t mean he should flaunt it like that.

“I’m a few minutes early,” he says, gaze locked on hers. “So please, take as much time as you need. I’m fine talking with Ever here.”

“So you’ve met?” Sabine rests her overstuffed briefcase against her hip, glancing between us.

I shake my head, blurting, “No!” before I can stop. Unsure if I’m saying no to her question, or to this whole situation. But still, there it is, an unequivocal no, and I’ve no plans to rescind it. “I mean, yeah, we’ve met and all but—just now.” I pause, their eyes narrowed, as confused as I am as to where this is going. “What I mean is, it’s not like we knew each other before or anything.” I peer at them, knowing I’ve only confused them more. “Anyway, he’s right. You should just—um—go upstairs and get ready—and—” I jab my thumb toward Munoz since there’s no way I’m calling him Paul, no way I’m calling him anything. “And we’ll just hang here until you’re ready.” I smile, hoping to keep him outside, on the driveway, far from my den.

But unfortunately, Sabine’s manners are much better than mine. And I’ve barely finished the sentence before she shakes her head and says, “Don’t be ridiculous. Come inside and relax. And, Ever, why don’t you order yourself a pizza or something since I haven’t had time to get to the store.”

I follow, lagging behind as much as I can without literally dragging my feet. Partly in protest, and partly because I can’t risk bumping into either of them, not trusting my quantum remote to bar me from a sneak peek of their date.

Sabine unlocks the front door, glancing over her shoulder as she says, “Ever? Okay? You’re good with the pizza?”

I shrug, remembering the two slices of vegetarian Jude left me, which I proceeded to tear into little bits and flush down the toilet as soon as he left. “I’m good. I grabbed a little something at work.” I meet her gaze, thinking this just might be the perfect time to tell her, knowing she won’t freak with Munoz (Paul!) standing nearby.

“You got a job?” She gapes, all wide-eyed and slack jawed right there in the entryway.

“Um, yeah.” I pull my shoulders in and start scratching my arm even though it doesn’t itch. “I thought I told you, no?”

“No.” She shoots me a look that’s loaded with meaning—none of it good. “You definitely failed to mention it.”

I shrug, picking at the hem of my shirt, trying to appear unconcerned. “Oh, well, there it is. I’m officially employed.” Chasing it with a laugh that, even to my ears, rings false.

“And just where did you get this job of yours?” she asks, voice lowered, gaze following Munoz as he heads into the den, eager to avoid all the bad mojo I’ve so brilliantly introduced.

“Downtown. At a place that sells books and—stuff.”

She squints.

“Listen,” I say. “Why don’t we discuss this later? I’d hate for you guys to be late or anything.” I glance toward the den where Munoz is hunkered down on the couch.