Call It What You Want(65)

His eyes are big as saucers. “You … you stole—”

“Yes. I did. They’re in my glove compartment.”

“How much are they worth?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“Come on.”

“Like, at least two thousand dollars.” I grimace. “I am a thief.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

We’re quiet again. My heart is hammering blood through my veins.

“You’re not stealing for you, though,” Owen finally says. “You didn’t even keep the ten bucks you threw at me that day.”

“I’m still stealing.”

“Yeah, but it’s different.”

“How?”

“Your dad was stealing from people who couldn’t afford it. He was doing it to put money in his own pocket. That makes him like … like the Sheriff of Nottingham.”

I roll my eyes. “And what? I’m Robin Hood?”

“Yes!” He claps me on the shoulder and grins. “Because that makes me Will Scarlet.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Maegan

I brush eyeshadow across my lids, wishing I was as skilled at this as Samantha is.

She’s still not talking to me. She hasn’t left her room all weekend. Mom’s been bringing her meals.

My phone lights up with a call. It’s Rob.

I give a startled yip and almost knock the phone off my vanity. I slide the bar to answer, my heart in my throat. “Hello?”

“Hey.”

He has the sexiest voice in the history of time. I have no idea how I’ve never noticed that before. I nearly melt out of my chair.

“Maegan?” he says.

So much for being cool. “Yeah! Yes. I’m here. Sorry.”

“I can’t go out tonight.”

I freeze. His voice may be sexy, but I can’t tell what this means.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a rush. “I didn’t think. Mom never goes anywhere, so I didn’t think it would be a big deal. But she’s got plans with friends from work, and we can’t … my dad can’t be left here alone.”

“It’s okay.”

“I wanted to catch you before you left. I really had no idea.”

An edge hides under his voice, but I can’t figure it out. “You sound upset.”

“It’s been a long day.” He takes a breath. “I was hoping to get out of here for a little while.”

I inhale—but my answer stalls.

“What?” he says. His voice is flat, as if he expects something bad, and he’s resigned to it.

“I could come there,” I say.

Absolute silence in response.

“I don’t have to,” I continue. “I don’t want to invite myself over. I don’t—I don’t want to put you in a weird position.”

“My whole life is a weird position.”

“Yeah. Well.” I fidget. He says nothing. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have invited myself—”

“He might freak you out.” Rob speaks in a rush. “I don’t—sometimes he’s fine, but sometimes he’s a mess, or he’ll get upset, or it’s—”

“Rob. Rob, stop. It’s okay. It’s fine.”

He takes a long breath. “Okay.”

“I mean, all of that is okay with me.” I hesitate. “You don’t have to hide your dad.”

He gives a low, humorless laugh. “You’re wrong about that.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

He’s so quiet. I wish I knew what happened between last night and this morning.

“Rob?” I whisper.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be allowed to say yes,” he says quietly.

I swallow. “Then don’t. Text me your address. I’ll break in.”

I hang up the phone.

For the longest time, the screen is blank. I don’t think he’s going to text me anything at all.

Finally, after an eternity, the phone chimes.



Rob’s house is massive. His driveway curves through half an acre of trees that give way to a large clearing where a tall blue Craftsman-style home sits. His front porch runs the length of the house, with narrow square pillars supporting an overhang, gas lamps glowing on each one. The gabled roofs would be amazing with Christmas lights. The three-car garage looks like it must have once been detached, but a short, blue-sided section connects it to the main building now.

When I step out of the car, I can’t stop staring. I expected a McMansion like Connor’s, but even in the dark, it’s gorgeous. A house from a magazine or a catalog.

The front door swings open, and Rob steps out, completing the photoshoot image. He’s wearing a blue cable-knit sweater and jeans. His feet are bare.

“Hey,” he says. His voice gives away nothing, and it’s too dark to read any emotion in his eyes.

I stop at the porch steps. He’s framed by warm light from the interior.

“I was about to break in,” I say. To my surprise, my voice is a little breathy.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Take me down.”