The Friend Zone(17)

My reaction seemed to surprise her. “Look, you can’t tell Brandon about this. Sloan doesn’t know. She’s all into these crime shows and her imagination would just run wild. I don’t need her freaking out on me.”

“Did you call the cops?”

“Of course.”

“Did they catch him?”

She shook her head. “They found a couple of cigarettes in the backyard and a beer can. It was three in the morning. Stuntman started barking. I walked the house and came around to the back door just in time to see the doorknob jiggle. The door was locked and they took off when I turned on the porch light. What?”

The look on my face must have been as pissed off as I felt. This was not fucking okay. She was here by herself, all 110 pounds of her, and somebody tried coming in here to do God knows what to her. “Do you have an alarm system? A gun?” Why was she so fucking blasé about this?

“No. But soon I’ll have a Tyler. Nothing better than an armed Marine, right?”

I frowned. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”

“I’ll be fine.” She waved a hand at me. “I didn’t tell you to get you all worried. I just wanted you to know why I lost it on you. It was kind of the final straw in a week from hell. There was that and then Miguel quitting, and I was just exhausted and annoyed and you’re such a bad driver, hitting people at intersections—”

“Have the police followed up with you? Has anyone else reported breakins?”

“No. But last night—” She stopped like she caught herself.

I waited. “Last night what?”

“I found another can and two cigarette butts out there this morning.”

My jaw clenched. That was it. “I’m staying the night here until Tyler comes back.” I was dead serious. And no wasn’t an option.

Her face went soft. “While I appreciate the gallantry, you’re at the station half the time anyway.”

“And on those days, you go to Sloan’s. If you don’t, I’m telling Brandon what’s going on.”

She blinked at me.

“Look, if this were one of my sisters, I would hope that someone would do the same thing for her. You shouldn’t be here by yourself with nothing but the dog equivalent of a rape whistle to protect you. This fucker obviously knows you’re here alone. What if he would have gotten inside? Or grabbed you while you were walking the dog?” I got up.

“Where are you going?”

“We’re going. I’m not leaving you here while I run home.”

“Run home for what?”

“To get my gun.”





EIGHT





Kristen




Josh put a hand out to me, his face stern. I didn’t take it.

“This isn’t open for negotiation. Let’s go,” he said, unblinking.

I didn’t budge. “Tyler is not going to be okay with this.”

“The next time he calls, hand me your phone.”

“What?” Was he serious?

“Any man who would allow his girl to be unprotected in this situation is either uninformed or an asshole. Which one is it?”

Damn, he was good.

I pressed my mouth into a line. “He’s seven thousand miles away. He doesn’t need to worry about something he can’t do anything about.”

That’s how you managed military relationships—you kept the bad things from each other. He didn’t tell me when an IED went off under a Humvee or when a suicide bomb detonated at a checkpoint, and I didn’t tell him when a creeper was coming into my yard at night to have a beer and a smoke. We kept our conversations light and fun, and that was the rule. Otherwise you lost your mind.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “I’m not leaving you alone here. So you have a few choices. Call Sloan, tell her what’s going on, and stay over there until Tyler comes home. Get a hotel. Or let me sleep here, in the guest room.” He looked at me, stone-cold serious. “This is no different than having a roommate. There’s nothing inappropriate about it. You can’t be here by yourself with this shit going on.”

I let out a resigned sigh. Of course he was right. And honestly, I was pretty scared. The first time I was moderately bothered but just figured it was a onetime deal. But this morning really freaked me out. I’d been super jumpy when Josh left on his date and I was alone in the house again. I’d been stress cleaning all day.

I couldn’t go to Sloan’s. A pipe had burst in her guest room last week and the bed was still dismantled. I wasn’t sleeping on a sofa and I wasn’t paying for a hotel. Fuck that.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Do I have to put on a bra? Because if I have to put on a bra, I’m not going.” I blinked at him matter-of-factly. I also wasn’t taking the curlers out, for reasons already covered.

My comment earned me a break in the serious expression. I let him pull me from the sofa and I made him wait while I popped two more Motrin for the road. I was on day eleven of my period and there was no sign of it letting up, but at least it had finally downgraded from ultras to regulars.

I tried to see the silver panty liner whenever I could.

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