Girl Crush(22)

Fuck.

I had two choices: Call Beck and hope she didn’t ask questions—which based on her outburst before I’d left her house was slim to none—or stop by and hope Collier was home. Or three: Hope his car was unlocked in the driveway, and my stuff was still in it.

In my twisted psyche, the last seemed the best choice. I put on a black tank top and black jeans, threw my hair in a knot on top of my head, and found my darkest sunglasses. Because in my mind, dressed in solid black in broad daylight was less conspicuous than shorts and a shirt…coupled with the neon-yellow Camaro that screamed subtly, I proceeded in ninja-stealth mode.

I slowed as I neared the entrance and saw the 911 right where I’d hoped it would be. But instead of pulling in behind him so I’d have to back out, I pulled along the edge of the property, parallel to the road. With the car idling, I jumped out and looked for witnesses. Seeing none, I ran up to the Porsche and tried the handle.

Locked.

With an obnoxiously loud and sensitive alarm system.

I panicked. As if jerking on the handle would open the secured door, not only did I try the driver’s side twice in my haste, but I also ran around to the passenger side and tried it instead of aborting the mission. When I heard the front door open, I glanced up, not in the direction of the porch, but rather the neighbors who were watching me like I was a thief—although I’ll mention, none of them tried to stop me.

“Giselle?” Collier was closing in on me. “Giselle! What the hell are you doing?”

It dawned on me, the car was empty. Had I bothered to look before touching, I would have seen my stuff wasn’t in the floorboard. Just before Collier reached for me, I took off toward my car, jumped in the driver’s seat, and threw it into gear. Only to realize I was sitting at a dead end and had to do a three-point turn to get out of the neighborhood.

By the time my three-point turn morphed into a sixteen-point fiasco, Collier now stood in the middle of the street with his massive arms folded across his chest, his feet shoulder width apart, and a scowl that took over his features. Anger. Fury. Something stronger than rage stood between me and freedom. But even as much as I didn’t want to face him, I couldn’t exactly run him down, so I surrendered and pulled over.

Either Collier was in an incredibly good mood, or he felt sorry for me, but I liked this personality—the other two frightened me.

“Why didn’t you just knock on the door?” he asked, squatting at the side of my car so he was at the window.

My face and shoulders shrugged without an answer.

“Seriously, Giselle. I would have given you your stuff back. I wasn’t holding it for ransom. I wasn’t expecting you to be here last night and didn’t have your number. Beck hasn’t been home since you left, so I didn’t have a way to call you.”

This guy was a totally different person when his sister wasn’t nearby. Like Jekyll and Hyde, but I couldn’t remember which one had been the psycho. Either way, he was the nice one as long as Beck wasn’t within earshot…or maybe even the town limits. He invited me in, and my bag sat in the kitchen on the counter and appeared to be packed.

My nose scrunched at the sight of it and the thought of his vomit-ridden clothes being tucked inside.

His laugh caught me off guard but in a good way. A pleasant surprise. “I cleaned the inside and washed your clothes. Your purse is in there, too, but I didn’t go through it, so whatever is in there was there to begin with.”

Instead of being grateful, the thought of him touching my panties weirded me out—like I was fifteen, and he might have sniffed them…or worse, worn them. Nothing about Collier told me he was a pervert, but I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind.

He held his hands up in surrender. “I promise I didn’t do anything to your stuff. Nothing weird or gross. I didn’t even touch individual garments. Scout’s honor.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Were you even in the Boy Scouts?”

“Not one day.” He winked at me and set my mind at ease.

I glanced over in the living room to an enormous amount of food.

“You hungry?”

“Are you feeding an army?”

“Some of my friends are on their way over to watch the game. You’re welcome to stay. That is if you don’t mind hanging out with a group of middle-aged men.”

It sounded safe enough, and I had a few hours to kill before I needed to meet Roxie. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

West didn’t mention that his “group of middle-aged men” were all incredibly good looking and equally single, but I was sure it didn’t occur to him since he thought I feasted on tacos.

They were all good-natured sports fanatics who yelled too loudly, burped too much, and ate like hogs at the trough. I wasn’t a fan of football. I didn’t dislike it; I just knew nothing about it. I laughed at them all acting like fools, hollering at a referee who couldn’t hear them and wouldn’t have cared if he could.

“West, what time we doing dinner?”

There was no way these buffoons could be hungry. They’d just eaten lunch.

“I can order pizzas now if you want? There’s another game on after this one, and I’ve got plenty of beer.”

I bolted upright from my lounged position on his enormous couch. “Oh, shit. What time is it?”