Splintered (Splintered, #1)(23)

He grinds a knuckle into the door’s scrollwork, his jaw working back and forth. He’s ticked about something, all right. What could it be? I’m the one who deserves an apology. A groveling, in fact.

“Can I come in?” Red sparkles under his lip where a brand-new garnet labret catches the light. The mystery of the bag from the jewelry store is officially solved.

“How adorable,” I mock. “Taelor gave you lip jewelry … and it’s sparkly.”

He nudges the piercing with his tongue. “She’s trying to be diplomatic.”

Anger rises in a white-hot surge as I remember London and all the things Taelor said to me. “Of course she is. Because she’s eight kinds of wonderful, and that’s just her legs.”

Jeb furrows his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Taelor has all the diplomacy of a black widow spider. Garnet’s her birthstone. You’re wearing her birthday on your lip. Talk about spinning you up in her web.”

He looks down at me, frowning. “Cut her a break. She’s had a bad enough day. She lost her purse with some money in it.” Pausing, he traces a finger along the door’s frame. “The last place she remembered having it was at your store. But she figured you would’ve contacted her if you’d found it. You didn’t see it, right?”

I push down the guilt nudging me. “No. And I’m not her royal majesty’s purse keeper, FYI.”

“Seriously, Al. A little compassion, okay? Didn’t you hurt her enough already?”

“I hurt her?”

“Rubbing it in her face that her dad doesn’t care like yours does. You don’t understand what it’s like. Your dad. You’re so lucky to have that. Neither of us ever did. You know she’s sensitive about it. That was cold.”

Speaking of cold, my blood turns to ice. I’m dying to tell him what she said to prod me into being so vicious, but I shouldn’t have to. There was a time when he trusted me enough to take my side over anyone’s without question. Now he’s always trying to make Taelor and me play nice. But I’m not the one with the problem … other than being a liar and a theif.

Everything presses down on me: the weird discoveries, my busted-up friendship with Jeb, and my damaged family. I feel like I’m smothering. I try to slam the door. Jeb’s foot intercepts it. I jerk clear as the hinges swing open.

His palm rests on the knob so I can’t try to shut him out again. Rain droplets glisten along his sleek hair, which no doubt took gallons of glaze and hours to perfect. It’s the one part of his appearance Taelor will actually approve of. As for me, I favor the messy look—hair out of sorts, body slicked in sweat with motor oil or watercolors splashed across his olive skin. That’s the Jeb I grew up with. The one I could count on. The one I’ve lost.

I harden my glare and my heart. “If that’s why you came by, to bite my head off about hurting your perfect girlfriend, consider it done.”

“Oh, no. I’m not even warmed up. Jen texted me. She heard from Hitch. I guess he’s not as bad a guy as we thought, because he was wondering what kind of trouble you’d gotten yourself into. Why you need a fake passport tonight.”

My throat shrinks. I want to slip beneath the cracks in the linoleum. “I can’t do this now,” I mutter.

“When else would be a good time? Maybe you can text me when you’re on the plane.”

I turn around, but he follows me into the entryway. Rounding on him before he can cross into the living room, I fold my arms over my bustier, trying to subdue the urge to punch him. “You can’t come in without an invitation.”

He leans a shoulder against Alison’s framed photo of a wheat field at harvest. “That so?” His boot heel nudges the door behind him, shutting out the storm and the scent of rain. “Last I checked, I wasn’t a vampire,” he says, his voice low.

My fists clench tighter, and I step backward onto the line of carpet that borders the edge of the living room. “You sure have a lot in common with one.”

“Because I suck?”

“More proof. You just read my mind.” I ease one hand up to grip the key hidden beneath my T-shirt.

Jeb reaches for my other wrist, wrinkling my fingerless glove as he pulls me back into the entryway with him—close quarters with my fluffed-out miniskirt rustling against his thighs. “If I could read minds, I would know what’s going on in your head to even consider traveling to a foreign country alone in the middle of the night without telling anybody.”

I try to break free, but he’s not having it. “Hitch is a tool. I said I wanted a fake ID, not a passport. He got them confused.”

Jeb releases me, but there’s still tension between his eyebrows. “What would you need a fake ID for?”

That fluctuation in my head comes alive, lapping at my skull, teasing me to push Jeb’s buttons and watch him squirm. “To hit a few bars and pick up guys. Live a little. Get some life experience. You know, so I’ll be ready to go to London in time for your royal wedding to Taelor.”

The venomous outburst has the desired effect. Jeb’s expression changes to something fierce yet fragile, like a mix between hurt feelings and wanting to strangle someone. “What’s going on with us?”

I shrug and stare at my boots, pushing down the prodding sensation inside me. Rain patters against the windows, expanding the bubble of silence between us. I turn to escape into the living room, not even caring about the state I left it in.