The Wife Upstairs(22)

There’s a dull flush creeping up his neck, his lower lip sticking out just the tiniest bit, and once again, I am so relieved that this is it, the last time I’ll ever have to talk to him.

But soon, people like John Rivers won’t even exist to me. He barely exists right now.

“I never wanted to sleep with you,” he mutters, his tone still sulky. “You’re not even hot.”

That would’ve stung once upon a time. Even coming from someone like John. I’ve always been aware of how completely plain I am, small, nondescript. And I’ve definitely felt it when I look at pictures of Bea, her dark, glossy hair swinging around that pretty face with its high cheekbones and wide eyes. That body that was somehow lush and trim at the same time, in contrast with my own straight-up-and-down, almost boyish body.

But Eddie wanted me. Small, plain, boring me.

It made me feel beautiful, for once. And powerful.

So I look at John and smirk. “Keep telling yourself that,” I say, then I turn and walk out.

I’m not sure hearing a door close behind me has ever been this satisfying, and as I walk back to the car, I actually welcome the slap of my heels, love how loud they are.

Fuck. You, I think with every step. Fuck. You. Fuck. You.

I’m grinning when I reach the Mercedes, and I grab my keys, pressing the little button to unlock the doors. It takes me a moment to realize that there’s a familiar red car parked just across the parking lot, and my first thought is that it’s weird anyone here has that nice of a car.

It’s not until Eddie is stepping out of the driver’s side and walking toward me that my brain fully absorbs that it’s his car, that he’s … here. In Center Point. In my shitty apartment complex.

Seeing him is so jarring that my instinct is to run away, to jump in my car (his car, my asshole brain reminds me), and get the hell out of here.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says as he approaches, keys dangling from his fingers.

“You followed me?” I blurt out, glad I’m wearing sunglasses so that he can’t see my full expression. I’m rattled, not just because it seems weirdly out of character for Eddie to follow me, but because he’s here. He’s seen this place now, this ugly little hole I tried to hide from him. Doesn’t matter that I’m leaving it all behind. The fact that he knows it existed at all makes me feel close to tears.

Sighing, Eddie shoves his hands in his back pockets. The wind ruffles his hair, and he looks so out of place standing in this parking lot, in this life.

That sense of vertigo gets stronger.

“I know,” Eddie says. “It’s crazy and I shouldn’t have done it.”

Then he gives me a sheepish grin. He’s not wearing his sunglasses, and he squints slightly in the bright light.

“But you make me crazy, what can I say?”

Even though the sun is beating down on us, I feel a chill wash over me.

Eddie is romantic, for sure. Passionate, definitely. But this … doesn’t feel like him.

You’ve known him for about five minutes, so maybe you don’t actually know him, I remind myself.

There’s only one way to play this. I smile in return, rolling my eyes as I do. “That is so cheesy,” I say, but I make sure to look pleased, tugging my lower lip between my teeth to really sell it.

It must work, because his shoulders droop slightly with relief, and then he steps forward, sliding his arms around my waist.

Pressing my forehead against his chest, I breathe him in. You’re being stupid, I tell myself. I’m so used to men lying to me, manipulating me, that now I see it where it doesn’t exist. Maybe Eddie is the type to go a little over the top when he’s into someone. There could be all sorts of stuff about him that I haven’t worked out yet.

“Are you the boyfriend?”

We both turn to see John standing there on the stairs in his T-shirt and loose sweats. He’s barefoot, his hair greasy and sticking up in spikes, and observing them near each other, it’s hard to believe he and Eddie are from the same species.

“So it seems,” Eddie replies, his voice easy, but I can feel him stiffen slightly, his muscles tense.

“Cool,” John mutters, his eyes darting between the two of us, clearly trying to make sense of what’s happening here.

Eddie is still smiling at him, still friendly and relaxed, but there’s something radiating off him, something dark and intense, and when I glance down, I see that his hand is curled into a fist at his side.

John doesn’t notice, though, walking down the steps to stand right in front of us. This close, I can smell his sweat, smell the sugary scent of whatever cereal he was eating.

“Jane owes me two weeks’ notice before she moves out,” he says, and Eddie’s eyebrows go up.

“I don’t,” I say. “That’s not even a thing.”

“It is,” John insists, and I see this as the desperate grab for control that it is. Doesn’t mean it sucks any less, though, and my face has grown hot in that dull throbbing way, a blush creeping up from my chest.

“Send the paperwork over to my lawyer,” Eddie says, fishing around for his wallet before pulling out a business card. He keeps grinning at John as he hands it to him, and I see John’s eyes flick between the card and Eddie’s face before he takes it.

“Will do,” he says, but I know this is the last we’re ever hearing from John Rivers. His kind of bullshit only barely works against women with no options. Against someone like Eddie? With his nice car and casual use of “my lawyer”? John has nothing.