Crashed(book three)(89)

I can’t count how many times I’ve picked up the phone to call him—to hear his voice, to see how he’s doing, to just say hi—but I can’t. I know better than anyone that until Colton lets me back in to his barricaded heart, a call won’t do any good.

I frost the cake I’d made earlier as a little reward for Zander’s bravery today, when my phone rings. I look over at the screen and push ignore. It’s an unknown number and most likely a journalist wanting to pay me handsomely for my side of Tawny’s story. She’s told the press that I am the mistress who broke up her, the pregnant victim, and the love of her life … Colton.

The only blessing is that the paparazzi have not discovered The House yet. But I know it’s not long until they do, and I’m still trying to figure out what do I do then?

And for some reason, the story Tawny’s painted makes me laugh. I don’t believe the inside scoop on Page Six that says she and Colton have rekindled their love affair. I was in Colton’s house. I know how much he despises her and everything she represents. That’s not why I’m sad.

I just miss him. Everything about him.

The funny thing is, this time around, I’m not worried he’s going to turn to another. We’ve passed that hurdle and quite frankly adding another woman to the mix would just complicate his life further. No, it’s not him turning to another woman I worry about, it’s him not turning to me.

Voices break through my thoughts as I cut the potatoes up for dinner. I catch Connor saying, “The douche bag’s here again.”

“We could always egg him.” That one was Shane.

What in the heck are they talking about?

“Hey, guys?” I call out to them as I wipe my hands off and head out to the living room. “Who’s here again?”

Shane tilts his head toward our front window. “That guy,” he says, pointing. “He thinks he’s so incognito parked over there.”

“Like we can’t see him,” Connor interjects. “And don’t know he’s a photographer. Camera’s a dead giveaway, dude.”

I’m immediately pulling the curtains back, looking down the street. Before I even spot the car, I know what I’m going to see. The dark blue sedan is parked a couple of houses down partially hidden by another car. I had completely forgotten about it.

At least this lone paparazzo is greedy and keeping my whereabouts quiet so he can get all the monetary gain for himself. For that I can be grateful. But it also means that if he’s figured it out, others will soon follow wanting to get the scoop from the home-wrecker I am purported to be.

Fuck! I knew The House’s anonymity was too good to be true.

“C’mon guys. Time to—”

“That’s so cool that you’re gonna be famous!” Connor says as he starts walking down the hall.

I start to correct him when Shane does it for me, with a playful shove to his shoulder. “No she’s not, dickweed! Colton’s the one who’s famous. Don’t you know anything?”

“Hey! Clean it up!” I shout after them.



“Thanks for picking me up.”

“Not a problem,” Haddie says as she guns the motor when the light turns green. “It was kind of fun teasing the photographers, although I don’t think any of them believed me when I said you were hiding away inside the house.”

I groan. It’s taken a while to get used to photographers milling about the house, but now I fear that the few I’m used to will turn into a whole yard full. “Dare I ask?”