“No, you don’t understand—”
My patience slipped another notch. She was not getting out of this. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll get in first, but you’d better be right behind me, or I’m throwing your cute little ass in.” I ran at the water, jumping in where it looked deep enough. The cool water slid over my head. I stood, the water coming to my chest. “Get in here.”
“No way.” She shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. “I’ve lived here long enough to know you don’t swim here. Not with George.”
“Who?” I looked left and right. Nothing to be seen but the smooth, barely rippled surface of the water, and the tall reeds that banked it. The mud slid between my toes as I flexed them deeper.
“George. He’s—”
“Stop making excuses and get in the water. I can’t teach you to swim if you’re on land— What the fuck is that?” Two rounded eyes appeared thirty feet away, lingering above the surface of the water…coming this way. Fast.
“Get out!” she shrieked.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I kicked forward, swimming for the shore as fast as I could, wishing I hadn’t come so far out to start with. I made it to the bank and didn’t pause in my headlong flight to the car. I scooped up Paisley, tossed her over my shoulder, and barreled for the door.
I swung the door open and shoved her inside. She scrambled over to her seat as I jumped in mine, slamming the door home. “Seriously! What the fuck?”
We both swiveled our heads toward the shore where a very large, very green alligator ambled out of the water and onto the bank. He opened his mouth wide, like he needed to show me those massive freaking teeth, and snapped his jaw shut.
“That is George,” Paisley said, and she had the audacity to laugh breathlessly. “George is why you don’t swim here.”
“George.”
She reached over the space that separated us, patting my leg like she was soothing a puppy. “It’s okay, tough guy, he doesn’t eat people.”
“He’s an alligator!”
She smirked, the corner of her mouth raising just high enough to start my blood flowing to the area of my body I didn’t need it to. “American alligators don’t eat people. Well, they’re a last resort, really.”
“You screamed at me to get out!”
“Well, I certainly didn’t want you to be his first.” Her green eyes sparkled in laughter.
“And to think you trusted me not to poke fun at you?” She had the nerve to flat-out laugh, and damn it if it wasn’t contagious. My hands flexed on the steering wheel. “You’re a handful of trouble, Paisley.”
“So I’ve been told.” Her smile killed me.
I threw Lucy into reverse and whipped her around. My shirt went flying off the hood.
“You’re going to lose—”
“Let him have it.”
“Honey, I’m home,” I called out as I dropped my keys and cell phone on the entry table next to Grayson’s.
“Fastest swimming lesson ever,” he answered, straight-faced, from the kitchen.
“Yeah, well, there was an alligator.”
“A what?” He pivoted, almost dropping the marinara-soaked spoon onto the floor.
“Don’t ask. Dude, you cook?” I hadn’t smelled anything so good since I left— Yeah, not going there.
“Dude,” he mocked me, “you don’t?” He motioned to the island. “Make yourself useful and start layering lasagna noodles.”
“That I can do.”
“Good. Maybe I’ll make a man out of you yet.”
Grayson was hard to get a read on. He’d shown up on the first day of class asking if anyone knew of a cheap place to rent, having spent every last second he could with his family in North Carolina before coming down, so it was take him in or leave him to fend for himself.
I’d taken Josh in as a roommate for the same reason—he put his family first, and I figured that had worked out, so why not take the chance.
I washed my hands and started the base layer, laying the noodles the way Mom had done on the days she’d been well enough to cook. “This all for us?”
“Well, I couldn’t get a flight home this weekend.” His jaw flexed. “And I figure we’ll be eating like POWs in SERE school next week.”
Ah, yes, Survive, Escape, Resist, Evade. Where we’d learn to eat bugs and shit if we crashed our birds. A whole three weeks of mind-blowing fun. “Good idea. Garlic bread?”
He shot me a look that blatantly told me to go to hell. “What do I look like?” He cracked a half smile, which was more than I’d ever gotten out of him, and motioned his head toward the fresh-baked Italian bread on the counter.
The guy didn’t miss a beat. “Awesome.”
“There’s steaks in the fridge for dinner, too.”
Holy shit, I lived with Guy Fieri. “Beer?”
He raised an eyebrow at me but didn’t bother to answer. Of course there was beer. “There was mail for you.” He used his head again to motion to the coffee table, keeping his hands busy with the lasagna.
Once we were finished, I opened the bill and grimaced. At least I knew where she was, even if it cost me a fortune to keep her there. Knowing was precious, because not knowing, worrying about what the fuck she was doing, was agonizing. I’d been there a few too many times.