“How? With money, which he already has? Quarterback of the football team? Check. Eugene wasn't bad looking, and he was fit as hell. Add in the money aspect, and I'm sure he had no problem getting girls. What could possibly get him to stay quiet?”
“Not bad looking?” Spencer asks, but I ignore him, rolling with this idea and feeling super clever about it, too.
“And,” I stand up from the bench and spin, my feet stirring the gravel. The wind blows, tousling the messy mat of blond on my head. I push my glasses up with a single finger. “If they left him alive, there'd always be this loose thread, this possibility of seeing everything fall apart. The killers would never be able to rest easy.”
“Yeah, but what could he have possibly seen out there in the woods? Some assholes in hoodies putting a rope in a tree? One good lie could explain that all away. Until Eugene's death, they hadn't exactly gone so far they couldn't come back from what they'd done. A knife chase, some notes, so what?” Tobias shrugs his shoulders. “I think something else is going on, something we're not getting.”
“Whatever it is, we have to start somewhere,” Micah says, nodding his head briskly. “One lead at a time. If you want to start with Mr. Murphy, fine. Let's do it.”
“Great. Now all I need to do is come up with a plausible reason to visit Dad in the teacher's lounge. That'll be fun.” I roll my eyes, but Spencer's grinning broadly and snapping his fingers, like he's already figured it out.
“Tell him about us, you know, dating and all that.”
“I never agreed to date,” I murmur, flushing bright. But … why not? What's stopping me here? I glance briefly at the twins and find them both staring at me. Their words ring in my head: we only share with each other.
Yeah.
No reverse harem ending for me.
“But okay.” I exhale, and Spencer grins wide.
“Yeah?” he asks, and I shrug my shoulders. “Why not?” He makes a whooping sound and a fist pump as the twins exchange a look. When he leaps off the bench and wraps his arms around me, I put my own around his neck, close my eyes, and remember that sweet, sweet moment when I woke up to find him climbing into bed with me.
For the rest of my life, I'll never forget that joy.
So … Spencer Hargrove is my new boyfriend.
And I just have to say, what a huge improvement over the old one.
Fuck you, Cody.God, this is never going to work, I think as I stand outside the teachers' lounge. The door is locked, so I have to wait for one of the staff to come by and open it.
Just so happens it's Mr. Murphy.
Great.
He stares at me, and I stare right back.
“Is my dad in there perchance?” I ask, pointing at the door. Mr. Murphy glances that way, and then back at me.
“Let's find out,” he says, pulling out his keys.
The keys I came here to steal.
He unlocks the door and then opens it, standing to one side with his back against it, so I can look in and see my dad sitting at a table with a bunch of stuffy old academy professors.
Deep breath, Charlotte, try to be cool.
I am so not good at this.
Instead of calling out to my dad, I step into the room and head straight for him. Mr. Murphy makes a small sound, but I ignore him, laser-focused on my father. Right, and how am I supposed to get Mr. Murphy's keys from him when they're in his fucking pocket?
“Charlotte,” Dad says, standing up from his seat. “You're not supposed to be in here.”
“Yeah, but … we need to talk,” I say, hating every second of this. Am I seriously just going to blurt out that I'm dating Spencer? Dad's going to look at me like I'm nuts. He's going to wonder why I felt the need to come here and spit that out.
My mind scrambles for another plan, but instead, Dad puts a heavy hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze, his face taking on this dark quality that scares the crap out of me.
“Come with me,” he says, leading me toward the door and right past the coffee station where Mr. Murphy's making himself a cup. Great. We end up in the hallway, this heavy awkwardness hanging between us in a shroud. “I agree that we need to have a chat. Have dinner with me tonight at seven?”
“I … okay,” I start, blinking to clear my head. “Is Mom okay?”
“Mom is fine,” he says, looking at me with this weird mix of sadness and tenderness. It's odd, that expression, one I've never seen before. “Don't be late, okay?” he pats me on the head—totally out of character move for him, by the way—and then turns, only to realize the lounge door has shut and locked itself in the meantime.
