Page 134 of The Rival's Obsession

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I rush past the table and tug open the massive front door.

My breath punches out of me in a wave of relief.

There it is.

Little brown box.

Untouched.

Still sealed.

I bend down, snatch it up, and call back, “Yeah! Everything’s fine!”

The box is light but somehow heavy in my hands.

Like it knows it almost exposed me.

I’m already taking the stairs two at a time when I hear her behind me.

“Hold up, mister.”

Shit.

I turn halfway. She’s standing there, hand on the banister, still in her pale yellow cardigan and slacks, watching me with that look only moms have—the one that sees way more than you want her to.

“What’s in the box?”

“Just a new jockstrap,” I say quickly. “For rugby.”

That does the trick.

She makes a face, waving it off like she doesn’t want to go anywhere near that conversation. “Okay, well, Elaine’s off today, so we’re on our own for dinner.”

Ah.

That explains it.

No housekeeper today. That’s why the package was still outside.

Thank God.

“We’ll order takeout in about an hour, so get your homework done.”

“Okay,” I call back, already halfway up again.

I try to walk casually once I reach the top landing, even though my heart’s still beating out a frantic rhythm.

Box clutched tight.

Every step echoing like I’m walking a tightrope.

I don’t stop until I’m behind my door, and toss the box on the bed.

And then I finally exhale.

I turn on the music like I always do when I study. Lo-fi beats, mellow and steady—something I can pretend to focus to. Nothing out of the ordinary.

My heart’s racing, fingers twitching with the urge to move faster than I should. I drop my bookbag to the floor and reach for the box.

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