Page 154 of Baby Girl
This whole time?
This whole fucking time?
That motherfucker.
I’m going to kill him.
Chapter 81
Derek
Hustling out of the bathroom, still wet, with my towel around my waist, I check the time on my bedside clock as the third ring of my doorbell is accompanied by the sound of someone pounding on my door.
Five twenty-two.
It’s too early for the Japanese I ordered to have arrived and almost an hour earlier than the pre-confirmed time for the others to appear. And even if this does turn out to be the three of them, they all have keys in case of an emergency.
Which begs the question, who the hell is banging on my front door like their life depends on it?
Cold air mixes with the water droplets clinging to my skin as I grip the tuck-knot on the towel and march through my house to the door, irritation ticking up with every step making my chest burn. “I’m coming!”
The banging gets loud, and somehow, even more insistent, which is pushing all my buttons. Then they ring the doorbell, again, and I can actually feel my blood pressure spike.
Cranking the deadbolt, I turn the knob and yank the door open, ready to tear whoever is on the other side a new asshole. “What—Emery?”
The fight leaves, replaced by a whooshing sensation like I’ve just been launched out of a plane non-consensually.
“Where the fuck are they?” Fire burns in her eyes with a viscous ferocity. Cheeks pink, hair falling from the scrunchie hanging lopsided from her head, and an outfit that looks like she threw it together as she flew out of her dorm.
She’s never looked more gorgeous.
“Where is what?” My hand tightens around the towel, very aware that I do not have enough clothes on for whatever is happening right now.
I’m not sure if the sudden prickling sensation all over my skin is from the blast of cool evening air or from the dawning realization that my chickens have come home to roost.
“Don’t play stupid, Derek.” She practically spits my name as she takes a step closer to me, index finger jabbing into my chest. “It looks fucking ridiculous on you. Where the fuck are mysketch pads, Teddy, and my graphite? I know they’re here. They are mine, Derek. Mine. I want them back.”
Her advancement into my space has me automatically stepping back as I try to catch up with her.
Sketch pad.
Teddy.
Graphite.
Fuck.
“Emery, come inside and we can—" I start, needing to get control of this conversation, however I have the distinct feeling that I may have already lost that battle.
“Oh, you bet I’m coming in-fucking-side, asshole.” Emery steps into me again, forcing me to step back enough that there is a gap she can pass through and into my house. Her voice is so far removed from the usual even-toned, lightly attitude-filled one that I’m used to that it throws me more so than her actual presence. “There is absolutely zero chance of me leaving here without my things.”
But it’s the lack of tears that has icy cold rolling down my spine.
She is furious. Burn-the-world-to-the-ground rage consumes her.
And I don’t blame her.
She’s right. I am an asshole.
