Page 4 of Riot

Thankfully, I hadn’t dropped my phone. I’d just paid to get the screen repaired last week.

Miguel leaned one shoulder against the counter, a beer dangling from his fingers. “My bad.”

“No, thanks.” Thoughtful of him, though. Very hospitable offering me a beer from my fridge, in my house, from the case I’d bought yesterday.

Me: Creep in kitchen with me.

Niles: Offer him a slice of the apple pie your mom made.

I stared at Niles’ text in disbelief.

The fuck was wrong with him?

First of all, I’d made the pie. My mother barely had enough energy left to shower after working two jobs. Second, I wasn’t offering Miguel anything except maybe directions to the nearest cliff.

Heat clung to the kitchen, causing sweat to slide down my temple. I just wanted to grab some food and go to my room before I had a heat stroke in front of Miguel. He looked like the type to grope an unconscious guy.

After setting my phone face down on the counter, I swung the fridge door open, then groaned as the cold air hit my face.

“There’s water in there too,” Miguel said behind me.

“I can see that.” Like I needed him explaining the contents of my own refrigerator.

I reached for the deli meat, mostly to give myself something to do besides acknowledge how close he was standing. If I stepped backward, I’d hit him.

A beer bottle appeared at the edge of my vision. Miguel reached past me into the fridge, his arm brushing mine on the way back.

My shoulders tightened immediately.

The worst part was he knew exactly what he was doing.

I froze for half a second before setting the package of meat on the counter like that had been the plan all along. To make a sandwich, not devour the lasagna I’d spent hours making two nights ago.

Miguel twisted the beer cap off and took a drink. His eyes stayed on me over the bottle.

Apparently, he planned on lingering back here forever.

I shut the fridge harder than necessary and went to the cabinet for bread.

“Still jumpy,” he said, leaning a hip against the counter.

“I’m not jumpy.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “You almost launched your phone across the kitchen.”

Because you keep sneaking up on people like a serial killer.

I grabbed the loaf of bread and stepped sideways. Miguel shifted just enough to let me pass. Just enough to make sure I noticed he was allowing it.

My skin tried to crawl off my body. An urge to shove him away overwhelmed me, but that calculated look in his eyes flatlined the thought instantly.

“You still living here full-time?” he asked.

“Obviously.” I kept my attention on the counter while I opened the bread bag. Eye contact might trigger his crazy button.

“Must get lonely with your mom working so much.”

The way he said it made my shoulders tense again. Like he wasn’t talking about the house. Like he was trying to figure out how alone I was here.