You’re damn fucking right I was.
“Good,” he said. He smiled again. “I’ll let you—oh. Wait. One more thing.” He lifted up the center console and pulled out his phone. He glanced down at it as he typed on the screen. A moment later, my phone vibrated in my pocket. He looked back up at me. “Marina gave me your number earlier. Figure it’s best if you have mine too.”
“Swell,” I managed to say. “Just… swell.”
“Text or call whenever you need. I’m here for you, Corey.”
I felt like screaming. Instead I stumbled out of the Jeep, only keeping upright through sheer force of will. I shut the door behind me and told myself it wouldn’t look good if I ran up the walkway to the house and slammed the door to be safe.
I expected him to pull away from the curb.
He didn’t.
He waited until I was at the front door, fumbling with the knob. He didn’t leave until I opened the door, and it hit me then that he was being a gen
tleman.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
He honked the horn once as he drove away.
I shut the door behind me, slumping against it, trying to catch my breath.
Sandy appeared out of nowhere.
I screamed. Which in turn caused him to scream too.
“Why are we screaming?” he cried at me.
“You scared me!”
“Oh! I’m really sorry about that!”
“You should be!” I realized we were still screaming, so I snapped my mouth closed, trying to calm my racing heart.
“Why are you all sweaty?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously. It didn’t look like he’d been home long, as he was still wearing his work clothes, though the tie had been loosened.
What the hell was with this third degree? “It’s hot outside,” I snapped at him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we live in the desert.” I pushed myself off the door and brushed past him.
He started following me. Because of course he did. “I don’t think you’re being truthful with me.”
I threw up my hands. “God, I’ve been home for a minute and you’re already harping on me. Get off my back. It’s like I can’t ever have a moment’s peace.” I set my backpack down on the kitchen table and went to the fridge. I was so worked up, I felt like having a beer. And then I remembered that beer was empty calories and also disgusting (and that we’d never actually had beer in the house before), so I went for a Mike’s Hard Lemonade. I twisted the lid off savagely and tossed it onto the counter. I knocked back a few good swallows. It burned on the way down.
Sandy was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, hands clutched near his throat. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”
I looked off into the distance, wallowing in all my man pain. “Darlin’, I don’t know if you ever did.”
Sandy gasped.
I took another drink. It made me feel good, like a real drink should. I looked around the kitchen, a scowl on my face. “I see that dinner’s not ready yet. Or has even been started. Is it too much to ask to have my steak ready for me when I get home?”
Sandy sagged against the wall. “I try,” he whispered, “so hard to make this a home. But you can’t even appreciate all the things I do for you. You only point out everything that’s wrong.”
I laughed bitterly. “That’s because everything is always wrong.” I took another deep swallow. “Did you even clean today?”
“Who is she?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”