Diplomacy is the only way to go.
“Don’t scream,” he says calmly.
I shake my head, my hand automatically going to my neck. “I won’t.”
His gaze follows my hand as it brushes across my throat.
I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.
I need to calm my ass down.
Only that’s hard to do, with a son of the mob breaking into my house while I wash dishes.
My heart floods with ice water as I consider my brother and sister asleep down the hall. They could’ve heard the scuffle. They could hear…whatever is about to happen next.
“When does your mother get home?” Vince asks, like he’s paying a social call.
“Soon.”
What, he expected me to tell him he had the house to himself for a while?
Cocking his head to the side, he regards me with a seemingly solemn expression. “Let’s not start off with lies, huh?”
My face flushes, despite the ridiculousness of him expecting literally anything from me. “I’m not—I don’t know when she’ll be home. She’s off work already, but she went to her boyfriend’s house after. She really could be home any time. And she doesn’t know anything,” I add quickly.
Eyebrows rising, he says, “Well, at least we don’t have to pretend you don’t know why I’m here.”
I hug myself, running my hands up and down my arms. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even see anything, really.”
“That so?” he asks, reaching into his pocket and extracting a thin, rectangular object.
My stomach rolls over as he offers up my cell phone.
“You can have it back,” he states, regarding my discomfort with amusement. “Obviously I had to delete the video you took—you know, of that thing you didn’t really see.”
I don’t even reach for my phone, and I definitely can’t meet his gaze. “All I saw was you walking out of a house.”
“That seems like a boring thing to record. Those cute little videos of your siblings, those seem worthwhile…” Pausing, he jerks a thumb in the direction of the hall and pulls a frown. “I imagine they’re sleeping right in there, huh?”
I narrow my eyes at him, but words fail me. The unspoken threat lingers, just because of who he is. “You don’t have to make veiled threats. I’m not going to say anything. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even call in the fire. I didn’t want to get involved,” I say quietly, my eyes dropping to the floor.
Vince soaks that in, then leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. “Why were you out there in the first place?”
The truth feels too embarrassing, but I don’t have a lie prepared and I’m no good at coming up with them on the fly. “I was making a phone call.”
Lifting a disbelieving eyebrow, he questions, “In your backyard?”
“We have thin walls. I didn’t want anyone to hear the call. It was stupid.”
“Ah.” A knowing nod. “Boyfriend? It’s not that tool bag, Bradford, is it?”
My face burns.
Vince utters a noise of disgust. “Guy’s an idiot. You could do better.”
Before I can think better of it, I retort, “Yeah, well, there just aren’t enough mobbed up arsonists to go around.”
His brown eyes narrow and he pushes off the counter, taking a step toward me.
I automatically step back, my eyes not moving from his. I am floored by my own idiocy. That was such a stupid, stupid, stupid thing to say, but I force a wavering smile. “What, you can’t take a joke?”
“It’s an odd joke, considering you didn’t see anything,” he reminds me.
Bile threatens to rise up my throat and I curse myself a hundred times. I’m talking to someone who has committed criminal acts, not bantering with a hot guy at school. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“I didn’t.” My voice sounds weak as he continues to advance on me, taking two steps forward to my one step back and eventually his arm shoots out, grabbing me by the wrist. I squeak, literally squeak, and then his hands are on my shoulders, swinging and pushing until the counter’s pressed against my back. It’s suddenly harder to draw air into my lungs. Vince stands so close I can feel the body heat roll off his chest.
Even though it couldn’t possibly do any good, I implement my four-year-old sister’s favorite hiding technique and close my eyes.
“See,” Vince says, his voice still low and even, “when you say a thing like that, it makes it seem like you’re lying to me.”
“It was a stupid thing to say. It slipped out.”
“Exactly.” His fingers brush my chin and I jump, my eyes popping open and quickly meeting his. “If something like that happened to slip out again, say in front of someone else—”
“It wouldn’t,” I insist. His fingers are still trailing along the curve of my neck. I catch a shaky breath, distracted by the weirdly pleasant sensation. His hands continue their journey and before I realize what he’s doing, his hands, positioned around my neck, begin to squeeze.