Caveman (Wild Men 1) - Page 325
“What do you think you’re doing, Evie?” he demands, his voice sharp. “Where are you?”
“I’m an adult now,” I say through gritted teeth. “I don’t have to give a report to you.”
“Is that right?” His tone chills me. “You really don’t care that we’re worried about you?”
“What do you have to be worried about? I told you, I stayed with a friend.”
“A friend? Are you sure? Because Blake told me you were wandering the streets again and talking to shady people.”
“Shady people? Are you kidding me?” Anger rolls through me like fire. “Blake followed me and threatened to hurt anyone I’d talk to on the street, and you listen to him?”
“Oh, come on, Evie. Blake wouldn’t do that.”
“So now you’re saying I’m lying.” My eyes burn. “I don’t lie, Joey. He’s scaring me.”
A silence greets my words. Then Joel says, “Blake isn’t like that. You know that. He saved your life, Evie. He’s the one who called the ambulance for you, you—”
“I know, all right? But how did he know where to find me?”
“What? You’re being paranoid. He just happened to be there!”
“I don’t trust him, Joey.”
“Dammit.” He sighs. “Mom and Dad want to have a serious talk with you.”
Crap. “I can’t do this anymore. Having to explain my every action… I need out.”
“What do you mean?” Quiet. Resigned. I think he knows what I’m about to say.
“I need to move out.”
This time the silence stretches far longer.
“Evie…” He grunts, and I hear a sound as if he’s kicking something. “Will you be careful?”
“I’m always careful,” I say. “I didn’t cause the accident. You know that, right? It could have happened to anyone.”
He sighs again. “I know. Can’t help worrying about you, sis.”
This makes me smile. “I worry about you, too. Hey, did you finally ask that brunette out yet?”
“What brunette?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about, Joel Kingsley. The girl working on campus, in the library. Ethel?”
“Ellen.” He chuckles. “No progress on that front.”
That’s my brother. I missed him. Before Blake and the accident, things were always like this between us: easy.
“I’ll talk to Mom and Dad,” I say. “After work today.” I tug on the sleeve of my jacket. “Will you be there?”
“Maybe.” He tsks. “What will you give for me to be there?”
It startles a laugh out of me. “You’d extort your own sister?”
“To get you to bake me those chocolate brownies of yours? You bet. At least two dozens, sis.” He’s still chuckling as he disconnects the call.
Bastard. But I’m grinning as I head to work, patting down the new jeans and blouse I bought yesterday with Cassie. I refuse to acknowledge the swarms of butterflies in my stomach.
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