Page 52 of Not On Your Life

Lyndi waves her hand. “Oh, I know about the dog.”

“What dog?” Ward pokes his head around the fridge door.

“Hot dogs for dinner?” Lyndi asks her husband sweetly before kissing him on the cheek.

His worried expression melts away like chocolate on a hot day. “Sure.”

Lyndi turns to me with a whisper. “We are still working him into the idea. Anyway, come here.”

“Girl, you’re playing with fire,” I mutter as I stand up.

She grins and smacks her husband’s butt on our way out of the kitchen. “Good thing I know a sexy fireman.”

I’m going to have to stop visiting.

She leads me down the hall to the spare room. There’s a simple, light pink dress hung up on the back of the door and on first impression, it’s beautiful.

Lyndi hands it to me. “Let’s see if it holds up.”

I gingerly lift the straps off the hanger. It comes free without snagging. We are already off to a good start.

“You can change in the closet.”

I scowl, aiming the empty hangar at her. “You have no idea how traumatizing that was.”

She props a hand on her hip. “I still think you wasted a perfectly good opportunity by not making out with him for four hours.”

Only she would think that.

I snort. “You think I would kisshim? My lips wouldn’t touch his if he was the last man on earth.”

“I think you’re lying to yourself.”

“I would not. I can’t even… that’s not even possible.” I sputter.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” Lyndi’s eyes go wide. “You’re flustered. He’s got you flustered.”

“Pfft. He does not.”

She’s always had such a flair for the dramatic.

“I can see it.” She points to my forehead, and I frown at the finger in my face. “You’re changing your mind about him.”

“Nope. He’s still the devil.”

But even as I say it, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve overlooked a few things. Like the fact that he teaches underprivileged youth.

Surely even the devil had some redeeming qualities before he was cast out? He gave me the shirt off his back to keep warm. Though it might have been a ploy to make me stare at his muscled torso and the light brown dusting of hair across his chest, the perfect length to slide my fingers through. I only know because that was how I woke up, with my hand splayed across his warm chest. It was simply cold in the closet, and he was warm. I would never touch him like that while lucid.

Lyndi studies me with narrowed eyes like she can read my mind. I turn away, carrying the dress to the bathroom to change. I will not encourage her wild ideas. Nor will I allow myself to think back to the closet and the moments Ididn’twant to kill Connor. Or the way his laughter bounced around the room, making the tiny closet feel bigger and warmer, safer.

I’ve tried so hard not to focus on the things that happened in that closet, but no matter how far I push him from my mind, Connor’s words jump right back.Put the evidence together…tell me why I can’t escape you.It’s the guilt. That’s all it can be.

I slip out of my clothes and into the dress. It fits me like a glove—a breathable one this time—and I study it in the mirror. There are no gaping holes threatening to expose me and no seams bulging around my backside. It’s not super fancy, but casual and beautiful at the same time. It’s perfect.

I step out of the room, and Lyndi screams so loud I’m afraid an ax murderer must be standing behind me.

“What?” I jump behind the door to save myself from Lyndi’s imagination.