Page 78 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

“Seriously?”

“Do you want to get me arrested?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“The security guys take stalking seriously.” I can picture him pacing the street. “You need to tell them that I’m not here to stalk you.”

“Why are you here?”

He chuckles without humor. “For some reason my sister is under the impression that I’m mean to you. She’s extremely angry and won’t cool down until you tell her we’re friends.”

“I can’t imagine Meredith gettin’ angry.”

“She doesn’t have red hair for nothing.”

22

My sister, who is rarely angry with anyone, ordered me out of her house,” Oliver says as he tosses the wool jacket he’d been wearing earlier onto the couch. “I’m almost cuffed and taken in for stalking, and you are the common denominator in both events.” He’s wearing an old green T-shirt tucked into what looks like a pair of even older jeans. “I forgot how vindictive you can be.”

“First of all, I only have your word on why Meredith’s mad at you. Second, I’m not vindictive.” Edie might have been, but I’m done apologizing for her. “I’m just not goin’ to let you push me around and call me names.”

“I never called you names.”

“You made fun of my accent. Insinuated that I’m dumb.”

He walks toward me and doesn’t bother to deny it. “You called me an asshole.”

I fold my arms beneath my breasts and don’t bother to deny it either.

“I don’t think you’re dumb.” He raises his hands palms up, then drops them to his sides. “Anymore.”

“Well, I still think you’re an a-hole.” I’m not riled enough to say the real word. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I don’t have all day.”

His brows come together over his green eyes. “I’m here because your family and mine have visions of us being in the same room without wanting to kill each other.”

I shrug. “It’s not my fault. I tried to get along with you, but you’re too bitter over something in the past.” I walk to the couch and turn off Housewives. “You’re holdin’ on to memories and carryin’ a grudge for somethin’ that I know nothin’ about. I don’t share your memories.” I toss the control pad onto a shaggy white throw. “I don’t have a grudge.”

“What do you call yelling ‘stalker alert’ with security ten feet away from me?”

That’s not a grudge. “I call that the consequence of you bein’ born in a barn. Everyone knows you don’t just show up uninvited or, at the very least, that you call first.”

He moves to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water like he owns the place. Like I didn’t accuse him of having the manners of a barn animal. He unscrews the top and asks, “What’s it going to take?” before raising the bottle.

I walk to the kitchen, push him out of the way, and grab a Jones soda. Water spills down his T-shirt, and I guess I should apologize, but apparently I’m holding a grudge after all. “What’s it goin’ to take for what?”

“For you to get past it and move on.” He wipes water off his chin with the back of his hand.

My jaw drops a little. “Well, don’t that beat all with a stick.” I pop the top and take a drink of berry lemonade. “Tell me somethin’. Why am I bein’ blamed for what happened—what, how long ago?”

“Seventeen years, but it started years before that when I got invited to skipper the Whirlwind for the Neptune’s Revenge Regatta, and you didn’t.”

“How old were we?”

“You were thirteen. I was sixteen.”

That makes him thirty-three, which makes Meredith my age. “Was I a better skipper?”

“You thought you were.”