Page 32 of Ruthless Creatures

Just not me.

He looks up at me with his chin still lowered. “I feel bad about how we left it the other night. I think I was kind of a jerk.”

Oh. That. I’d already forgotten.“Don’t be silly. You were a total gentleman.”

He examines my face in silence. “Yeah? Because you look upset.”

It’s amazing how men assume any emotion a woman is feeling must somehow be directly related to them. I’m sure I’ll be suffering from a menopause hot flash one day twenty years in the future and the idiot in line behind me at the grocery store will think I’m red-faced and sweating because he’s too hot to handle.

Trying not to sound unkind, I say, “This is usually the weekend I get upset every year, Chris. Yesterday would’ve been my fifth wedding anniversary.”

He blinks, then his eyes widen. “Oh. Shit. I didn’t even—”

“Don’t worry about it. Seriously, I’m okay. But thanks for checking in with me, that’s thoughtful of you.”

He’s wincing like he just kicked something and broke his big toe. “If I would’ve known it was this weekend, likeyesterday,I wouldn’t have… I mean I would’ve… Fuck. That was really bad timing.”

“You couldn’t have known. You didn’t live here when it happened, and I never told you. So please don’t beat yourself up about it. We’re cool, I promise.”

We stand there awkwardly, until he notices the envelope in my hand.

I whip it behind my back and swallow, curling my fingers around the key.

When he glances back up at my face with an eyebrow cocked, I know I look guilty.

Shit.

“I was just, um, going through some drawers and I found this, um, key that I think my parents must’ve left.” My shrug tries for nonchalant, but probably looks shifty as hell. “I was trying to figure out what it might be for.”

“You could text them a picture, see if they recognize it.”

“That’s a really good idea! I’ll do that. Thanks.”

“Though it’s probably just a spare house key. You’ve got a Kwikset lock and dead bolt.” He nods at the door. “Their keys are all a standard size and shape. Did you try it yet?”

“No. I literally just found it.”

“Let me have a look.” He holds out his hand.

Unless I want to look ridiculous—and guilty of something to boot—I have no choice but to hand it over.

He takes it from me and holds it up. “Nope. This isn’t for your front door.”

“Oh. Okay.” I reach for it. “I’ll just take that back, then—”

“It’s for a safety deposit box.”

My hand freezes in midair. My voice comes out high and tight. “A safety deposit box?”

“Yeah. You know, at a bank?”

My heart pounds. The urge to snatch the key from his hand and slam the door in his face is almost overpowering. Instead, I tuck my hair behind my ear in an attempt to appear as if I’m not going completely insane.

“At a bank. Uh-huh. And how do you know that?”

“I have one just like it. Same size and shape, with that square top. Even the numbers on the head are the same.” He chuckles. “Well, not thesamesame. That’s the box number.”

Because I’m having a hard time concentrating on not going cross-eyed with impatience for him to leave, I make a noise that’s supposed to meanOh, I see, how very interesting.