The Arrangement Anthology 2(55)

CHAPTER 8




My heart slams into my ribs, stealing my breath. Suddenly, I don’t want to know who is on the other side. If it’s someone I know, I don’t think I could bear it, even if it’s Henry. Maybe I’m stupid, I don’t know, but I can’t fathom the thought of being responsible for someone’s death.

You already are, the voice in the back of my head says flatly.

What have I become? I don’t want this to be my life. I want the picket fence and the little house. If I had a glittering pair of red shoes I’d be clicking the heels like mad right now, taking me and Sean out of this place. Why did Sean come back here? This was a horrible plan!

The knock comes from the door again and as I step toward it, time slows. I’m aware of the air around me, which is stagnant. The scent of stale smoke and Amber’s perfume fills my head as I reach for the knob. I can’t stand it. I want this to end, but I don’t want it to be now. I’ve had enough. My brain is so fried that I can barely hold it together. Adrenalin races through my veins making me feel like I ate a crate of Pixie Stix. I can barely stand still. As I lift my fingers for the knob, they shake uncontrollably. Voices fade away so that the only sound I can hear is my heart.

My eyes sweep the room one last time. I glance at Sean peering through the door and take in the clock’s glowing numbers blinking to 3:58pm. Amber’s PJ’s are on the floor like she rushed out this morning. Nothing is out of place, except for Sean hiding in my roommate’s closet.

Dread trickles down my spine as I pull the door open. I try to throw a casual smile on my face, but I suspect it looks like I ate a live lobster and he’s fighting to come back up. I’m staring at a guy that I’ve never seen before. He has tanned skin like he’s outside often, with dark hair, and even darker eyes. He laughs and thrusts a clipboard at me. “Sign here and I’ll bring it up.”

“What?” I blink and remain where I am, standing on my side of the threshold.

“You have a delivery. I don’t normally bring up packages this large to the dorms, but Central Holding didn’t want it. They said to bring it directly to you.” The man is still holding the clipboard, but I haven’t taken it. “So I get to carry a hundred pound box up several flights of stairs.” His dark brows pinch together before he removes his brown hat and cocks his head at me. “You did order a huge-ass package, right? A chair, couch, dresser—something like that?”

At the same time I say, “No,” Sean appears behind me and says, “Yes.”

The guy looks up at Sean and thrusts the clipboard at him. “Sign here.” Sean takes it and signs, before handing it back. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

Sean pulls me back into the room and closes the door. He runs his hands through his hair and looks at me sheepishly. I press my finger to his chest and ask, “What did you do, Sean Ferro?”

He grins—damn he’s beautiful when he smiles like that—and runs his hands over the back of his neck, stepping away from me. “Nothing. An engagement present. It wasn’t supposed to get here, yet.”

“What is it?” Sean is acting so shy that my curiosity banishes every other worry floating through my head. What would make him act like that? What the hell did he get me? For a split second, I wonder if there’s a woman in that box.

“I can’t tell you. Wait and see—it’s a surprise.” He glances at the floor and then back up at me as bright patches of red stain his face.

My jaw drops. “Are you blushing?” I try to catch his gaze, but he won’t look at me. I duck under his nose and chase him around the room for half a second before cornering him against the wall. “Mr. Jones, what could possibly make you blush?” Taking his chin, I make our eyes meet. “I’m a little nervous and very excited to find out the answer to that question.”

“It’s not what it is.” He’s smiling, laughing almost. He brushes my hand away and tries to push past me, but I don’t let him.

“Then what is it?”

His lips curl as he tries to hide the smile that’s on his mouth. He shakes his head and laughs. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“I hate waiting.”

“I know.” I stomp my foot and look out the window. “You are not going to help him carry it up here.”

Folding my arms across my chest, I glance back at him. “Fine.” How does he know what I’m thinking? I’m still not sure if I like that he can read my mind or if it freaks me out. I decide to turn things around on him, because I can read him just as well. Rounding on my heel, I march up to him, and poke his chest. “So, a little thought occurred to me.”