Now the lack of planning left me unsure of clothing. I needed a shower and a washing machine desperately. If this continued much longer, I’d have to find a store or laundromat.
Another two minutes passed with me staring at myself in the mirror and silently questioning the life choices that had brought me to this point. I wanted adventure, but I assumed it would come as travel or having children. I rarely watched action movies because I found them unrealistic.
Yet, here I stood a day after surviving a drive-by about to go digging in the woods to give a strange man I met in a deserted office building a thumb drive. A drive my boss gave me an hour before he died.
If this were a movie, Brad Pitt would definitely be staring.
Hopefully, they cast Sandra Bullock as me. She had such class.
I couldn’t hide out in the bathroom any longer, so I wandered out into the house, slowly peeking into a few of the other bedrooms. Corbin stopped his tour of the place in the living room, and I didn’t want to snoop too much by exploring.
My once critic and now hopeful savior stood in the kitchen leaning up against one counter with his feet crossed and kicked out in front of him. The pizza box from last night sat beside him propped open as he munched on a stiff piece of the pepperoni and cheese pizza.
“Oh, you’re back already?” I asked, noticing he’d had time to change his clothing. How did he look so refreshed when I resembled a two-day-old bagel?
And where was breakfast? When we both scrambled off the couch after being caught sleeping beside one another, he left in a hurry, promising to come back with something chocolatey. I didn’t ask questions because I’d never turned chocolate away, in any form or time of day. Plus, I needed a minute to compose myself.
Corbin cocked an eyebrow at me and tilted his head to the side as he continued to chew on the old pizza. What did he do with my chocolate?
And why wasn’t he talking? Barely ten feet separated us, but the room was eerily quiet. Corbin had this way of looking at you as though you were a crumb on the ground, and he would walk past you and let the maid suck you up with the vacuum. But right then his expression said something else entirely.
I thought we’d moved past the jerk phase, but how Corbin stared at me now said otherwise. No, he didn’t stare. He leered, as if he took stock of everything about me and found me lacking. A deep form of discomfort settled in my stomach, and my anxiety rose to a new height.
Did he decide not to help me after all? Did surviving a drive-by shooting make him reconsider his commitment to my problem?
Corbin swallowed and shifted his feet. The noise seemed loud in the otherwise quiet room.
And why didn’t he just tell me?
The leering stare was really making me uncomfortable. In the time I spent with Corbin yesterday, he never once made me feel uncomfortable, even when we were running for our lives. Well, duck and rolling for our lives.
Other things were different about him this morning too. Corbin had excellent posture, but it never made him look like an asshole. The way he now leaned up against the counter with his feet kicked out and his torso stiff made him one.
I stared at him, trying to figure out what changed between the two of us. Was he upset about my drool on his shirt? It would dry and I’d wash it for him if he asked. In fact, he probably had a housekeeper to wash clothes for him. If he was that upset about the shirt, I’d buy him a new one.
“See something you like?” he asked, pulling the pizza far enough away from his mouth to speak.
I squinted at him. Something else was different. His voice was the same but rude. “Not really,” I said truthfully.
Maybe yesterday he was nicer because he was coming down from being shot at—one of those near-death experience things. Was this the real Corbin? He slightly reminded me of the man who turned me away in his office. No way would I find myself attracted to him.
Obviously yesterday had been a fluke.
The night before, I’d practically been ready to jump in the sack with him. If I hadn’t passed out from exhaustion—it was a rough day—who knew what might have happened?
Now I was glad I dodged that bullet.
But what changed?
Corbin laughed and tossed his unfinished pizza crust in the sink. Last night he ate my leftover crust without even asking. He also ate my cookie at the bakery. Corbin had a habit of taking my food.
I wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible. Whereas earlier I’d been upset that today he’d have the thumb drive and we’d move to the next step of my problem, forcing me to leave him, eventually. Now I needed to finish this.
Anything to get away from Corbin.
He didn’t scare me so much as hearing him sounded like nails on a chalkboard going off in my brain.
“Should we—” the door opened on the other side of the kitchen and stalled my words mid-sentence.