Free Never Gonna Tell by Sarah M. Ross Page B

personally would hurt me. Would he? He forms a half-smile, and the fire in his eyes is back. My throat dries out, and I can’t look away from the heat in his gaze.
    No, I can’t let him pull me in. I look away and focus on what he said. His tone isn’t angry or concerned. He seems … indifferent. Neutral even. What does that mean?
    It doesn’t matter. His current tone, fake smile, or smoldering stare don’t change what happened last night or the danger I’m now in. I need to assure him I’m not looking for any trouble. I do my best to assuage him, putting on my own bright, forced smile. “What about last night? I went to the library and came straight home. That’s it. End of story.”
    Marco sighs. “Look, we don’t need to pretend that—”
    “Really, Marco,” I interrupt. “Nothing. Happened. Got it? That’s my story, and you can tell your family that I’m stickin’ to it.”
    He’s irritated by my answer, scrubbing his hair out of his face. “I’m not here to hurt you or threaten you or anything. I just want to talk. Explain. Make you see—”
    I scoff in disgust. “You want to talk ? Explain what? There’s nothing you can say that will make any of that okay or justified in my mind.”
    I’m yelling now, my “play it cool” act gone as my temper rises. I can’t believe he has the nerve to come here and try to rationalize— calmly rationalize, no less—the murder of a man. Have he and his family done this so often that he thinks it’s okay? No, I don’t want the answer to that. I shudder at the thought.
    Mr. Slater, my neighbor, stares at me from across the street as he walks his dog, Coco. Marco steps in front of me, glancing around nervously. “Um, can we go inside and talk?” The question is more of a statement, and as he steps around me to get inside, his jeans brush up against my legs, causing me to glance down.
    Sweet. Jesus.
    I’m not wearing any pants. I only have an oversized “How can I miss you if you won’t go away?” tee shirt on. That’s it. All the blood drains from my face and now I’m sorta wishing I was dead too. Or at least that this is some horrible nightmare.
    I dare to glance up at Marco and am further mortified to see him staring down at my legs appreciatively. The small smirk is back at the corner of his mouth, and suddenly the fiery look he was giving me makes sense. Great, he’s a pervert to boot.
    “I’ll be right back.” I don’t offer any additional explanation as I rush for the stairs, taking them two at a time to get to my room and away from the look in Marco’s eyes.
    I take my time while I’m upstairs, not really in a hurry to go back down and face Marco. The first thing I do is search for my phone to see how close Charlie is. He texted me five times.
    “My mom flipped when I tried to leave. She took the keys. U Ok?”
    “Ugh. This sux. I h8 being stuck here.”
    “Tell me UR ok. Do I need to get a bus ticket? U know I will. She’ll get over it. It’s not like she hasn’t left me before.”
    “Worried about you! Call me!”
    “I swear Rea if I don’t hear soon from U I am calling UR mom”
    The last text was forty-five minutes ago. I can’t call Charlie now, not with Marco downstairs. I just need to get rid of him. I type out a quick text telling Charlie that I overreacted and I’ll call him later to explain everything—my watered-down, lying-out-of-my-ass version of everything anyway. I throw on some jeans and a bra ( great googly moogly, I hope I wasn’t flaunting any nippage when we were outside. That’s worse than no pants!). I brush my teeth and hair before deciding I’ve wasted enough time and Lord knows what he’s doing alone in my house.
    The smell of coffee permeates the downstairs, and I follow it into the kitchen like it’s the Pied Piper. Marco stands at my kitchen counter, tapping his fingers impatiently as the Keurig works its magic. A second, already-brewed cup of coffee sits next to him. “I didn’t know how