“Ben is a fucking pussy. That’s what he is. And anyone associated with him is a fucking loser.” He spews his venomous insults like he’s shooting a machine gun, one right after the other.
“Hmm, looks like I hit a nerve,” I chuckle, bracing myself against the door handle. I’m on hazardous ground, and there’s no telling how he’s going to react.
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? You don’t know shit about me and Ben!” he rages on.
“So there is a ‘you and Ben’? Interesting.” This is almost fun.
He drives the Jeep over a snow bank and against a curb. “Not another word. Do you hear me?” His voice is so low. It scares me. He’s leaning over me again and I don’t like it. I’m just about to get out of the Jeep when his phone rings.
“Yeah?” he growls, answering it.
I sit up in my seat as he draws back, straining to hear the other side of the conversation. That was close, but if we have to stay in this Jeep much longer, I don’t think he’s going to be able to control his temper. I know how he is.
“You want me to take her where?” he asks, wrinkling his brow.
Oh great, this sounds promising.
“Lauren, are you sure?” he questions her, shaking his head.
What evil plan has the wicked witch cooked up now?
“All right, but I think you’re crazy,” he needles her. “Yes, she can hear me. So what?”
So Lauren doesn’t like me seeing the discord in their ranks. Why am I not surprised?
“You owe me big time for this because I don’t want to go anywhere near that place,” he seethes, his eyes narrowing.
Oh God, where is he taking me?
“Fine, I’ll call you when it’s done,” he scowls. “Bye.”
The tires squeal as they turn helplessly against the snow, striving for any type of traction. That’s it. If he has to get out and push, I’m stealing his Jeep and leaving him here. It’d serve him right.
But somehow he gets it moving again and heads out into the countryside. I glance worriedly as the familiar landmarks start to get fewer and fewer and we enter into a territory I’ve never been before. The Jeep is chugging hard through the snow, since these back roads aren’t cindered or plowed. The only thing saving us is the four-wheel drive. Despite our unknown destination, I cross my fingers, hoping we make it because we’re miles away from any kind of assistance out here.
Soon, a clapboard house comes into view. It’s small but in good repair. It’s old, but it has a cozy feel to it, like it’s been lived in for generations. It’s definitely giving off a homey vibe. So why is Ryan so irritated? Can the person who lives here really be that bad? Visions of the gingerbread house that ensnared Hansel and Gretel float through my mind as I swallow the lump in my throat.
The porch light is on like someone’s expecting us, and the snow has been swept off the steps. It’s not exactly rolling out the welcome mat, but whoever it is at least is making an effort to be hospitable.
“All right, get out,” Ryan barks, gesturing toward the house.
“What you’re not coming with me?” I ask, suddenly not wanting him to leave.
“This is the end of the line for me, babe. I’m not going anywhere near that place.” He holds up his hand like he’s wardening off some type of voodoo curse.
“Well, thanks for going out of your way to reassure me of your stepsister’s wacky intentions. What the heck I am supposed to say when they open the door? Do they even know who I am and what I’m doing here?” I stall, trying to buy some time.
“It’s all taken care of,” he remarks offhandedly, but I don’t feel reassured.
“I don’t have any of my clothes or even a toothbrush with me—” I entreat him, but he’s prepared for this.
“Lauren’s got it under control. She’ll be sending over what you need, including a laptop so you can get to work. That’s why you’re here, right? To work?” His stare gives me the creeps, like I’ve sold my soul to the devil and now I’m Lauren’s slave for life.
“Awesome,” I deadpan, lowering one foot out of the Jeep and into the blistering snow.
Ryan doesn’t wish me goodbye or good luck or anything to send me on my way. So I slam the door and hustle onto the porch. I don’t even get a chance to knock as the front door opens, and I rush inside to get out of the wind.
I’m still trying to catch my breath as the roar of the storm fades into the background. There’s a fire blazing in the hearth, and two cups of cocoa are situated on a tray next to an oversized recliner. The TV is on and a cat is stretched lengthwise on top of the couch. The whole scene screams comfort and joy.
I wheel around, lowering my scarf, and find myself face to face with an absolute stud. I openly gape at him, not quite believing what I’m seeing. I was expecting an ax murderer and instead I’m gazing at an Adonis.
“You must be Ivy,” he smiles at me. “I guess we’re going to be roommates for a while. Let me take your coat so you can warm up by the fire.”
I automatically obey him without thinking twice. I hand him my wet things robotically, as if in a trance. He looks at me with compassion, and his eyes remind me of someone, but my brain is too jumbled to make the connection.
“Do I know you?” I ask, trying to place him in my mind but failing miserably.
“I don’t think so,” he chuckles.
“But you look so familiar,” I mutter, drinking him in.
“A lot of people tell me I resemble my brother, so that’s probably why,” he remarks, shrugging his broad shoulders.
“Who’s your brother?” I ask as he offers me his arm as I start to wobble a little while removing my boots.
“Steady there,” he says, his voice deep and warm. “I don’t want a pregnant lady falling under my roof.”
“You seem to know everything there is to know about me, but you still didn’t answer my question.” I glance up at him, trying not to focus on the fact that my hand is wrapped around his bicep.
“Well, being the unemployed older brother of the star quarterback isn’t something I like to brag about,” he admits, staring down at me.
“Wait a minute. Your brother is—?” I stutter, realizing the full awkwardness of the situation Lauren has placed me in.
“Ben,” he replies, gauging my reaction. “I’m Tim, the leading man of the screenplay you’re about to write. Pleased to meet you, Ivy Thompson.”