Page 225 of Silver Sweet

She whirls around, and I’m immediately taken aback. Not from her light-brown hair, parted in the center. It’s her face—round, big blue eyes, and prominent ears sticking out from the wind-knotted strands—that reminds me of Harriet Fisher.

“Phoenix,” Tom says, on edge, as he motions a stiff hand toward the woman. “This is Hope Danes. Harriet’s mom.”

The mom that kicked Harriet out at sixteen, forcing her to sleep in her car, I’ve learned.

Rage.

I feel visceral, pummelingrage.“Hi,” I say, not nicely.

“I was just telling her that Harriet doesn’t live here.” Tom pats his thighs for his phone, but his pockets are empty. We both left our phones in the bedroom. “Did Harriet say anything about her mom stopping by?” He’s asking me.

“No.” I block Hope from beelining down the hall.

“Harriet wouldn’t have said anything,” she says, adjusting the long leather strap to her fringed purse. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

“How did you pass through security then?” Tom asks with bugged eyes.

“I just talked to the front desk.” She shrugs. “Took me some time, but I knew they’d let me through. Everyone tells me I could sell sand in the desert.”

Tom threads his hands on his head, and I’m wondering if they have a panic button in their apartment. Because he looks like he wants to push it.

“I’m not here for Harriet,” she tells us. “I’m here for her boyfriend. Benjamin.”

“It’s Ben,” Tom says. “Just Ben.”

“I must’ve read it wrong then.” She shoos her hand. “Doesn’t matter.”

Tom doesn’t ask where Hope got her sources. Probably because Ben and Harriet upload couple pictures on social media, which tabloids started reposting. But Tom said they’re minor headlines—that Ben isn’t famous enough like their parents to garner a constant paparazzi presence and rabid fanbase.

Harriet’s mom canvasses the bookshelves and view.

I head back beside Tom and put a hand to his shoulder. “Go get your phone,” I whisper.

“I’m not taking my eyes off her, dude,” he hisses.

“Fine, I’ll get mine.” I’m about to move when Hope locks eyes with me and Tom.

“I wanted to warn her boyfriend,” she says. “But I might as well warn you two since you seem to know her.”

I glare. “Warn us about what?”

“Harriet is…to put it bluntly—a whore.”

The fuck.

Tom glowers. “Excuse me?”

I run a hot hand against the back of my neck. Acid in my throat.

“She’s a whore,” Hope says more confidently, brows arching. “She has seduced my boyfriends, neighborhood boys, any man with a dick between his legs. Something is not right with her—and she will cheat on Benja—Ben. She will cheat on Ben the first chance she gets.” Her cheeks redden a little as she looks between us. “Tell me I’m not too late. Has she propositioned you yet?”

“We’regay,” I snap.

“That wouldn’t stop her.”

My eyes sear.

“Get out,” Tom says fiercely. “You need to go. Like right now.”