Page 23 of No One But Us

Ginny and I walk into the house from the beach, and he’s sitting there waiting, arms folded across his chest. “You got flowers.”

He says this as if the flowers have inconvenienced him somehow.

I turn to look toward the kitchen but see nothing. Ginny, behind me, asks the question. “Are they invisible flowers?”

“In the laundry room,” he grumbles.

“Why the fuck would you put her flowers in the laundry room?” she demands.

I don’t bother listening to his response while I go in search of them.

The bouquet is massive. My first thought is that they can’t be for me. Ryan has given me flowers before, but he’s more the type to steal them from someone’s yard—or grave—than this. And this bouquet is hardly a “Come back to me, college girlfriend” one anyway. It says something more along the lines of “Marry me, Kim Kardashian.” It’s that big. Like a bouquet that ate all the others around it right before it left the shop.

I approach the card cautiously. Maybe my father, apologizing? File that under Things Least Likely to Happen in This Lifetime.

The card is written in curling, feminine script—clearly a flower store employee did the work—but its contents make my skin crawl.

“Ugh,” I groan. I grab the whole vase and march to the trash can, where I am body-blocked by Ginny.

“Stop!” she screams. “That’s, like, $500 worth of flowers! Are you crazy?”

I shove the vase at her. “Fine,” I say. “Now they’re yours. But I don’t want to look at them.”

She sets them down and grabs the card off the counter, reading it aloud. “‘Elle, you are the springtime I dreamed of so desperately during the cold winter chills. Edward’ Did he write that? What the hell does that even mean?”

“It’s Wagner,” says Max easily. “Act One of The Valkyries.”

“Damn, Max,” replies Ginny. “The drugs haven’t killed all your brain cells after all.”

James’ voice comes next, a low growl that sends a chill up my spine. “Why the fuck is he sending you flowers?”

I round on him. “Why are you acting like I’ve done something wrong?”

His jaw sets. “I didn’t mean that to come out the way it did. That guy just makes me sick. It’s time you told him to cut this shit out.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” I snap.

But there are really no words to express the dread I feel at the prospect.

I wait until they’ve all left for work to make the call. I also time it, conveniently, during Edward’s show. I leave him a voicemail thanking him for the flowers but telling him it needs to stop.

“I’m really not interested in that kind of a relationship,” I say, flinching even though he can’t respond. I know, as I hang up, that I should have been more clear about this from the start. From the very first time Edward called me, I should have stated, unequivocally, that I was not interested. It was childish not to. I suppose if I want James to think of me as an adult, I might want to consider acting like one.

Chapter 16

ELLE

A few afternoons later, I walk into the den where the guys are collapsed on the couch. James is shirtless and tan, legs spread wide. I have a brief image of all the things I could do to him in that position, and find that I’m actually shaking my head to dispel the thought. If he’s going to act like I don’t exist, the least I can do is try to pretend he doesn’t either.

“I have a friend coming into town this weekend,” I announce. “Do you mind if he crashes here?”

James does not look pleased by the question. His brows come together as his jaw sets.

“He?” asks Max.

“Yes,” I sigh. “He.” The truth is that he is Ryan, my ex. When he texted to tell me his band was coming to town at the end of June, I was tempted to delete it, but I couldn’t. It’s impossible not to be friends with Ryan. Even people who want to hate him can’t quite pull it off. He sucks you into his orbit, no matter how hard you resist. And with his looks, he sucks you into other things, too—things I’d rather avoid. God knows I could use a distraction from James, but Ryan is a particularly dangerous distraction.

Max is still smiling. “And is he someone who will be staying in your room, perchance?”