Page 37 of No One But Us

“Are you sure?” she asks. “Because it smells like something’s burning.”

“Boys,” I call out. “Do you smell anything burning?”

They both say no. I try not to gloat.

“Fine,” she snaps. “I’ll set the table.”

Set the table? Are we the Rockefellers now? I raise a brow at Ginny, cutting strawberries, but she doesn’t acknowledge it, acting as if she hasn’t heard a word of our conversation. And if she did, I’m sure, she’d fall squarely on Team Allison.

“You barely have enough plates,” says Allison with a sigh. “And where are the napkins?”

“We just use paper towels,” I reply.

She opens the refrigerator. “And no juice either. Ginny, do you want to walk to the store with me?” Ginny drops her strawberries so fast you’d think she was a puppet led by Allison.

James sighs. “This isn’t brunch at the Ritz Carlton, Allison. We’ll live without juice.”

Allison stops in place, but instead of replying to him, she turns to me. “Are we safe leaving you with Max and James?” she asks. “Is it only married men you seduce?”

“Allison,” says James, and there is no longer flexibility in his voice. “That’s enough.”

I am momentarily speechless.

“You told her about Edward?” I finally ask as the door shuts behind them.

“No,” he says. “Ginny must have.”

“Dude,” says Max. “What the fuck is going on? I’ve never been a fan of Allison’s, but that was fucked up, even for her.”

“She got the wrong idea last night about something, and now she’s losing her shit over it.”

“Got the wrong idea about what?” asks Max.

James glances at me swiftly before his eyes drift shut. “She’s threatened by Elle.”

“As well she should be,” quips Max. “No woman wants to walk in and find her boyfriend sharing a house with a freaking model, especially one with a rack like Elle’s.”

“Shut up, Max,” says James.

“Tell me where I’m wrong,” he argues.

Allison’s dislike bothers me more than it should, probably because I know she views me the same way people in my office did: as some kind of man-stealing slut.

But honestly, what’s upsetting me right now has nothing to do with that. What really hurts is Ginny, and her complete defection to the other side. She didn’t try to defend me in the least.

I pull the cakes out of the oven and set them on top of the stove. “I’m out of here.”

“Where are you going?” asks James.

“Elsewhere,” I say. “I’ll be back in time for the party.”

I head upstairs for my purse, but before I’ve even grabbed it, James appears, filling the entire frame of the door.

“Don’t leave,” he says, sitting on the end of Ginny’s bed. “Don’t lend credence to what Allison says by running off like you’ve done something wrong, because you haven’t.”

“I’m not running off,” I say quietly. “But for whatever reason, I seem to create tension for Allison. This is your weekend with her, and neither of you should have to deal with that. It’s just two days.”

“You’re not creating the tension. It was already there, and she wants to blame it on you.”