Dangerous Exes (Page 51)

“Eat pancakes.” My voice muffled against her shirt. “Murder Jessie.”

“You know we’d get away with it easily, we know people,” she said encouragingly.

My chest pricked with more pain as I tried to suck in a breath.

The thought of him gone only made me more sad.

I was still angry.

So angry.

But a world without him was like a rainbow without color.

I hung my head to the sound of Goo-Poh yelling at Colin in Chinese. A pan dropped, more yelling.

Blaire wrapped an arm around me. “So, what are we going to do?”

“Let Jessie live . . . save Colin from certain death.”

“And the wedding?”

My throat felt like it was closing up. “I wish I knew.”

Chapter Fifty-Nine

JESSIE

I’d sent flowers to her office.

I wrote her a poem.

It sucked, but it was still a handwritten poem, on paper. Red paper.

Luckily, Colin finally agreed to hang out with me as long as I promised not to talk about Isla or ask where she was. Not that it mattered, Goo-Poh already told me.

She was mine.

And I would break through every single wall Colin put up in order to hunt her down and tell her just how much I cared about her.

How much I wished I could reverse my bad choices, and at least confess to her and let her help me solve it.

I told her I wanted to be a team.

And the minute I had a chance to act like it.

I handled things on my own.

The Jessie Beckett way.

The way I was always used to handling things, with my killer smile, money, influence, power.

I handled it like the old Jessie.

When I should have handled it with her.

I was just scared shitless she wouldn’t give me a chance to explain, and now I was even more screwed.

Colin’s knock was the only warning I got before he jerked open the door to my house. “Hey, so—holy shit!”

I looked up from the couch. “What?”

“What. The. Hell.” He did a slow circle and then faced me. I knew what he saw, an explosion of red, a mixture of other colors, life. “Are you okay? Do I need to call someone? Are you . . . have you snapped?”

He whispered the last part like I was a small child.

The walls were painted a muted blue to match the kitchen, and I’d added deep-brown leather couches to the living room, a few spots of color on the throw pillows, and traded in a few of the white kitchen appliances for red ones.

Because. Red.

“Yeah, can’t you see the drool, I’m heavily medicated, high as a fucking kite, but I feel great. Did you know that even when the TV’s off people are still talking?” I forced a laugh at his horrified expression. “They talk to me. They tell me things.”

“Uh, cool, man.” He took a tentative step toward me. “What, um, what do they say?”

“Things.” Oh hell, this was the most fun I’d had since . . . her. I swallowed past the lump and shrugged. “They say they’re trapped.”

“Trapped?”

I nodded and whispered, “In the TV!”

“Are they now?”

“Yup, but don’t worry. I’m working on a plan to set them free.”

“Jessie, maybe we should talk to someone—”

“I’m shitting you, you dumbass.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not having a breakdown, though good to know you’d stick by my side if I was.”

“Yeah, I was about ten seconds away from running out the door and calling in reinforcements, so . . . maybe don’t put too much faith in our friendship.”

“That’s why I called you a dumbass,” I added.

“Oh, good.” He nodded. “So . . . care to explain?”

“Explain what?” I got up and walked into my kitchen to grab a beer from my fridge.

My red fridge.

Hey, I think it matched the rest of the decor nicely, so what if it was a little . . . loud. At least I could sleep now.

The white was driving me crazy.

“You have wall art,” Colin said slowly. “Your kitchen looks like a red bomb was dropped in the middle of it, damn, is that a mixer? Do you really have a KitchenAid in here?”

“I’ve been trying to bake.” I shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”

“This, this isn’t normal.” He took one look at the beer in my hand, walked over to my minibar, poured two shots of whiskey, and downed them, then winced. “Normal behavior is getting drunk at a bar, having a one-night stand, going on vacation, or in your case buying a new car in white . . .”

“Hilarious.”

“You said color gives you hives.”

“Well, it doesn’t anymore.” I closed my eyes as fresh pain washed over me, and then took another sip of beer.

“Holy shit, are those red barstools?” He pointed.

I gave him a shove. God forbid he’d go into my bedroom and see the purple.

I’d done it on a whim.

I needed color so bad that I literally was ready to take a marker to my walls like a toddler, and then I went to Target.

I just wanted to think.

And I ended up leaving with three carts full of shit that I found great joy in putting in my house. Actual joy.

The only downside was that I wanted her to be with me.

I wanted her to experience it with me.

I saved two rooms for her.

Just like I saved hope in my heart that she’d come back and fill them up, fill the house up with her laughter, her baking.

Just her.

“Lost you there for a minute.” Colin waved in front of my face. “You seem like you’re doing better than you were.”

I lifted the beer to my lips and shrugged, then said, “Still won’t tell me where she is?”

Colin looked ready to blurt something when the front door opened. Goo-Poh entered with a few plastic containers of food. She was humming to herself, then stopped in front of me. I kissed both of her thin cheeks before she continued humming and put some of the food in the fridge and some on the counter.

“What. The. Hell?” Colin looked between the two of us. “Did she just? Is that food? What’s that smell?”

Goo-Poh went into the pantry and let out a happy sigh, her eyes taking in all the ingredients.

I grinned at Colin. “She likes me for my pantry.”

He eyed me up and down. “Yeah. Sure. That’s the only reason.”

Goo-Poh looked over her shoulder at us, eyed my ass, and then looked back at the pantry.

“There may be a few others,” I admitted. “Plus she’s helping me get Isla back.”

Colin’s eyes narrowed. “Would any of this have to do with the fact that she’s forcing Isla to get married still?”

“Maybe.”

“Jessie . . .”

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I have a plan.”

“Yeah, last time you had a plan you ended up without the woman of your dreams and going on a shopping spree, and this is just as bad. You can’t just force someone to marry you and then try to make it work. That’s screwed up, even for you.”

“That”—I tipped my beer toward him—“is not the plan. Plus, she went all PI on my ass, why not do it to her?”

Colin’s answer was to groan. “Leave me out of this, I’m actually still getting laid, alright?”

“Oh, don’t worry”—I looked over my shoulder and winked at Goo-Poh—“I already have a partner.”