Point of Retreat (Slammed Series) by Hoover Colleen

Author:Hoover, Colleen [Hoover, Colleen]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2012-02-23T16:00:00+00:00

Lake sits in the backseat with Kel on the way home and Caulder rides in front with me. The three of them talk the entire ride home. Kel and Caulder are droning on about everything they did with Grandpaul. I don't say a word. I tune them out and drive in silence.

After I pull into my driveway and we all get out of the car, I follow Lake and Kel as they make their way across the street. She heads inside without saying a word. I pop the hood on her jeep and reconnect the battery, then shut it and head back to my house.

It’s not even ten o’clock at night yet. I’m not tired at all. Caulder’s in bed and Reece is more than likely still out with Vaughn. I sit down on the couch and turn the T.V. on when someone knocks at the door.

Who would be coming over this late? Who would knock? I open the door and my stomach flips when I see Lake shivering on the patio. She doesn't look angry, which is a good sign. Her hands are pulling her jacket tightly around her neck. She's got her snow boots pulled on over her pajama bottoms. She looks ridiculous…and beautiful.

“Hey,” I say, a little too eagerly. “Here for another star?” I step aside and she walks in. “Why’d you knock?” I ask, shutting the door behind her.

I hate that she knocked on my door. She never knocks. That small gesture reveals some sort of change in our entire relationship that I can’t pinpoint, but I know I don't like it.

She just shrugs her shoulders. “Can I talk to you?”

“I wish you would talk to me,” I say. We both make our way to the couch. Normally, she would curl up next to me and sit on her feet. This time, she makes sure there’s plenty of space between us as she drops down on the opposite end of the couch. If I’ve learned anything at all this week, it’s the fact that I hate space. Space sucks.

She looks at me and attempts to muster a smile, but it doesn’t come off right. It looks more like she’s trying not to pity me.

“Promise me you'll hear me out without arguing first,” she says. “I'd like to have a mature conversation with you.”

“Lake, you can't sit there and say I don't hear you out. It's impossible to hear you out when you're carving pumpkins all the damn time!”

“See? Right there. Don't do that,” she says.

I grab the throw pillow next to me and cover my face with it to muffle a frustrated groan. She's impossible. I bring the pillow back down and rest my elbow on it as I get comfortable and prepare for her lecture.

“I'm listening,” I say.

“I don’t think you understand where I’m coming from at all. You have no clue why I'm having doubts, do you?”

She’s right, I don’t. “Enlighten me,” I say.

She takes her jacket off and throws it over the back of the couch and gets comfortable.

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