Trevor and Greg were nothing like Liam. I still wondered how they had managed to stay friends with him for so long. According to Trevor, they had been best friends since they were ten. Now, at twenty-seven, they had fought wars together, survived missions, and somehow still put up with Liam's impossible personality. Their constant visits made things feel a little more normal.
Well, almost. Because Liam was still Liam. At least their presence made things less suffocating.
"Sara, you should go home. Evans and I are going to talk to the sheriff," Ella said, dusting off her hands.
I nodded, adjusting the basket of grapes I had been plucking. "Alright."
The town was restless after last night's incident. The maize farm had been deliberately set on fire. A can of fuel and a matchstick had been found at the scene, confirming that it wasn't an accident. Someone had done it on purpose. But who? My gut told me it was someone close. A competitor with a grudge. Like I said before, there's always a Judas in every community.
I stored the basket away and started heading home. The sun was scorching, but thanks to Ella's hat, it wasn't completely burning my skin.
When I got home, I went straight to the kitchen for a cold drink. Liam wasn't home—he had left for base yesterday. I had no idea if he was being deployed again or not. Not that I cared.
I grabbed a glass of water and took a deep sip, savoring the coolness. But just as I was about to take another, I nearly choked.
A girl stood on the stairs. She was wearing nothing but a bra and panties.
I froze, my grip tightening around the glass.
Who the hell is she? And how did she get in here?
She stretched lazily, leaning against the banister like she owned the place. "Hey, bring me a glass of water."
I set my glass down and stared at her. "It's Sara."
She blinked. "What?"
"My name is Sara. Not 'hey'."
She scoffed. "Sara? What kind of name is that?" She waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever. Just bring me some water."
I tilted my head."It's short for Sarah. Not that I expect you to know that."
Her lips parted in disbelief. "What?"
I crossed my arms. "The fridge is right here. The glasses are up there. Use your legs."
She narrowed her eyes. "Rude. Who even are you?"
I raised an eyebrow. "That's the question you should have asked five minutes ago."
I crossed my arms, staring her down.
"And the question I should have also asked you. But I don't need you to answer because I already know the answer."
Her jaw clenched. "You're acting like you know me."
"I don't. But I do know one thing about you."
Her lips curled into a mocking smile. "And what's that?"
I smiled back, slow and deliberate. "You're a bitch."
Her face twisted in anger. "You bastard." She stormed down the stairs toward me.
She took a step forward, but I slammed my glass down on the counter, making her pause. "If I were you, I wouldn't do that," I warned, my voice steady.
She hesitated. "What?"
"Take one more step, and you'll regret ever meeting me." My voice was quiet, but my meaning was clear.
Before she could respond, a deep voice interrupted us.
A door creaked open upstairs.
Liam walked out, his chest bare, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his hair a mess. The look of someone who had just rolled out of bed... or out of someone else.
His gaze flickered between us, lazily. "What's going on?"
The woman whirled toward him, pointing a shaking finger at me. "This bitch! She's so rude, Liam!"
Liam's expression darkened. "Watch it, Maya. I told you to leave ten minutes ago."
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "It's Mariam!" she snapped.
Liam blinked. "What?"
She let out a bitter laugh. "My name is Mariam, you jerk. You slept with me, and you don't even know my name?"
His expression remained blank, but something flickered in his eyes-mild irritation, maybe. Not guilt. Never guilt.
With that, she stormed upstairs, grabbed her clothes, and stomped out the front door.
Liam descended the stairs, unfazed. I crossed my arms, watching him. Every damn day, he just kept getting more infuriating. And unfortunately, more attractive.
He stopped in front of me. "Move."
I frowned. "What?"
"You're standing in front of the fridge."
I glanced behind me. Damn. He was right. I stepped aside, and he grabbed a bottle of milk.
I crossed my arms, watching him. "You really don't know her name?"
He uncapped the bottle of milk, and took a swig. "Does it matter?"
I scoffed. "It does if you're sleeping with them."
He took another swig of milk, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. As he walked past me, he smirked.
"Noted. I'll ask the next one her name before fucking her. Thanks for the advice." And then he glanced at me over his shoulder, his smirk widening. "Stop drooling.
I scoffed. "You wish."
He chuckled before disappearing into his room. But as I stood there, the silence settling in, an unwelcome thought crept into my mind.
So, he does bring women home.
I shouldn't care. It's his life, his house, his business. But for some reason, there was this... dull ache in my chest.
Nah. I shook my head. Maybe the water was just hitting too hard.
And yet, that little voice in the back of my mind whispered something else.
I was hurt.
I was jealous.
Was I?
But why?
No. Definitely the water.
Dismissing the thought, I turned on my heel and went straight to the bathroom, cranking up the shower, letting the scalding water wash away whatever ridiculous feeling had just tried to surface.