“Don’t worry. It’s an easy one.” He leans forward. “Who, my dear, is Ethan Price?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Paul

Confession: my research on Olivia Middleton has gone beyond just getting her vital stats, like her age and where she’s from. I may or may not have snooped through every picture she’s ever been tagged in.

And the star of the Olivia show was Ethan Price. A guy who’d been glued to her side in almost every picture for a very, very long time.

Then, a few months ago, bam. All couple shots ceased.

And now? This Ethan guy’s profile features a cute, edgy-looking brunette, which makes me think a reconciliation between Olivia and her onetime suitor isn’t likely.

I shouldn’t care. I don’t care. Olivia Middleton’s love life has nothing to do with me, but the timing is interesting. She drops out of school months after her romantic life explodes? High-tails it to Maine? I’m thinking the two are connected.

Her shocked expression tells me I’ve caught her off guard with my stalker-worthy information. But it’s not the surprise on her face that intrigues me. It’s the flash of guilt.

Interesting.

“How do you know about Ethan?” she asks.

No big deal. Just dabbling in cyberstalking.

I absently rub my leg as I study her. In truth, the leg doesn’t hurt as much as I expected, but the fact that such a simple exercise is even remotely difficult is an appalling reminder of exactly how weak the leg has become.

No, how weak I’ve let it become.

As much as I hate myself, I hate her more for forcing this upon me. Not only the pain in my leg, but the realization of its weakness. If this keeps up, the next three months just might destroy me. And if that’s the case, I’m taking her with me on the road of destruction. My leg is my weak spot, but I’m betting that Ethan Price is hers.

“Your privacy settings on your social media profiles leave a lot to be desired,” I finally say in answer to her question.

“I have nothing to hide.” She lifts her chin a little.

“Great. Then there should be no problem telling me about your boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” she corrects automatically.

“Ah,” I say knowingly, even though I’ve already figured that much out. “Do tell.”

“I just did. You asked who Ethan Price was, and I told you. He’s my ex-boyfriend. I said I’d give you the truth; I didn’t say I’d give you a rundown on my entire love life.”

I make a bigger show out of massaging my leg, as if to say, You owe me. Her lips purse for a second, making her look a tiny bit prissy and a lot cute.

“So,” I prompt, sensing an opening. “He was your entire love life, huh?”

Her torso twists, as though to turn away, but then her eyes land on my leg and she sighs. “Ethan and I grew up together. We were pretty much dating before either of us knew what dating was. Our families are friends.”

“Betrothed from the womb?”

“Something like that,” she mutters.

“So what happened? You two looked like an after-school special together.”

Olivia makes a face as she tugs her long sleeves over the tops of her hands in a girlish, protective gesture. “We broke up. It happens.”

“Sure, but if you guys were dating since before you had pubic hair, there had to be a good reason for the breakup. Unless it was just that you got sick of each other.”

I know it’s not the latter. She wouldn’t be this edgy if they’d just decided to go their separate ways.

Her eyes narrow. “Why so interested?”

“Why so defensive?” I counter.

But why am I so interested? I tell myself it has everything to do with the fact that I want to know what makes this girl tick in order to keep us on an even footing, and nothing to do with the weird burn of jealousy I felt when I saw that Ethan guy’s arm around her shoulders or the way she’d grinned with a carefree happiness that I had yet to see from her.

“I’m just ensuring you keep your end of the bargain,” I say, trying to appeal to her sense of fairness. “Wouldn’t want you to feel guilty about tricking poor little me into an aching leg in exchange for nothing.”

“Your leg will be better off from this and you know it,” she snaps.

“I do,” I concede quietly. “Just like you’ll be better off from telling someone about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrug and swing my legs around so I can stand. Up until now, we’ve been at eye level, since I’ve been sitting and she’s been standing. I push into a standing position, being careful to keep my weight on my good leg. Even with the infinitesimal lean to my right, I still tower over her.

“I’ll make it easier,” I say. “No need for the whole sob story. Just tell me this: were you the dumper or the dumpee?”

It’s a rude question, but then, I’ve been a rude guy for a couple of years now.

Her eyes flit away briefly, but when her gaze comes back it’s calm and unwavering. Good girl.

“It was his decision to end it,” she says quietly.

The way she says it tells me that’s just the tip of the iceberg. That there’s so much more to the story than her childhood sweetheart simply moving on. But more information would require another bargain on my part, and I’m not about to do jumping jacks or pose for glamour shots featuring my scars, so I don’t dig any deeper. Yet.