Josh sat at the table, casually having coffee as I walked into the house after my drive home from the salon. The smell of cigarettes emanated from him. He hadn’t smelled like that since the first day he arrived.

“Where’s Scottie?” I asked.

“In his room,” he answered without making eye contact.

I stated the obvious. “You smell like smoke.”

“Must be the firewood.” He brought his mug to his mouth.

“Bullsh*t. The pellet stove doesn’t emit any fumes.”

“Yeah. I caved and had one. Big deal.” He pointed toward the door. “I did it outside, though, while keeping an eye on Scottie through the window.”

“You’d been doing so well. What happened?”

He still wasn’t looking at me, and instead stared straight ahead. “Just human, I guess.”

Then something in front of him on the table caught my attention: pieces of ripped pages piled atop…my journal.

A rush of adrenaline shot through me. “Why do you have that?”

“It’s apparently your diary.”

“I’m quite aware of that.” My heart began to pound. “You were snooping in my room?”

He shot daggers at me. “Think, Carly. Of the two guys in this house, who is the one more likely to have been ransacking your room?”

“You were supposed to be watching him while I was at the salon,” I yelled.

“God forbid I take a piss in peace. Is it not bad enough that I’m showering with him now? Getting my balls tugged?”

I wanted to laugh, but this moment was far from funny.

“Scottie ripped those pages out?”

“The notebook is bright orange, like his iPad cover. Probably caught his attention. The drawer next to your bed was open, so he must have gone in there. I assume that’s where you kept it. Admittedly, I’d been letting him hang out in your room, but you sometimes do, too. I went to check on him, make sure he wasn’t doing anything bad, and found those pages strewn about.” A vein popped in his neck.

Josh was angry. Why? I should’ve been the angry one.

“Did you read it?”

“I only happened to see what was on the pages he ripped. I didn’t read anything else once I figured out what the hell it was.”

This is bad. Starting to sweat, I asked, “But how much did you see?”

He stood up from his seat and slowly approached me. With each step he took toward me, I took one back. When we could go no farther, he placed his arms on either side of me, leaning his hands against the wall. And I forgot how to breathe.

Fear. Arousal. Embarrassment. You name it, I was feeling it right now. Every emotion hit me at once.

His breath grazed my face. “How much did I actually see?” He paused. “Enough to know you think I’m an evil pig.”

Ugh. No. Now his anger made sense.

When he backed away, I walked over to the ripped pages on the table and sifted through them.

“It’s the last one, for reference,” he noted.

I read what I’d written the other night.