by Quinn, Cari
It would take a stronger woman than I to say no to those pleading baby blues. “If you insist.”
“And you’ll let me get purple Uggs?”
“Absolutely not, and don’t push your luck, Carly Ann. Now get out of here.”
Her giggle as she disappeared down the hall made my grin widen despite the aches and pains I couldn’t laugh away. Damn, I was getting too old to fight. Or too weak.
I was definitely too weak to go to the mall, but I dragged myself up and into the shower, anyway.
An hour later, we were standing at the counter of a lingerie store and Car was shifting through a rainbow of bras with the focus of a lawyer about to take the bar exam. She selected and rejected faster than I could make sense of the swimming sea of frilly underthings that surrounded me. They hung off hollow-hipped models and seemed to drip from the rafters, closing me into a claustrophobic world of satin and silk and see-through nipple cutouts.
I hadn’t been in a store like this for a long time. Not long enough, apparently.
“I like you in pretty things, Amelia. You were made for silk. You’re so delicate and soft…”
I shuddered and forced the memory away. Not any fucking more. No one would ever accuse me of that again.
“What size are you? Thirty-six C?”
Oh, God, no. She couldn’t be looking for something for me. “Thirty-four B. And I have plenty of bras. I don’t need any more.”
“How many is plenty? Two?”
“Three.” Someday I’d really have to stop being so honest. It only got me in more trouble.
“Ah ha! This is perfect.” She ferreted out another hanger and beamed as she held up a skimpy black bra with tiny white polka dots and a pair of sleek black boy shorts. “Who needs a matching set when you can mix it up like this? This totally has a sexy fighter feel.”
“Fighters aren’t sexy.”
“Fox is sexy. Times fifty. Have you seen his arms? Holy mother of fucking.” At my narrow-eyed look, she laughed. ”Guess you’ve seen them up close and personal like. He must thrust like a damn—”
“Enough. Seriously.” Discussing Fox’s thrusting power was almost as bad as buying purple boots. Actually, it was worse.
I didn’t fantasize about Uggs. I did, however, fantasize about strong arms holding me while he blasted my comfort zone to hell and back.
“Dude, it’s got a little zipper right over the cooch.”
I tried to turn away but she snagged my arm before I could. “Cooch? Cooch?” I sounded like a drunk mimic but I couldn’t help it. My sweet, innocent, non-vulgarity using sister had disappeared. I’d wanted her to be normal and have friends, and fine, maybe even have sex. That didn’t mean I was prepared for the results—namely that she’d be trying to school me in all the ways of the world she thought I’d missed. “I don’t need a zipper over my…female areas.”
She laughed. “It’s a pussy, Ame.”
That particular word made me think of the last person who’d said it to me, and I didn’t appreciate the reminder. Reminder ten million of the day. “Watch your mouth. You’re out in public.”
“Stop treating me like I’m ten.” She sighed heavily. “I’m not a virgin, you know.”
Yeah, I knew. But hearing the words was different. And if I teared up a little inside because that last vestige of her innocence was gone, no one had to know but me.
“I’m glad,” I said finally when the lump in my throat had dissipated.
Her pale eyebrow winged up. “You are?”
“Yeah. Because maybe you won’t end up a socially inept freak like me.”
“Aww, Ame.” She hooked her arm through mine. “You’re not a freak. You did it with Fox, and he’s a specimen of man unlike any other. I guarantee that was way better than Bobby Horton sliding me his anemic sausage after Homecoming last year.” She brightened. “Josh was pretty good at it. So naturally he had to go back to Nina. Boys blow.”
“You’ve been using protection?”
“Yes.” She made the word six syllables long. “Can we buy dirty lingerie now?”
“Why? So we can parade around the apartment? No one will see it but us.”
“So? We count, don’t we?” She shook the bra and panty set that actually was kind of cute in the right light. “C’mon, live a little. Let’s sign up for one of their charge cards and buy a bunch of stuff.”
“Are you kidding me? Just one. We’ll each buy one set—in cash—and that’s all. You have college to think about soon. At least community college if not a big university yet.”
Blithely, she tugged me along. She never mentioned college anymore, which was yet another concern on my lengthy list.
“One set each works for me.”
Just like that I knew I’d been had by a scheming redhead. Yet again. “Nothing too revealing,” I added, though the admonition was pointless. Lingerie was supposed to be revealing. But if I kept her away from the see-through stuff, I’d consider the day a win.
“Yeah, yeah. So—cooch zipper or no?”
I had to laugh as we headed into the dressing room. “No freaking way.”
Two hours later, we faced each other across a dinky table in the food court. Bags—of lingerie, of clothes, of boots—surrounded us. We hadn’t gone too wild. Besides, Carly’s birthday was coming up soon. A big one at that. But I’d be up late crunching numbers to cover the money we’d spent.
Seeing my sister happy was worth everything. And hell, shopping had helped to take my mind off crap for a couple of hours. All I did was worry. I was heading for old age without even taking a scenic detour through my youth, and it sucked.
“What are you waiting for?” Carly waved a hand at our snack. “Dig in.”
“I will in a minute.”
“More for me then. Mmm.” She swirled her thumb through the cheese on our steaming platter of cheddar fries and licked it off with an extremely loud noise that bordered on obscene. After her third, “Ooh, yeah,” I decided to nip her enjoyment in the bud.
“Tell me about school, Car. Are you skipping? Did you need a mental health break or something?”
She swallowed a fry and took her time sucking more cheese off her fluorescent green fingernail. “I did my G.E.D. I’m all finished.”
It didn’t compute. “What?”
“I studied and took the G.E.D. last month. I’m done with school.”
God, not her too. I’d skipped half my senior year and taken the G.E.D. as well, much to my Aunt Patty’s displeasure. But I’d been having serious issues with fitting in, and I hadn’t been able to deal with cliques and all the usual high school BS on top of my PTSD.
At least that was what the school nurse had called it. I called it my general fuckedupness.
“But you told me your grades were okay.” I didn’t want to believe she was following in my footsteps. She had such a bright future ahead of her. Why would she mess it up?
“Those were my last quarter grades. I stayed in class until right before the test.”
“You dropped out?”
“You call it that. I call it getting paroled early.” She expelled a breath. “Look, Aunt Patty already read me the riot act. I didn’t come here to get it again. I want to be with you, Ame. Sisters shouldn’t be so far apart.” Her big blue eyes implored me silently, saying so much more than her lips.
You need me.
We both knew it was true. I was drowning, and she’d been able to see it even from hundreds of miles away. She’d tossed away the rest of her last year in high school to save me.
Tears puddled in my eyes and dropped, one by one, on the table. I couldn’t stop them from coming. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you. That’s my job.”
“No, it’s not. You’re my sister, not my mom. And guess what, Sherlock? If it is your job to take care of me, then damn skippy it goes both ways. I love you, and we’re a team. Aren’t we?”
The fierceness in her voice only made me sniffle harder.
“Aren’t we?” s
he repeated.
“Yeah.” I dashed away a tear with my knuckle. “It’s gonna be better, Car. I promise you. I’ll get better.”
“You’re already perfect. I know it. Fox knows it. He told me the other night when you were asleep that—” She shoved a fry in her mouth and started to choke, waving her hands at her throat as if she was having a fit.
He’d been there when I was asleep? Which night? She’d said the other night, so she must have meant Friday.
The night of the fight.
My stomach clenched as tight as a fist. Had he stopped by to see if I was okay? Obviously, he hadn’t wanted me to know. Did that mean he…cared about me?
No. He just wanted to ensure he’d be in for a decent match when we squared off. That was all.
As insane as my reasoning was, I couldn’t keep from trying to explain everything away. He’d broken up with me—sort of—so how much could I truly matter to him?
Then I saw the gloves poking out of Carly’s jacket pocket.
Without thinking, I lurched over the table and pried them out, curling my fingers around the supple leather. If I’d been alone, I would have pulled the gloves up to my face and taken a big heady sniff. Not just because I liked the smell of cow hide—which I’d discovered I did—but because another scent would be all over them.
Fox.
He’d become my chemical addiction as much as my physical one. Smelling him affected me in a way that wouldn’t have made sense to me a month ago. Maybe my years spent in a gym had warped my nose to the point that I’d become accustomed to taking the measure of a man by his sweat molecules. Or perhaps I was more beast than human.
“Where did you get these, Carly?” Though I already knew.
A wisp of memory slid through my mind. Being held from behind, warm breath fluttering against my neck. Softly rumbled words that caused me to fall deeper into sleep. And then, when the memory tried to surface, I’d filed it away as a dream. One of the best I’d ever had.
But the truth was weighing down my hand.
My sister’s mouth opened and shut, then she went back to coughing and gesturing to her throat. “Sorry. Can’t…talk.”
“Uh-huh.” I fingered the price tag still tucked discreetly in the mouth of the sheepskin-lined glove. Thick and soft, just the way I liked them. “Next time he tells you to pretend something is yours, remind him to take off the price tag.”
She blinked at me, probably bracing herself for my reaction. Yeah, well, I was bracing myself too.
“Were you going to slide them in my bag and hope I didn’t notice? Or maybe slip them in the pocket of my hoodie and figure I’d be cold enough not to question where they came from?” I tugged at my hood and tried not to resent it because it wasn’t well-worn leather. I’d been tempted to wrap myself in Fox’s warmth, but I’d already grown too dependent on him chasing away the chill. Whether it was his arms or his coat, it didn’t matter.
“No. They’re mine. Give them back.” She yanked the gloves away and started to slip them on her obviously way too small hands.
“If you get cheese on them, he won’t be able to return them.” I grabbed them again. “I don’t appreciate you being his flunky, by the way.”
“I’m no one’s flunky. He’s a nice guy.” She shrugged and snatched a fry dripping with cheese. “You need a nice guy in your life. One who screws you blind then sneaks over and holds you in the night and buys you pretty gloves.” She shrugged again. “So I peeked inside your room. I had to make sure he wasn’t murdering you in your sleep, didn’t I?”
A laugh escaped me, one I quickly smothered with my palm. I couldn’t let this go. I had to summon my inner bad ass before Tray Knox broke me completely.
“No more of this.” I slapped the gloves against my hand, savoring the crack of leather. “He said he didn’t want to see me anymore, and he’s right, we shouldn’t. There’s no reason to. So I’m not accepting his gifts or his late night visits or his—”
“Spooning?” She smirked.
Warmth climbed up my throat. “If he comes over, don’t let him in. I’m serious. He’s the guy I’m going to beat. That’s all.”
“Ame—”
“Don’t ‘Ame’ me. Do you want to have enough money to go to college or not?”
“No.” She averted her gaze. “I really don’t. And I especially don’t if you’re going to blow something that could be really good for you when I’m plenty old enough to make my own choices and pay my own way.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying stop hiding behind me.”
Carly’s eyes were bluer than I’d ever seen them. She so rarely got mad, unlike me. And judging from the tightness of her mouth, she was freaking pissed.
“Who’s hiding?” My voice had gone thin and high.
“You can make all the excuses you want for why you can’t have a real relationship, but I’ll be damned if I’m one of them.” She jerked to her feet and dumped the fries I’d barely touched in the garbage. “Let’s go. I’m sick of the mall.”
Rising stiffly, I grabbed my share of the bags and fought the swell of anger constricting my throat—and the wedgie trying to climb up my butt, thanks to the stupid boy shorts Carly had insisted I wear out of the store with my sexy-for-no-purpose bra.
I trudged beside my sister, ignoring the insistent pain in my foot. Fox was right about my tendency to block kicks with my feet. But that didn’t mean I needed his stupid trainer to set me straight. I’d handle my own training. And everything else too.
“Want fro yo?” I asked Carly as we passed Cool Creations. My sister had never turned down chocolate in her life.
She shook her head and sped up, practically leaving me and my broken foot in the dust.
So much for us having a fun, relaxing day.
I intended to speak to the reason we hadn’t shortly. And by the end of that conversation, he would get the message about staying away from me once and for all.
Twenty-One
What a clusterfuck this day had been.
“Trayherne, I’d be happy to contact my people at Princeton and Berkeley if you’d like to enroll at either university. Surely those would be more suitable choices than whatever place you’re considering.”
“Sports medicine? Why not go pre-med if you’re interested in the medical field? Do you want to be some kind of glorified nurse?”
“Tray, pour your father a drink. He’s been stressed out with work all weekend and you’re not making it easier by arguing with him when he only wants to help.”
And that had all occurred after a full day working at the bar. Waiting on the public sucked. Waiting on the public when they were thirsty was even worse.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I gripped the edge of the glass-topped bar in the living room that I usually used for catch-all storage, like most of the other flat surfaces in my place. When my parents came over, however, I set up the row of decanters that made them believe my idea of tossing back a cold one was sipping twelve-year-old Glenfiddich on the rocks.
Who was I kidding that I’d broken away from the iron rule of my parents? I couldn’t even admit I’d sooner drink motor oil than my father’s prized scotch.
Whenever they came over, I hid every relic of my life as a fighter. Not because I cared that they didn’t approve, but because I didn’t want to hear their usual bitching about why I’d choose to participate in such a barbaric sport. My mother loved to examine my latest injuries and tut-tut under her breath, while my father shook his head and muttered about the cruel vagaries of fate that had left him with a son instead of a daughter.
Yeah, well, I wished he’d had a daughter too. I also wished I had some fucking balls when it came to dealing with their crap. As much as I told myself I didn’t want to spend time arguing with them, somewhere deep inside I still longed for their approval.
I’d been longing for a while.
A low rumbling bark and a wet nudge against my calf made me glance down and grin.
Veyron sat back on his haunches, tongue lolling out of his mouth. As soon as our eyes met, he launched himself at me, planting his paws on my stomach.
“Wanna get up, boy?”
His whine was all the answer I needed. I hauled him up into my arms and groaned under the weight—and from the bony back leg jabbing me in the ribs. German Shepherds were not the kind of dog that should be carried around, but tell that to Vey. As soon as he hit four months old in another couple weeks, he would be floor-bound for good.
In the meantime, he was giving me sloppy doggy kisses and making me laugh. At least until my buzzer rang and I sighed hard enough to ruffle one of his floppy ears. “Now what, Vey?” I juggled my wiggling, oversized parcel and headed to the front door. “Yes?”
“It’s Mia. I’m coming up.”
That husky, irritated voice erased my irritation and fatigue as if it had never existed. Even Vey stopped wriggling and slobbering over my cheek. Instead, he stared at me with wise brown eyes, his thick tail thumping steadily against my thigh.
I released the door. “Come on up.”
She didn’t say “thanks” or “on my way” or any of the other usual pleasantries. Not Mia. She’d be more likely to greet me with a punch than a smile.
What the hell was wrong with me that I found that so hot?
“You gotta get down, boy. I need to clean off the dog spit in case she—” I broke off, afraid to even dream. “Just in case.” I lowered Vey to the floor, and he flopped over, paws in the air in total doggy defeat.
“Yeah, me too. Bit of personal advice, though. Cover your sac when this one shows up.”
I took a quick detour into the bathroom and soaped my face, finishing just as a sharp rap sounded at my door. Swiping my towel over my dripping jaw, I strode to answer it, unable to hold back my chuckle as she rapped again. Even her knocks conveyed her impatience.
Vey stood trembling at my side while I pulled open the door. I didn’t move, but Vey sure did. Before I could call him off, he’d launched himself into Mia’s waiting arms and assaulted her with an exceedingly wet French kiss that missed her mouth.
