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“That’d be great. Thanks.”
“Don’t let that sweet smile fool you. This girl is trouble.” I freeze at the new voice, side-stepping away from Stacey and Max.
“Jerry!” I scream, bolting toward the tall glass of muscle. My legs wrap around his waist, my arms hooked to his neck. “Oh my god!” My muscles loosen at his familiarity. Jer is everything I would have wanted for a father, and I think over time I found myself looking at him in that way.
His chest shakes from his chuckle, his thick trunk for arms squeezing around my waist. “Hey, trouble. You been well?”
My smile falls, as I slowly lower myself back to the ground. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I smile softly. “Sure.” I find it strange that he doesn’t know about me being locked in the asylum. Just how much does Bryant know? There were never any secrets between Jer and Bryant.
“It’s been quiet without you.” His hand caresses my cheek, but when his eyes fly over my shoulder, landing on Max, he drops his arm. “Does bossman know about this?” The clench of his jaw and instant shift in demeanor illustrates Jer’s disapproval.
I shrug. “He doesn’t get much say.”
“Hmmm.” Jerry sizes up Max, his thick brows pulling in. Jer looked good. But then, he always did. Now his thick beard had a scattering of gray through it and a few lines had risen around his eyes. God, I missed him.
“Interesting.” Stacey comes up beside me, her eyes on Jerry. “I’ve never seen you speak more than two words, Jer.”
“It’s Jerry, and that’s because I don’t want to talk to you.” I notice the way he shifts away from Stacey.
I wasn’t mad at it.
My laughing dies out when I feel the energy in the room shift. Suddenly the atmosphere is as cold as the marble tiles and expensive glass double stairway that leads to the second level of the mansion.
When a shadow shifts behind Jerry, I suck in a deep breath, tucking my hair behind my ear and slowly—very fucking slowly—bringing my eyes to where Bryant stands. My heart thunders in my chest, and damn near flatlines when I see what he’s wearing.
No suit today. Loose faded jeans—Phillip Plein probably—and a casual white Dolce & Gabbana shirt with the words Million Dollar Psycho printed over his chest. His hair is damp, the ends of his dark hair dripping wet. He’s clean-shaven and has a cigarette tucked behind his ear, a zippo flicking between his fingers. His skin is smooth, tanned, and flawless, and his jaw is every bit as sharp and angular as I remember. It’s as if the gods cut his features from stone. His eyes are deep blue, his lashes fanning out over his cheekbones.
I flush, flustered with how much his presence distracts me.
Only he’s not looking at me.
His eyes are on Max. He’s scowling, but not in a noticeable way, more in a way that is calculated. Bryant will never display his cards unless he intended to.
“Oh, hey, baby.” Stacey waltzes toward him, her hips sashaying with every step. “Have you met Max? Isa’s boyfriend?”
My jaw slams closed. Little. Bitch. I didn’t introduce him as my boyfriend.
Bryant ignores me. Not once does his gaze shift to me. It’s as if I’m invisible, or just not important.
Finally he breaks eye contact with Max and I can breathe again. For now.
Max strolls beside me as we follow Stacey and Bryant farther into the foyer. “Nice house.”
“It’s alright.” My tone is barely audible, more like a grumble. I don’t want to pay attention to anything in this house, too afraid I’d notice something. We turn the corner of the foyer and head into the dining room, where a rectangular table that could easily seat twelve people sat. There was a gold and black chandelier hanging from the ceiling with the table setting delicately set out.
Bryant sits at the end of the table and I take the seat beside Jerry, with Max on the other side of me and Stacey opposite Jerry but beside Bryant.
I don’t even know if Bryant has seen me yet. It’s silent, but not awkward. I could never feel uncomfortable around Bryant. Ever.
“Bryant…” I mutter. “Are you going to be polite and say hello to my friend?” Finally, his eyes slide across the room and land on me.
Now that I have his undivided attention, I don’t fucking want it. My god, he looks feral. The corner of his mouth curls up. “No?”
Oh, here we go. It’s fucking showtime. All of that anxiety I had earlier was really my gut telling me to run while I still had the chance.
Just as my mouth opens and I’m ready to reply with something sassy, a small blonde girl walks in carrying a tray of food.
I freeze.
“Ashley?” A smile so wide my face could crack replaces my scowl that was pointed at Bryant, and I stand abruptly from the table.
