Page 77 of Sterling Stone

I keep my laidback position of feet spread wide and back tipped against the upper edge of the chair, however, I’m anything but at ease with his closeness and his assumption I’m my youngest sister.

“And you are?” Before I confirm I’m one of Trudy Wallace’s girls, I want to know who he is and what his interest is in my sister.

Jolene could be a handful when she was a child. Finding trouble before it found her, and then rolling around in it like a puppy with an itch. This led to poor decisions and risky relationships.

He hooks his thumbs into the vest he’s wearing, which seems like a bit of overkill in this hospital cafeteria. A room filled with soft murmurs and quiet conversations, plus the gentle tink of actual silverware on plastic trays. They up-cycle here. Rewash. Reuse.

“Andy Whitehall,” he eventually answers. “You don’t remember me?” He tightens that smile, forcing it in place, like he’s a bit put out that I don’t recall who he is. Something tells me my sister might not have fond memories of this man either.

“Sorry. I’m not Jolene.”

He narrows his eyes a second, scanning over my face and dropping down to my breasts.

The creepy perusal causes me to sit upright and cross my arms on the table’s surface. Andy scoots back, but not more than a slim inch.

“But you’re one of them, right?”

“One of what?” I snap, a little harsher than I should, considering he’s towering over me and trying to exert some false aura of authority. I don’t want any trouble, so I should probably keep my tone steady. But I don’t appreciate how he sounds almost accusatory, like it’s a negative thing.

“One of Trudy’s girls.”

“One of them,” I state, not offering my name.

“Your sister and I were . . . friends. Is she around?” He glances over his shoulder like he expects to see my younger sister. His voice lifts just a smidge, as if he’s hopeful and eager to see Jolene.

Despite us not being particularly close, I think I’d remember hearing about a man who considers himself a friend of hers. Especially a man giving off strong stalker vibes.

“She’s not here,” I reply noncommittally, as I don’t actually know where exactly my youngest sister is.

“Huh.”

Huh.

He eyes me up and down again, taking in what he can see, considering I’m using the table like a weak shield of protection.

“She was one sweet taste of brown sugar.”

“Excuse me?” I lean to my left while looking over my right shoulder, keeping my arms crossed on the table, when I want to flip it over. What the fuck did he just say about my sister?

I glare up at him, blinking like I didn’t quite hear what he just said when I heard him loud and clear—and just get the fuck out of here!

“Andy.” The short, stern, surprisingly loud sound of Stone’s voice, along with a hard hand clap on Andy’s shoulder, causes the man to jump.

Because of Andy’s position, he was blocking my view of anyone else in the cafeteria, and I hadn’t seen Stone’s silent approach.

“Stone,” Andy chokes out. His gaze flicks from me to the man standing a few inches taller and a lot too close to the lesser man. “Nice to see you.”

Stone doesn’t reply.

Andy glances at me again and offers a stiff nod. “Hope your Aunt Trudy is feeling better soon.”

He saunters away, offering someone else a chin tip as he weaves around the scattering of tables. Stone and I both watch Andy’s retreat before Stone turns toward me and pulls a chair from the opposite side of the table to the edge, so he can sit at ninety-degrees from me. He takes a seat and angles toward me, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs.

“What happened to your arm?” I immediately question, reaching for his forearm, which is wrapped in a large gauze bandage.

“Did he say what I think he said?” Stone says at the same time, dismissing my concern for him.

“Stone. Your arm.” What the hell?