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Figures. She turned to look at him. Her breathing felt a little quick. “Thanks.”
His eyes were dark. He didn’t seem to mind the rain on his face. “You’re welcome.”
Becca slid behind the wheel and pushed her key into the ignition. But she couldn’t make herself start the car, and he was standing there with a hand on the door, holding it open.
She sighed. “Tyler said if you pulled this again, that they’d take care of it themselves. That the deal was done.”
Chris didn’t say anything for the longest moment. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” She looked up at him, unable to figure out his expression. “What does that mean?”
ghed and glanced away. “Look, I didn’t mean to frighten you last night. You ran out of here so quick—”
“You mean after you grabbed me?”
“You mean after you punched me with a fistful of keys?”
“Yeah, well, you were—” She broke off and flushed. He’d just been standing there, acting scary. Now that she thought about it, he’d never made a move toward her.
Then she remembered how she’d fought to evade him in the yard. “What about when I was trying to get to my car? I should have you arrested for assault.”
He slid the phone across the table. “Go ahead.”
Now she wanted to punch him with the keys and it had nothing to do with self-defense. “You’re kind of a jerk, you know that?”
“Yeah, I’m such an ass**le. Trying to keep an upset kid from flying out of here in the middle of a rainstorm.” He rolled his eyes. “They’d better lock me up for sure.”
Now she had to look away. She kind of felt like an idiot, but she hadn’t imagined his aggression, his threatening tone.
Michael let the silence stretch out for a moment, until she wanted to squirm, and she had to focus to remember why she’d even come here.
She refused to look at him. “Is Chris home?”
“Yeah. Top of the stairs. Make a left.”
He expected her to just go up to his room?
She remembered going to Drew’s house once, last May. Drew’s mom had made sure they stayed in plain sight in the den. The woman had seemed to know every time Drew’s hands found Becca’s knee or the curve of her waist. At the time, Becca had wanted the woman to go the hell away and mind her own business.
Now, in retrospect, she owed Mrs. McKay a hug.
“You want an escort or something?” said Michael. He was already looking at his laptop, his fingers striking the keys.
She shoved herself out of her chair and headed for the steps.
Five doors were on the second level, but she never got to make a left. A bathroom was just to her right, the door wide open. One of the twins stood in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth.
Shirtless.
Breath left her lungs in a rush and she almost stumbled on the last step. Loose button-fly jeans hung low at his hips, exposing just the edge of a pair of boxers. She could clearly see the clean muscled line of his back, the smooth tapering of his rib cage into a tight waist.
He caught her eye in the mirror and grinned around the toothbrush before ducking to spit. He turned off the faucet and wiped his mouth on a towel before turning to face her.
“You’re back,” he said.
She looked at him—a huge mistake, because it put her eyes right on his chest. The guy was no stranger to a bench press. “Ah ... yeah. Are you Nick or Gabriel?”
He stepped close, until she could smell the spearmint in his toothpaste. “Does it matter?”
