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Chapter One
Paige
“THIS IS PAIGE,” AMBER SAYS to her brother, motioning to me as I stand awkwardly near the front door. Her brother is in the kitchen that joins with the living room. Amber smiles warmly at me, but the smile fades as she turns to face her brother. She eyes him like his presence makes her want to puke.
“You do not touch her,” she continues. “She is not your conquest. If you think one perverted thought about her, I will rip your balls off and shove them down your throat.”
“Je-sus,” her brother exhales. He raises an eyebrow at me, then glares at Amber. “I see my house is now a hostel.”
Amber tosses her purse on the kitchen table and rolls her eyes. I’m still standing near the front door, one hand clutching the handle of my rolling suitcase. My other arm squeezes Bamsy against my chest. He’s my stuffed panda. Yes, I’m an adult woman and I enjoy stuffed animals. They’re soft and squishy.
I look down at Bamsy with a sigh. Maybe coming here was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let Amber convince me to stay with her and her brother. How is this okay? I should go home. I’ll have to, eventually, because I don’t have a choice. That man will look for me.
“You’ll adjust,” Amber spits at her brother. “Come on, Paige, I’ll show you your room.” She grabs my suitcase and rolls it down the hallway connected to the kitchen and living room, her full hips swaying.
I stare at her brother—his tan skin and black tank. He’s like Arnold Schwarzenegger—no, not that buff. Like Wolverine. Sexy Hugh. But only the middle X-Men movies where Hugh got extra swole to fill out those white tank tops. Definitely not the last movie where everyone is old and dying. Not that older men aren’t sexy. They are. But dying men aren’t sexy.
Amber’s brother leans against the kitchen counter and crosses his massive arms, biceps bulging. They’re very nice biceps. He studies Bamsy with hard blue eyes. Or maybe he’s looking at my breasts. Amber said he fucks anything that moves, but I think she’s exaggerating. That would take up way too much of his day. How would he have time for anything else?
He looks sweet. A gentle giant.
He taps his cheek with an index finger. “What’s with the eye?”
I squeeze Bamsy, imagining him making a little squeal from the pressure. I’ve always wanted to see a panda in person, but that’s impossible. I’d never survive the plane trip to China. Too much anxiety and sensory overload.
“Hey, where are you?” Amber calls from the hallway with her usual melodic voice. When she talks to her brother, it’s like an aggressive dubstep, but it’s always smooth jazz when she talks to me.
I scamper from the kitchen and away from her brother’s interrogative gaze. When I locate the room, Amber is staring at all the gym equipment, hands on her hips.
“This all needs to go,” she says with a dismissive wave. “And you need a bed. We’ll get you one. Brody will get you one. Today.”
“I’m not moving my equipment,” her brother, presumably Brody, says from behind me. He’s close, standing like a massive bear on its hind legs. I like bears.
“You are,” Amber huffs. “Or I’ll burn it.”
He laughs. “You can’t burn fucking steel. It takes like two thousand degrees.”
“Go buy a bed.”
He moves past me into the room. “No. What the hell? I’m not buying a bed. I don’t even know this woman.” His gaze is on me again, on my chest. He reaches out to rub Bamsy’s ear between his thick thumb and forefinger.
Like the Flash, Amber zoops in front of him to smack his hand away. “I said no touching.”
I hide my smile behind Bamsy. Amber never hesitates to confront others on my behalf. She’s the best.
Brody holds up his hands and grins. “What? I wasn’t touching her. I was touching the bear.”
“Touching the bear is the same as touching her. You do not touch her. You do not touch the panda.” She jabs her finger into his shoulder. The skin doesn’t give a millimeter. Solid as a rock. “Go buy a full-size bed. You need both a frame and a mattress. Then you can move all this shit into your office.”
The frown on his face threatens to dislocate his jaw. He glances at Bamsy again, then at my bruised eye, his expression softening. With a tsk, he stalks out of the room.
I want to ask Amber if my being here is really okay. I’m disrupting everything, especially Brody’s stuff. I only wanted a little taste of freedom, a short respite, but I’m probably being selfish. I should just go home.
Before I can ask, the front door slams and then Amber moves toward the hallway, her shoulders relaxing. “Well,” she says. “What you wanna do? Do you need a nap? It’s been an exhausting day.”
I pat Bamsy’s stomach.
“Lunch? Yeah, let’s do lunch. I’m sure dickhead bought something besides steak and more steak when I made him grocery shop yesterday.”
