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I pull into the driveway. Exhausted. I put ten hours in at the Rolland’s place and another five at the Manchester’s, trying to keep my mind off Chosen.
Fuck. Is this what Brett and Cole go through? I’ve never had a woman occupy this much time in my brain. It’s fucked up. I can’t imagine doing it on a full-time basis. I get my brothers are in love, and I’m happy for them. I’m not sure what I feel for Chosen, but whatever it is, this shit is clogging me up.
I grab my tool belt and bucket of plaster and head for my flat.
My feet stall when I spot Chosen beneath the light above my door. She’s in a tank top and jeans. Her hair cascades over her slender shoulders, and her large green eyes peer cautiously back at me.
I stop, dropping everything in my hands, instinctively wanting them on her. I thought I’d never see her again. Thought life was going to go on without her. And here she is at my door, looking sexy and attainable.
I don’t know why she’s here.
I don’t care.
I walk over, grab the back of her neck, and haul her mouth to mine. If she’s pissed and here to finally end us, I will get a proper farewell this time.
Her arms wrap around my body. My heart speeds up. Okay. This is good. I deepen the kiss, savoring every taste and touch our lips procure.
Chemistry. We lack none of it. There’s no doubt about it. We belong together. Our bodies crave each other. It’s undeniable. She must feel it as well. I’ve been alone for twenty-eight years. When I’m with her, I don’t feel alone. She’s a partner in this. She’s a partner in the amazing feelings we generate together.
“Lix,” she whispers, her lips breaking from mine. “We need to talk.”
I brush the hair back from her face and palm her cheeks, searching her ambiguous eyes to see what we need to discuss. Did she talk to Finch?
“Yeah.” I breathe out the word. “Okay.” I take one last longing look into her emerald-green eyes. “Let me get my shit, and we can talk inside.”
She nods, her eyes moving to the ground as I release her to pick up my things. “Come on.” I open my door, and she follows me inside.
I place my stuff on the floor, shaking on the inside. I rub my hands together, trying to fend off the tremble. “You want a drink?”
“I met with Finch tonight,” she says, getting right to the point.
I glance at her, unsure where this conversation will take me. Take us. But we need to get through it. I get that.
“Okay. I think I’ll have a drink.” I reach into the fridge and pull out a beer. I crack it open and rest against the counter, attempting to appear confident, ready, and prepared for whatever she throws at me. It could be my heart. Fuck, she’s got at least a portion of it in her hands. She could be wanting to toss it back.
Inside, my anxiety eats me alive. Outside, I remain in control.
I swig the beer, observing her from over the bottle while she stares at me with an unreadable expression on her beautiful face. Shit, give me something to work with here.
I place the bottle on the counter and cross my arms over my chest.
“So,” I say, staring at her from across the room. “Did you get what you were looking for?”
The silence and anticipation fight hard to replace my anxiety.
“Trace Morton killed my uncle.” There’s a hitch in her voice. A slight crack like a break of a pending cry. She’s killing me. “Di-did you know?”
I take a deep breath. “Like I said, I wasn’t there.”
She steps toward me. “Did you kill Trace Morton?”
Okay, I didn’t see that coming. “No.” I stand straight, my muscles pinging like a violent score played on a piano. “I wasn’t holding the gun that shot him, if that’s what you’re asking.” If we’re going to get anywhere here, it’s time to be honest. I get that as well.
“But.” She wrings her hands together. “You were in the West Skilard District the day before Trace was killed.”
Fuck. Finch sang like a fucking canary. I can’t blame him. Hell, I sent her to the junkie because I was afraid to tell her the truth. My cowardliness is about to bite me in the ass, and I deserve it. “I see you’ve been putting your investigative skills to work.”
“What happened?” She holds her hands out, weighing them in the air. “Why were you there?”
