Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“I’m not really Caliana’s friend. I’m her brother’s… friend.” I suddenly hated how there was a pause there. When, for most of my life, I would have said those words with my whole chest. It hurt more than I could admit not to be able to do that anymore. Or ever again.
“Friend, huh?” Caliana scoffed. “Didn’t even show up at the funeral.”
“I wasn’t informed he’d died,” I said, tone pointed. As next of kin, that would have been her place.
“Why would I inform you when Clay hadn’t seen you in years?” she shot back.
“Seems you have harder feelings than Clay did. Since he had it in his final wishes that I deal with his apartment. And keep an eye on you.”
That, it seemed, knocked the wind out of her.
“What?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Cali
Clay had left a note for Brooks?
The friend he hadn’t seen or spoken to in years?
No.
That didn’t make any sense.
“Yeah, the super called me when he found the folder with his final wishes,” Brooks said as I stood there staring at him.
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
“Yes. He left you his accounts and shit, but he wanted me to clean out his place. And there was a handwritten note to take care of you.”
“That must have been old paperwork,” I insisted.
“The paperwork was dated, sweetheart,” he said, trying to soften the blow of his words.
“That makes no sense,” I insisted.
“Maybe he left a note for you in the documents with the lawyers,” Brooks said, shrugging. “Explaining it all.”
“I want to see it,” I said, still not willing to believe that Brooks, of all people, got a personal note. And I got nothing.
“Okay. I was on my way back to the apartment anyway,” he said. “You can come with me.”
“Is this a situation where I need to tag along with my shiv? Or can I go back and grind on the hot guy with the nose ring some more?”
“I’ll be fine,” I told her.
Sure, Brooks was now sporting a biker cut with a one-percenter badge. Which told me he was, objectively, a dangerous man.
But this was the same Brooks who’d once picked me up off the sidewalk out front of our houses, carried me inside, and bandaged my bloodied knees. The same Brooks who, years later, intimidated any guy of an inappropriate age who dared to try to look at or talk to me.
I had to believe I was as safe with him as I could be. Especially if he was, in fact, right, and Clay had asked him to take care of me.
My heart, the battered, beaten-down thing it was, ached enough for me to press my hand there.
“You’re sure? I don’t mind stabbing a man,” Sage offered, sounding a little too cheerful about it.
“I’m sure. Go get your man. Are you going to be able to get back in the club?”
“Oh, the girls will make sure of it,” she said, waving toward her chest.
“Of course they will,” I agreed.
“You,” Sage said, stabbing a red fingernail at Brooks, “if a single hair on her head is out of place, I know where to find you. My sister hangs out at your club all the time.”
With that, she turned and walked off toward the bouncer.
“I’m parked around the corner,” Brooks said, waving in the direction.
“I’m not riding on a bike with you,” I said.
I mean, fine, riding on a bike was actually on my bucket list. But something inside of me said that wrapping my legs and arms around Brooks was just not a good idea.
Sure, those feelings I had for him were long buried. But there was no guarantee that the needy girl I used to be wouldn’t rear her horny head if I got all up close and personal with him like that.
“No, I took Clay’s car,” he said, making me stiffen.
“That’s not funny.”
“What isn’t?” he asked, brows pinching.
“Clay wrecked his car,” I said, folding my arms over my chest, like I could block the feelings from creeping in. As if they weren’t already a part of me.
Brooks was silent for a moment, his gaze slipping to the side, giving me a view of his stupidly handsome profile.
I hated that he still looked so good. Better, honestly. Men and their annoying ability to only look better with age.
He’d always had a chiseled jaw, but it had been sharpened over the years. His body that had always been fit when he was younger had filled out a little more, packing on muscle and some width and breadth to his chest.
And he now had a short, very neat beard.
Otherwise, he was the same Brooks.
Tall.
Dark skin.
Gorgeous brown eyes.
Short black hair, but he had a better barber these days who gave him a sexy fade.
He was wearing a simple outfit of dark wash jeans, a white tee, and his cut. But it was really working for him.