Page 50 of Rival Hearts

Chapter Twenty

Grady

It was strange having her in my house. She trailed her hand along books piled on the shelves, flicking open a few of them and flipping through the pages. A beer hung from her other hand, her fingers clasping the neck, occasionally shooting me amused glances when she found a book she knew. I leaned my shoulder against the doorway. There was nothing better than watching her mind at work.

“So many books on these shelves.” Her chocolate-brown eyes were lit with a teasing light as she raised her beer to her lips. “If these were organized and you were anyone else, I’d say you were a man after my heart.”

I wasn’t sure what I was after, but I wasn’t ruling out her heart. Perhaps I’d organize those shelves and see what happened.

She picked up one of the well-worn books and turned it. “Remember this one?” Her light laugh filled the room. “A Thousand Splendid Suns. I was convinced you hadn’t read this.”

With a grin, I pushed off the doorframe and took the book from her hand. This was the first one she’d grilled me about reading. I’d carted this paperback on all my travels, one of thefew books I’d reread. “My book club reading days. Or rather,” I said with a wry grin, “weeks. I was always racing to get a goddamned book done before you came on Sunday.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit with surprise, and a grin tugged at the edges of her lips.

“Sometimes I’d wait until Thursday to pick a book, hoping you wouldn’t have time to read it before Sunday.”

A real laugh escaped her, and she eyed me as she sipped her beer. “Wanna know a secret?”

I placed the book back in the pile. “You never read any of them?”

She shoved my shoulder and shook her head. “No, the librarian used to call me as soon as you’d left and let me know what you’d picked up. The Thursday reads were fine. It was when you took out more than one book that screwed me over.”

I grinned. “I wish I’d been clever enough to do it on purpose more often.”

“I am glad you were not.” She took a sip of her beer, picked up another book and read the back cover before replacing it. “Those weeks, I’d get so caught up in reading, Trent would complain I wasn’t giving him enough help.”

The moment the slip registered, her face fell. She turned and her shoulders tensed, as though she was waiting for me to jump all over her admission. The wordshelp with whatfloated between us, but I let them pass. I was enjoying her company, and a full-court press would send her fleeing. There was an ease developing between us that we’d never had before.

Besides, the longer I had mulled over Trent’s words about earning the truth, the more I’d wondered if he was right. I’d never given her the benefit of the doubt—never gave her the chance to explain. That night sent me spiraling. Not once had I asked Trent about her, about the drug trafficking, about how he had probably lied to them all. I’d been too busy blaming myselffor not seeing the signs, for sleeping with Maggie, for letting Dan into the house. Every betrayal was mine to bear, intentional or not. Assigning some of the blame to her had seemed fair, then. She’d cheated Trent in more ways than one, hadn’t she?

I was pretty sure now that I’d gotten it all wrong.

Maggie ran her hands along a few more books, avoiding eye contact.

“Our book club for two is a highlight for me.” I leaned against the wall beside the closest bookcase.

From across the room, her lips quirked up into a smile. “Me too. I never knew what you were thinking about me. But I loved talking to you about books. You felt so much older—four years. A lifetime.” Nostalgia tinged her expression. “I won’t say wiser.”

“I’ll accept that.” I drank my beer and relished the sight of her in this house, talking like we were friends instead of rivals. I’d thought about her a lot, too much, more than I could ever have expressed in words.

“And you approached things so differently,” she said. “I was analytical, and you were straight from the gut, from the heart. You loved a book or hated it, and you had reasons why you felt that way.”

“I’d never had anyone to talk to about books before.” The light from the floor lamp cast a glow over the room, softening everything. Books had been a connection to my dad. Mom and Trent hadn’t shared it, and my friends had been into dating, drinking, drugs, sports, but not reading.

“No?” Maggie glanced over her shoulder. “Sabrina isn’t much of a reader?”

The warm feeling in my chest cooled. “She wasn’t, no.”

“But she is now?”

I shook my head. “Maggie, I—”

“I need another drink.” She breezed past me and out the door before I had a chance to stop her.

I followed her to the kitchen. She paused in the middle of the room and then spied the beer cases by the back door. Slotting the bottle into an empty space, she grabbed another cold one from my new fridge. I liked the way she moved around my house with so much self-assurance. It was also possible she was already a bit drunk.

“You a lightweight?” I got myself another beer.

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