Page 37 of Drop the Mitts

“Gee, I wonder why!”

“Mm. Nice.” Grace glared at him and stalked forward, planting her hands on her hips and staring up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me when you found out she was working with Amey?”

He wet his lips, remembering the phone call he’d had with Elodie in his driveway that night. “Because she was pissed I was asking her about a patient.”

“Well, yeah.”

“So now you’re mad that I was trying to get information?”

“It’s not really your place?—”

“Not my place? Country’s one of my best friends, and he’s about to lose his little girl. I find out my sister is working with the birth mother, and it’snot my placeto ask her about it?”

Grace snapped her mouth closed. She thought for a minute and lowered her voice. “It would’ve been more helpful if you told me since there are legal pathways?—”

“As previously mentioned, you told me those weren’t working. Elodie can be a stubborn shit.”

“Must run in the family.”

André dragged a hand through his still-damp hair. “You know what? Throw your little tantrum. I wasn’t going to blindside you when there was nothing to tell.”

Grace’s jaw clenched. “It would be nice tonotfind out information you should know as thelawyerworking on this case at brunch. From the woman you’re supposed to be advocating for.”

He nodded once. “Hm. So that’s what this is about? You’re pissed because you looked like an idiot in front of Jenna?”

Grace growled in frustration. “I thought—” She balled her hands into fists. "I trusted you!"

The words landed like a puck to the chest. André blinked, waiting for his lungs to inflate. “You think I’m messing with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, André. Between the half-naked flirting and the taco bribery, it’s a little hard to tell what your motivations are.”

That got his blood pumping. “First of all, I gave you an out in my truck, and I’ve been completely honest with you, in case you’ve forgotten. But the tacos weren’t about me trying to sleep with you. I’m just as worried about Jenna, Country, and Hope as you are, and—for the record—I was worried about you, too. You walk around wound so tight, I’m waiting for you to snap, and if you don’t think I’m capable of losing sleep over this, then?—”

“Don’t twist my words.”

“You should be used to it, no?” André breathed like he’d just finished a shift on the ice.

Grace’s eyes hardened. “Wow. You know what, André? You’re exactly who I thought you were.” She spun on her heel.

“And you’re scared shitless,” he snapped. She froze and turned back. “You’re scared. And you don’t know what to do, so you came here to take it out on me because it’s easier to blame someone than admit you have zero control in this situation?—”

She threw up a hand and started to turn away from him again, but André grabbed her elbow. Grace whirled and shoved him. Hard. He stumbled, his hand tightening over her arm, dragging her with him.

André hit the lockers with a metallic crash, his knees nearly buckling as the bench slammed into the tops of his calves. Grace landed against his chest with a gasp, and then?—

He didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly her mouth was on his, her hands moving over his chest, his neck. Andréwrapped her ponytail around his hand, tugging so he didn’t have to reach so far.

This kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was teeth and tongue, fury and frustration, rough hands, and, damn, if it wasn’t perfect.

André groaned, dragging her hard against him, her curves molding to the planes of his body as her fingers tangled in his hair. He spun her, backing her into the lockers with a thud, her breath punching out in a gasp.

She tasted like toothpaste and lip gloss. Her skin was warm under his hands, her blouse as silky as it looked, her thighs pressing into his as she angled against him.

Grace moaned into his mouth and clawed at his shoulders. Her lips broke away just enough for her to pant, “This doesn’t change anything.”

He kissed her jaw, the pulsing line of her throat, and murmured against her skin, “Keep telling yourself that.”

She yanked his head back by the hair and glared at him, breathless. “André?—”

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