Page 66 of Choices

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t. Don’t be sorry.” He cups my cheek, a sad, resolute smile crooking his lips. “I shouldn’t have left the way I did.”

“I don’t want things to be weird between us.” I lean into his palm, my eyes closing.Why can’t I love you?

“How can they be? We’re friends, right?” His tone is a soft murmur.

Taking his hand from my cheek, I kiss the palm. “Of course. Always.”

“We’re adults. This was what it was, and now it’s done,” he states, though the words come out more as a question.

“Right.” I nod.

For the first time, I notice the road name sewn on his cut. Wheels. I stroke my fingers over the woven patch. “You won’t have to drive me around anymore.”

“That was the best part of my day.” He chuckles. “I’ll still take you wherever you want to go, Kit.”

“Kitty!” Rogue’s voice calls through the door. “I’m coming in. You better have clothes on.”

Taking a step back, Chris grins when Rogue enters. It’s genuine and happy. “Hey, trouble,” he greets her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.” Her eyes flit back and forth between us.

“Not the first time,” he teases, and she barks a sweet chime of laughter.

It’s easy with them, a real friendship. I hope we get to that point someday.

“Well, I’ll leave you guys to it. You both look really pretty.” Pointing a finger to his own head, he says, “I like the hair, Kit.”

“Thanks,” I say, fidgeting.

“Yeah, thanks, Chris,” Rogue says his name like it’s a secret she discovered.

Chuckling, he asks, “Do you need me to take you both somewhere?”

“No.” Rogue winces, stepping back out of the room and tugging someone into view.

“Kit, meet the newest Tim.”

A tall, broad, dark-haired guy looking like he walked straight from the pages of a rock magazine lifts a hand and winks at me.

“Hey.”

Great.

CHAPTER 21

MICHAEL

CUTTER

Dead, empty road stretches out in front of us as we stand under a canopy of trees waiting for the buyer for the AK-47s to arrive. The streets are eerily quiet and pitch black because no streetlamps were ever put in. A construction company had gone bust, leaving three sites with half-built houses. You get the odd squatter, but otherwise, it’s a perfect location for swapping merchandise.

Smoke plumes from the cigarette Wheels is sucking on, the stench sticking to the back of my throat.

Prick.

I’m taller than him by a couple inches, my stature lean with sharp muscles compared to his naturally slim frame. I could easily take him. Scrub that face in the asphalt until all that’s left is nerves and bone.

---