Page 82 of Second Shot

Brynne frowns. “She’s yoursister.”

“She’sa-”

“Kane.” The word is a warning from Blake, and when I follow his gaze, I meet Kiley’s waif-likeeyes.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” she mumbles, keeping her head down as she walks to the door. “I’ll go.” She gives Brynne a weak smile. “Thank you fordinner.”

Blake is glaring daggers at me, and Brynne pinches my arm hard, but I let the girl leave, shutting the door hard behindthem.

Brynne’s arms are crossed when I turn back toher.

“What wasthat?”

I shake my head at her. “You shouldn’t have let herin.”

“Why, because she’s struggling? She’s not dangerous, she just needshelp.”

“And I’ll help her. But…” My neck is tense, the muscles cramping, and I rub my palm overthem.

Brynne says softly, “She’s notSam.”

I frown at her. It’s the same thing Blake said. “I knowthat.”

“I talked to her. And I don’t think drugs are theproblem.”

“Bullshit. You saw her. She’s anaddict.”

“She’s scared. I don’t know what of. But I don’t think she’san-”

“Maybe she’s a better liar than I gave her creditfor.”

“What’s your problem withher?”

“My problem is she came here looking for a handout because she’s too stoned to work in order to support her habit.” Irrational anger mixed with fear rises up in mythroat.

Fear of Brynne getting attached, of her getting hurt again. Of what the girl could bring into our lives. But more specifically, fear of losing another person I care about todrugs.

Brynne steps towards me and places her palms on my chest. “I’msorry.”

“For what?” I spitout.

“For not seeing how much pain you were in. For thinking Sam’s death only affected me. I was selfish. But you can’t turn your back on her because you’re afraid she’ll end up likehim.”

I rest my forehead against hers and sigh. “Maybe you’reright.”

“I usually am,” she smiles up atme.

I grunt, wrapping my arms around her. “You’re also sexy ashell.”

Her lips quirk up. “Now that we’re alone, I can think of some things I’d rather do thanargue.”

“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “Likewhat?”

Her fingers move to my belt, unfastening it, and I groan when I hear the snap of my jeans button, the zip of thezipper.

“Like tasting you.” She licks her lips, and I lose all fuckingcontrol.

I don’t care that we’re in the middle of the hallway. I tug at her shirt, as her own hands desperately attack myclothes.

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