Текст книги "Thick Love"

Автор книги: Eden Butler

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“That’s the truth.” She had Dad pegged already and I respected her for how quickly she seemed to discover that my parents weren’t the celebrities people tended to see them as. Aly, in fact, seemed pretty unimpressed by my father’s celebrity or the ridiculous near-mansion my folks lived in. That made her cool in my book. Her only response was to nod at me before she sat behind the piano.

The living room wasn’t where my mom typically did her work. She had a small office off the back of the house with a small recording studio, her desk and PC and enough instruments to outfit a full band. But the baby grand was too big for her studio, and besides, it begged to be put on display. Still, she hadn’t been playing much lately. As always, her father’s Gibson Hummingbird stayed at its usual place on a stand next to the piano along with the small amp she kept near it.

Aly tinkered on the keys, playing the slow intro to her song, but her timing was off and she missed several notes, something that set my teeth on edge. I’m not sure why I sat down next to her, and joined her at the keyboard. Maybe it was a bit of conceit. Maybe I wanted to show her that I had a connection to music, too, through piano instead than dance. Maybe I just wanted to be near her when she wasn’t completely freezing me out, for whatever reason.

“You play?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, but I’m rusty.”

The keys felt cool and comfortable under my fingertips, and for a second I felt that calm settle into my chest, the same one that had always tampered down my rage when things became too much for me.

“You don’t sound rusty to me.”

Again that dimple dented her cheek and I figured that was as close to a smile as Aly ever got. I turned back to the song and messed around with the melody for a bit when a thought came to me. “Who decided on this song?” I asked, guessing I knew the answer to that question.

“Your mom,” she said, moving away from me when my elbow brushed her arm.

“Ah.”

“What does ‘ah’ mean exactly?” There was a mildly panicky tone to her question, one that had me glancing at her to see if she was freaking out.

The smile I gave her was part charm, part attempt at calm and I hoped it didn’t look forced. Me and panicky women? Yeah, that never ends well. “Relax, Aly. It’s just a general question.”

“No, it’s not.” She scooted closer, as though she forgot that her normal M.O. was refusing anyone inside her personal bubble. “Tell me what you’re thinking because I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Okay. Fine.” I stopped playing and turned my body toward her so that only my knee separated us on that bench. “My mom is a bad ass. She handles old rock stars who still think it’s the 60’s and cool to screw with women for being women. She’s racked up Grammies and made a lot of cash writing about cheating assholes and women kicking butt without anyone’s help.”

“Wi. Stuff I already know.” That dimple got deeper but I didn’t pat myself on the back. Wouldn’t do that until I saw an actual smile.

“Well, for all the badassery she manages, sometimes she forgets that the world isn’t in tune with her brain.” My mom had a process when she worked. It was one that you didn’t follow too closely. The best idea was to just sit back and watch her work her magic. Better yet, let her work and get out of her damn way.

“Modi, you’re saying she was wrong?” Aly’s smooth forehead became lined when she frowned. “About the song?”

“Maybe. I don’t think she got that this is a college audition and not a talent contest. Maybe it should be handled a little differently.” I closed the lid over the keys and moved my finger against the shine on the ebony wood until it smudged. In the reflection, Aly watched my face, as though she wanted to shake me a little to hurry up with my explanation. “I think sometimes Mom forgets that not everyone is a seasoned vet.” Aly blinked at me, making me feel like a jerk. After all, she was good. But even I could tell there was work to be done. “I just mean she hasn’t had to teach anyone for a long time.”

“You saying I need teaching?”

“Well, no.” I shrugged, feeling stupid, and moved my leg to the far side of the bench. The Hummingbird was just sitting there, still beautiful, still shiny, but the neck was worn with deep grooves from how much it had been played over the years, making it appear even older than it actually was. My mother had inherited the guitar from her father when he died, and despite a few dings and breaks over the years, it was still the guitar she used to compose with when the piano wouldn’t do.

I hadn’t touched it in months. Picking it up, cupping the neck and strumming along the strings felt like running into a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time. There were so many memories tied up in that guitar, so many tears and so much worry caught up in every string and fret.

The Hummingbird had a warm, crisp sound. The reverberation of the strings tickled my fingers like the practiced stroke of fingernail over my skin. It was comfortable and sweet, and I started to play a song I hoped Aly would recognize, moving through the melody until a hum bumped around in the back of my throat.

Two chord changes and I leaned over the guitar, closing my eyes. “I sort of picked up all of this on my own.” When she didn’t speak, I shot a glance up at her, stilling my fingers at her head shake. “What?”

“Is there anything you can’t do? Football, learning Kizomba after seeing it once, music.” She looked down when I smiled and started to strum again. There was no dimple on her cheek then, but her features had softened as I played. “You’re kind of intimidating.”

“Me?” I laughed and Aly looked up at my face, searching for what I might have found so funny. “Please. I just have a lot of energy to burn. That tends to make me focus when I’m learning.”

She made a chuckling sound deep in her throat and suddenly, it was Aly that I was focusing on. She had full lips, the bottom just a bit wider than the top and as I watched her, it was those full lips I thought about.

She didn’t shy away from me then. Still no damn smile, though, she seemed stingy with that. As I got caught up in the mesmerizing way she moved her lips together, Aly cleared her throat, and dropped her gaze to my fingers on the strings.

“So you think your mom was teaching me the wrong song?”

“She might have been too ambitious,” I stopped, returning my attention to the guitar and a different song. “You don’t have a lot of experience singing, right?” She narrowed her eyes at me and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Your pitch is natural, but not clean. Your voice is strong, but not that well supported. That tells me you haven’t had any lessons. Am I right?”

Aly shrugged yet again and distracted herself by picking up the cord to the amp coiled on the floor. She fingered the silver tip and kept her eyes down. “Everything I know I had to teach myself. Dance, music…”

“Wait. Dance?” I asked, not understanding that or why Aly only nodded. “But you teach.”

“Yeah. So?”

“You’re just, you’re good.” I liked that shrug/head dip thing she did. It made her seem humble. Not many people I know are remotely humble. “I’ve seen you with your students. You just…you’re self-taught?”

She made a small noise, similar to a soft grunt and then nodded at the guitar. “And your mom taught you everything?”

“No,” I said, smiling. “She didn’t.” Aly moved her lips together again and that time I didn’t let my eyes linger on her mouth. Instead I cleared my throat and started on another tune. “Anyway, she shouldn’t start out with one of the most popular and hardest songs on Broadway. Besides, I bet you those professors at the auditions will have heard something from Les Mis about fifty times before the auditions are over. You should try something unexpected.”

“Like?”

“Wild Horses” by the Rolling Stones was older, but perfect for what she’d need. Aly’s range and the sweet, high pitch of her voice would sound like a damn angel in that auditorium singing this song.

“You know this one?” I asked her, taking the plug from her. The pick up on the bridge of the guitar would give the tune an ethereal quality that would balance her high voice. When she didn’t answer and my humming got not reaction from her, I started in on the first line, keeping my voice low, watching her face until she moved her eyebrows up as recognition filtered into her mind.

“Sing,” I encouraged when I finished the chorus

“Um, okay, but…just let me…” and she turned, her back to me, returned her posture to that uncomfortable-looking too straight way she held herself. I let her try for a few bars, watching what I could see of her chin and long neck. She had a sweet tone, but her voice wobbled again as she rushed to get the words out before all the air left her lungs.

“Hold up,” I said, putting the guitar back on the stand.

“What?”

She tried to turn but I sat behind her, my legs on either side of the bench, putting my hands on her shoulders to keep her still. “I won’t give you shit about not looking at me when you sing. Although, you had your body pressed tight against me at the studio and didn’t look one bit nervous.”

Aly glared at me over her shoulder. “That’s different. That’s…” she turned back around. “That’s me in my element. I sort of get lost when I dance. No one makes me nervous in the studio.”

Despite myself, I smiled, feeling like a punk for thinking Aly singing in front of me made her nervous, but then she stiffened harder the longer I held her shoulders and I let her comment slide. “Um…everyone gets a song out in their own way, but this,” I squeezed her shoulders and ran a knuckle down her spine, “this isn’t gonna work.”

“Why not?” she asked, looking up at me over her shoulder again.

“Because…” my gaze slipped back to her mouth. Damn. Those lips looked so familiar. I thought for a split second that maybe Aly had been one of the girls I’d serviced at CPU, but knew immediately that wasn’t it. I shook my head to distract myself. “Because, you aren’t auditioning for the opera. This kind of performance is little bit like the Kizomba.” Her features relaxed, but those perfectly arched eyebrows lifted higher. “You have to feel it in your gut, and it can’t look like a performance. It needs to look like something that makes you happy.”

That didn’t have the impact I wanted. Aly frowned hard as though I’d insulted her. “I’m happy.”’

I was unable to keep the humor from my voice or my eyes from going wide. “This is you happy? Jesus, I’d hate to see you pissed.”

“Wi, Ransom.” She brushed off my hands and moved to the edge of the bench. “You would.”

I sighed, bringing my hands back to her shoulder despite the small attempt she made to jerk away from me. “Look, I’m just trying to help you out. It’s like what you explained to me about the dance. How it should be almost…I don’t know, like sex.”

That earned me another glare. “Me singing for a bunch of theater professors is like sex?”

“No. You being up on that stage, everyone watching you, listening, you’ve got to show them that you are more than a voice. You’ve got to let them know what you keep inside.” She kept staring, but her eyebrows weren’t as high and that frown didn’t get harder. Finally, when she continued to lean away from me, I took my hands from her shoulders, deciding that another tactic might work. “Tell me how you feel when you dance.”

“When I dance? You mean on the stage?”

Aly was a smart girl and had a hell of a lot of ambition. But God was she literal, too literal sometimes. I could sense the frustration from her when I sighed, but kept myself in check. “I mean whenever it was that you felt the freest dancing. When it was so good, so real that you thought you could fly.”

Her face took on an intense expression while her mind obviously whirled with memories. Watching her focus, I tried like hell to remember where I’d met her before and why those lips, those eyes seemed so familiar to me—then the sharp line of her frown disappeared.

This time, her dimple was deeper than I’d ever seen it and she came damned close to smiling. But then Aly closed her eyes, like the memory she’d chosen was too remarkable and too personal to do anything but focus directly on it.

When she spoke, her voice, at first, came out as a whisper, then lifted as she recalled the exact feeling the memory had given her. “Modi, dancing, it…it feels like time is standing still.” A second dimple joined its sister. “You get lost in the music and find yourself in movements. A simple wave of your arm or fan of a leg can melt your heart.” She opened her eyes, blinking twice to focus again on my face. “It makes you believe everything—your work, your struggles, all the hurdles that life slams in front of you to stop you from your passion—will be okay. Like those hurdles are nothing and you are boundless.” Another blink and Aly looked down again, ran her thumbnail along the seam of her capris. “It’s therapy that no doctor or psychiatrist can come close to.”

“It’s joy?” I asked, shocked by her honesty, by that same slip of truth I saw painted on her face. It was the most authentic thing anyone had said to me in years.

She brought up one side of her mouth so that I could almost make out her top teeth. “Wi. That’s exactly what it is. Kontantman. Joy.”

Nodding, I slid in closer to her, ignoring her skittishness as I moved one hand to her back, the other around her stomach, over her diaphragm. “Then you should sing joy, Aly.” Against my nose I caught the subtle whiff of jasmine, that warm, sweet scent of very ripe fruit as she brushed her braid over her shoulder.

“When I push on your stomach, shove my hand off with your stomach muscles and bring some air into your lungs as full as you can get them. Then, sing.” She took to biting her lip, working her top teeth over her bottom lip like she needed something automatic to do while my hands were on her. It wasn’t me, I didn’t think. Likely it was being held so closely by anyone she didn’t know, and me barking orders at her under the guise of trying to help. I had to admit that my heart quickened just holding her between my hands. “Um…you get that?”

“Wi,” Aly said, nodding once before she turned away from me. Her ribs moved against my hands as she inhaled and the briefest swell of her breast rubbed above my thumb. She followed instruction perfectly, moving the song from her mouth in a slow release instead of the wobbled rush I’d heard from her earlier. The melody was so slow and sensual that I didn’t want to take my hands from her, worried that not having my touch would give her any excuse to stop singing.

But, that voice begged for accompaniment and I leaned back, grabbing the Hummingbird, and I played for her.

I could make out her profile. She’d closed her eyes, feeling the music, and it was joy that came through the slow, beautiful crawl of her words. It left me a little punch drunk, hearing the low hum of the guitar and the sound of Aly’s warm, mezzo-soprano voice. The sound reminded me of something I might have dreamt, like some erotic fairy from my dreams had taken over Aly. Then, when I didn’t think she could dip any deeper into my head, Aly shocked the hell out of me and reached the chorus, her notes higher than the verse, and the sound soared, shot right to my chest and I realized, without warning, that Aly was damn remarkable. Aly was criminally beautiful. And I was in trouble.

8

Things happen. It’s what I’d been telling myself since that night at Summerland’s. It’s not like I hadn’t been neck deep in guilt for a while. I had. What was one more dose? But damn if this made zero sense to me.

You want her.

“No, I don’t.”

That’s what I kept telling myself, telling the voice since that Sunday at the lake house. Aly was very sweet. She had a pretty face, luscious lips and eyes that were haunted, but beautiful. I liked her. But no, I didn’t want her. That’s why what happened today made so little sense to me.

I blame my father.

Team meetings generally didn’t last long and this one hadn’t, so maybe if there hadn’t been a locker room full of my teammates all in one place then Aly showing up with Koa on her hip might not have been such a big deal. But she did show up, looking like she normally did, but this time she wasn’t wearing a baggy, sleeveless tank or frayed dance pants. She still wore her hair in that severe bun at the back of her head, but she sported just a touch of make-up and a pair of modest length shorts with a thin, green lace shirt that accented the swell of her chest and her small waist.

Amazingly, the guys on the team hadn’t noticed her knocking on my father’s office door. Not until Dad answered it and did that dumbass baby talk to Koa. It was that stupid accent coming from my mammoth father that had my teammates turning around to look at them. That’s when they spotted Aly.

“Who the hell is that?” Trent said, stepping onto a bench to see over the heads of players around us in various stages of dress. We were prepping for practice, taking our time getting dressed because the team meeting had gone short.

“Don’t know, but I call dibs.” Mike Richard’s slow Mississippi drawl was funny, but then what he said registered and I immediately thought he was a stupid redneck.

“The hell you do,” Trent told Richard. “Can’t call dibs on a girl until you find out if she’s taken.”

“She’s not taken.” Why the hell had I offered up that information? Those pricks didn’t need to be calling dibs, especially not on Aly. Wait. Not especially. Just on Aly. Dammit.

“You know her?” Trent nudged my arm and I shrugged, not bothering to clarify shit for that idiot. She wasn’t his type. She actually used her brain. Besides, there was no way Aly would be down for a guy like Trent.

We’d spent the better part of two weeks working on her audition and practicing Kizomba at the studio. She had become a friend, I guessed, or at least the closest to that as I’d had in a long time. She’d talked to me about her nerves over the audition and her worry that the pregnancy was taking more out of my mother than she wanted to admit.

She was a chill girl, funny and didn’t take attitude from Koa or anyone else. I liked her and I knew damn well Trent wouldn’t have a shot.

“Yeah,” I finally told him when he nudged me again. “I know her.”

And when he stepped down off the bench and walked straight toward the office, I made damn sure Trent knew that shot he wanted would be pointless.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked him, pushing against his chest before he made it to the office door.

“I needed to ask Coach Hale about…”

“No. You don’t.” He tried moving around me but I met his step, blocking him with my arms over my chest. “You think my dad is gonna appreciate you interrupting him when my kid brother is in his office?”

“That’s not…”

“Especially when he doesn’t get a hell of a lot of time with him as it is?” My lips went down in some bullshit exaggeration of a frown and I tsked, the sound low like Trent was a kid who wanted to leap frog to the moon. “Not gonna happen, brah.”

When I didn’t move and ignored the way Trent kept looking at the window in the office door, I tilted my head in front of his face. He opened his mouth, like he might offer one more bullshit excuse but my slow head shake shut him up.

That felt good, shooing off Marshall because the guy was an entitled dick. And I enjoyed the few seconds I took watching that jackwagon return to his locker to finish dressing for practice.

Two small knocks on the office door and I slipped inside, stopping right over the threshold to see my father grumbling something about Instant Messaging to his computer and Koa standing on the desk with his chubby legs, running his small fingers through Aly’s hair as she held his waist. The difference between all that long, thick hair waving down her back and the tight bun she usually sported was remarkable.

“Brah!” Koa called when he spotted me.

“Hey brah,” I said, catching him when he leaped into my arms from my dad’s desk. “What are you doing here?”

“He wanted to show your dad his new do,” Aly offered, ruffling my brother’s shorter hair.

“Mother fu…” Dad’s curse cut off with one glare from Aly. He rubbed his eyes before he exhaled and pushed away from the desk. “Sorry.” Then he took Koa from me. “Sorry, keiki kane, but makua kane has to go see his boss.” I caught his frown and the tight clench in his jaw, but dad shook his head, telling me silently it was nothing to worry about. “Give makua kane a kiss, buddy and I’ll see you tonight.”

“It’s okay, Kona. Koa kept asking for you when we left the barber. I knew you’d probably be too busy for a long visit.”

“Never too busy for my boys, Aly Cat, but I do have to run.” Dad kissed Koa on the forehead and handed him back to me, lowering his voice so Aly couldn’t hear him. “Walk them out alright? I don’t like her being the center of attention in the locker room.”

“No problem,” I agreed, nodding at my father when he walked out of the office. It wasn’t until I caught the feeling of being stared at that I turned back to Aly, looking down when I noticed her gaze moving over my chest. Right there on my bare chest was the tattoo of Emily’s beautiful face, mesmerizing eyes and wings shooting out of her back. My angel, always, but seeing Aly’s long stare, the small hint of her pink tongue, left me feeling a little exposed. “Uh, I’ll go put on a shirt and then walk you out. Stay put,” I told her, putting Koa back in her arms.

“You don’t have to.” But I grabbed my t-shirt from my locker and stuffed it over my head before Aly could tell me to stop.

“Ransom, that your woman?” I heard, not bothering to look back to see who’d asked that question as I ushered Aly down the hallway and away from those loud jackasses cat calling after her.

“Sorry,” I told her when we made it outside of the gym locker room and walked toward my mom’s Armada parked in the Visitor’s section. “You’d swear they’ve never seen a pretty woman before.”

Aly snapped her gaze toward me, then looked away, readjusting Koa to her other hip. I noticed she deflected when anyone complimented her, and I made a mental note to compliment her more often. The next second, I wondered where the hell that feeling came from.

“Here, let me take him,” I told her, in need of a distraction from my thoughts and I laughed when my brother squealed at the small flip I gave his body as I placed him on my shoulders.

Aly’s half grin was small, not a smile at all, but there was a light in her eyes when she watched Koa that I appreciated. Mom had told me my little brother had really taken to Aly. Partners in crime, she called them.

“Your dad looked annoyed,” she said, stopping to unlock the Armada for me to put Koa in his car seat. “I hope everything’s okay.”

“Just team crap that will likely blow over after practice.” Koa wrapped his arms around my neck when I buckled him in and I ran my fingers through his hair. “I like it, brah. It’s all short like makua kane’s now.” With that closely trim cut he looked more like a mini-Kona than I ever had. “Think I should cut mine like that?” I asked him getting only a head bob in response. “I’ll see you this weekend, okay?”

Another nod and Koa offered me his small hand to fist bump before I shut the door.

Aly played with her phone and opened the driver’s side door, her lips tensed into a hard line.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, standing next to her.

“This is so big.” She nodded toward the Armada. “I’m petrified to drive it. It’s a tank. I feel like I have to climb up a wall just to get in.”

“Yeah,” I said through a laugh. She looked a little suspicious when I offered her my hand, but took it anyway, I guessed because her need for a push up into the SUV was a little greater than her suspicion. “Why do you think my dad bought it? He’s ridiculously paranoid about Mom driving anywhere without him.” I shut the door and leaned my elbows against the open window. “I think he likes to play caveman or something with her knowing damn well that she can handle much rougher shit than New Orleans traffic.”

Aly’s laugh was quick, but pleased. “Well, I can’t imagine what’s rougher than that.”

“You’ve never been to Nashville, have you?”

Lips pressed together, Aly still wouldn’t give me a smile, but she did smirk a little. “No. Never been outside of Louisiana.”

“Really?” I asked, ignoring that niggling voice in my head that reminded me I was going to be late for practice. “Man, I can show you pictures of some of the crazy places my mom’s dragged me to.”

“You ever been to France?” Her eyes got a little wider then and she adjusted in her seat to lean closer to me.

“Twice.”

“Shut up. You have not.”

When I nodded, Aly’s mouth dropped opened and I was surprised how much I liked her when she wasn’t introverted and closed off. “Germany too, and we went three times to the UK. London is very cool, real old, ya know, but nothing beats Scotland. Supposed to be the most haunted place in the world.”

“Did you see a ghost?”

“Nah. I don’t wanna be around that shit.”

“Shit!” Koa shouted from the backseat.

“No, sir, little man,” Aly said, glaring at him in the rearview.

Koa kicked the back of the seat, refusing to look away from Aly’s frown, but when she cleared her throat, the annoying thumping stopped

That was amazing. My little brother was a hellion most of the time and in under a month Aly had him behaving. Somewhat. I shook my head, smiling at her. “How the he…um…how do you do that?”

She adjusted the rearview mirror and shook her head. “Koa gets away with things from you guys because he’s so cute.” She looked back at me. “Cute doesn’t really go very far with me.”

“No? What about impossibly good looking?”

I wasn’t sure what to make of the look she gave me and I had no idea why I wanted to know her answer so badly. But for some reason I didn’t understand, I leaned closer, like I wanted to touch her, see if I could get that elusive smile. Aly stared back. There was a little buzz moving around us, some weird sting of electricity that I felt when she pressed her tempting lips together.

“Shit!” Koa said again, and I pushed back from the door.

“Koa! Non!” Aly fussed and I hid my laugh, giving my little brother a wink.

“We should go,” she said, disappointing me more than I thought was possible. I had no idea why I wanted her to stick around, but I didn’t think it was because I missed seeing my baby brother. That idea scared me, just a little.

“You gonna be at the lake house this weekend?” I asked.

“Yeah. Leann and Keira sweet talked me into helping out with the fund raiser.”

“How’d they manage that?”

Aly shrugged, starting the car and that slight grin almost became a smile. “Blue Bell Caramel Kettle Crunch ice cream.”

It was like someone else was driving my body, putting thoughts into my head, cravings that shouldn’t be there, but I leaned back again, just hoping to catch another whiff of the exotic, fruity smell of her perfume. “I’ll have to remember that.”

Aly tilted her head, gave me that cynical, small frown again. “You got plans to bribe me, mister?”

“I might.” I had zero plans and about a million immoral ideas. None I’d ever admit to her. “You never know.”

Aly shook her head, still withholding that smile I suspected she only offered to people who deserved them, but as she drove away and I watched her go, I couldn’t help wondering how the hell I could swing being one of those deserving lucky bastards and why the hell I wanted to be that bastard at all.

This close. That’s how damn close I came to knocking Mike Richard out that weekend at my parents’ lake house. I didn’t know why him looking at Aly, mumbling to Ronnie Blanchard about the way she looked in that thin, wispy little sundress, set me off the way it had.

“Shit, did you see her ass?” They’d been standing back away from the small crowd congregated around my father and our head coach at the fundraiser the coach insisted my father host. The boosters hob-knobbed and clinked glasses and we all stood around like debs on display, uncomfortable in our suits, getting the once over from rich, board, plastic-looking trophy wives and businessmen who had peaked when they’d played the game in high school. Richard talked behind his glass of beer, hiding that stupid smirk of his when Aly set out another tray of stuffed mushrooms, bending a little too far over the table to snatch up an empty tray.

“Just a little bit further, baby,” he whispered to Blanchard and they both laughed. I was going to join them, wondered what had them giggling like two twelve-year-olds at their first slumber party, but when I followed their low-lidded gazes and spotted Aly’s round, perfect ass right in front of those two knuckle heads, I curled my fists hard, stepping in front of them to block their view.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

They kept smiling, grinning like jackasses and Richard shrugged. “Come on, man, look at her. She’s hot.”

“And?” I said, moving right in his face, glancing once at Blanchard so he’d back off when he patted my shoulder. “That gives you a right to stare at her ass?”

“Ransom, man, seriously?”

“Seriously, asshole. You don’t get to stare at her like that.” My knuckles ached, had turned fainter than my complexion as I held my hand tight. It was Richard’s expression though, a little humbled, more than shocked by my reaction I guessed, that had me stepping away from them.

“Man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were hooked up with her.”

“Hooked up?” What is wrong with you? That nipping at the back of my mind shook me, and I glanced over my shoulder, watched as Aly nodded to Kona when he spoke to her before I looked back at my two teammates. They weren’t looking at her. Instead they both frowned at me like my reaction was way out of character. It was and I scratched my chin, forcing my eyes to move away from Aly and her retreat into the kitchen. “I, I’m not with her,” I told them, rolling my eyes when I caught the doubt on their matching expressions. “I’m not.”

“Well, shit, Ransom you’ve got that whole jealous boyfriend shit down.”

“You…you know what? Fuck you both,” I told those two smug-smiling dumb asses, walking away from them to chug the warm beer in my hand.