Page 18 of Love JD

Zev slammed the door shut and swiveled wide, blue eyes to me. I covered my mouth with my hand.

“Shit,” we both said.

Chapter five

Zev

I woke with one leg propped up on Isla’s coffee table and a crick in my neck. I’d fallen asleep on her loveseat, my nerves tighter than a sharp guitar string and worry settled in my gut. She had a broken front door, a gaping back door, and reporters camped outside with phones and cameras at the ready. And I hadn’t helped the situation much by answering the door half naked.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I hurried to silence it, darting a bleary glance at Isla. She slept under a thick quilt, her chest rising and falling slowly and her hair spilling over the pillow like a chocolate fountain. She’d managed to keep her foot elevated, but she’d twisted herself weirdly to the side like she was used to being a side-sleeper.

I stood from the couch and crept to the bathroom before looking at the caller ID. Tristan. I cleared my throat and answered, “Yeah.”

“Zev, hey,” Tristan said, his voice weary. “They just broke the story.”

“How bad?” I rasped.

“Uh… it’s not great.”

I nodded, resigned to that. “It’ll blow over eventually.”

“I mean, not if you keep letting them take pictures of the two of you not wearing clothing,” he retorted bitterly.

Fair point. “I could walk out totally naked and do one of those viral dances,” I offered with a grin. “That would give them something else to write about.”

“Dude,” Tristan intoned.

“Relax, Batman. I’ll duck out as soon as that nurse shows up today, and the longer there’s distance between us, the faster they’ll lose interest.”

“Well, I appreciate you helping Isla, anyway,” Tristan said. “I know you’re busy. Azura told me about the GreenTech merger.”

I nodded, not wanting to think about my dirty client and their battery acid issues. “Her place is going to need repairs, though. I broke the front door, and she broke the back door. Wild night over here.”

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped insinuating that you’re having filthy sex with my sister, asshole,” Tristan bit out. “Even if I do want to marry your sister.”

“Marry her?” I clarified.

Silence slammed down on the call. Tristan cleared his throat. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do, Daft Punk,” I grinned again.

“Okay, I’m hanging up. I’ll send someone to fix her doors.”

“Listen, when you propose, I can help you deck your helmet out with rhinestones,” I started. But the line went dead, and I laughed darkly. Easy targets, those Valeharts.

And none were easier than the always-blushing fainting goat on the couch. I poked my head out of the bathroom and found Isla sitting up with a bewildered look on her face and her hair askew on her head. I gave her a wave. “Morning.”

“Oh,” she exhaled, putting a hand to her messy hair. “You’re still here.”

“I said I’d stay,” I reminded her, padding across the worn carpet back to her.

Her eyes jumped up and down the length of me, lingering on my bare torso and making me want to tease her endlessly for it. “Your shirt is probably dry by now.”

I snorted, heading for the kitchen and then pinching my filthy white T-shirt off the back of the chair. It still had rust-brown blood stains from the cuts on her back. “Lucky me.”

Isla got a crafty tilt to her lips. “You could borrow one of mine.”

I tried to imagine myself in one of Isla’s shirts, and we laughed in tandem. “I’ll wear one of your shirts if it comes off your body first.”

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