Page 57 of Diamond In The Rough

He links his fingers and dangles them between his legs. “Even that sweet little thing Tim is in love with says she can’t stand me. But she wants Tim more than she wants to live, and a woman who truly hated me wouldn’t stick around to love my brother.”

He glances across, his dark green eyes burning into mine. “See? People lie. Because they think it’s expected of them. Maybe you should keep that in mind when you’re standing at Tiia’s door, and she tells you to beat it. She knows exactly who you are, which means she knows the world we operate in. Normal, healthy people don’t relish the idea of fraternizing with men like us. So she’s gonna be inclined to tell you to go.” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t mean she’ll mean it.”

“So, your advice, as my older and allegedly wiser brother, is to push my way into a woman’s apartment and convince her that she wants me to stay, even if her words are telling me to leave?” I scoff. “I know what you say makes sense in your brain, but have you ever stopped to consider what everyone else hears when you open your mouth?”

“Why would I?” He flashes a wicked smile as we pull up outside an apartment building that stands twenty or thirty floors high. “I’m not them. I don’t have their ears. And, like you said, it makes sense to me.”

12

TIIA

TRUCE AND TRUTH?

“Ihaven’t seen him in days.” I cross my apartment, my feet bare, since I tossed my shoes off the moment I walked through the door. I also swapped out the stupid, cutesy sundress for shorts and a crop top, the blistering heat outside enough to make my skin dew and my clothes cling to the moisture.

“Part of me thinks good riddance, ya know?” Passing the couch, I pick up this morning’s coffee mug to carry it to the sink, while, with my other hand, I hold my phone to my ear. “He’s super intense, Jazzy. Like, next level. I’m not sure I can stand up to that anymore.”

“So you’re just gonna hide away like a big, fat baby?” She snickers, completely relaxed. Easy for her, she’s not the one in Malone’s crosshairs. “You’re acting like a coward who can’t take on a guy like him.”

“Take him on?” I set the mug down and turn my back to the counter so I can lean. “Jaz! He’s not a fricken pet. He’s not some dude I met at the bar, who?—”

“Well, actually…” she taunts. “He’s literally a dude you met at a bar. Why are you being so weird about this?”

“I’m not being weird! He’s Micah Malone. And you’re taking pleasure tossing me into shark-infested waters, thinking it’s fine since he’s ohhhh so cute. This isn’t a game. This is real life, and he’s a killer.”

“Do you have proof of that?” she drawls. “Or are you throwing accusations around that you can’t truly verify?”

“The last time I saw him, he practically offered to put a hit on Roscoe!” I rake my fingers through my hair. “He didn’t sign an affidavit and address it to a judge, though, so no, Jaz, I don’t have proof.”

She giggles. This entire conversation is a joke to her. “I think you think he’s cute, too, and it’s clouding your judgment and sensibilities.”

“You’re immature and annoying.”

“And you’re half deaf these days. How’s that ear?”

I drop my hand from my hair, only to finger the outside of my ear. “Still useless. I’m okay in quiet environments, like at the store or in my apartment. But the second we’re at a club or in the street or whatever, unless I can see your lips while you’re speaking to me, I have no clue what you’re saying.”

“Have you told Roscoe it’s still giving you trouble?”

“No!” I shove away from the counter when footsteps echo in the hall outside my apartment. Heavy shoes on hardwood flooring. “I have no intention of telling him, either, because he gets annoying and protective, and he’ll snitch on me. I’d rather handle my own business.”

“Right. Like how you’re handling your Malone business. Locking yourself in your apartment to avoid any chance of running into him is totally handling it.”

“Shut up. I’m not hiding.” I head toward the door when those footsteps stop outside it. “But I ordered food, and I’m gonna watch Miles Teller fly a plane really fast. Now leave me alone.”

“You’re mean when you’re defensive.” And yet, she laughs. “We’ve been friends since forever, Tiia. Is it that time of the month? We’ve talked about this before: taking your hormonal rage out on me is not how you keep friends.”

“Maybe I don’t want friends.” I pull the phone from my ear, smiling because her smart-ass bullshit is the bedrock of our friendship. Then I swing my door open, extending my hand to accept my dinner.

But then my brain catches up.

“What the—” I yank my hand back and stumble back a step, like the man who looks down at me is a snake readying to bite.

Instead of a little Chinese man, bringing me my favorite noodles, Micah Malone stands on the other side of my door, his lips twitching into what someone less cynical could consider a smile, while his eyes scour my exposed stomach. My bare legs. My tiny shorts not fit for anyone outside mine and Mr. Chan’s eyes.

I take another step in retreat and hug my phone to my chest. “Wh-what are you doing here?” I allow my focus to fall away from his face and drift down to his broad chest—muscular and wrapped in a shirt—then to his arms, laden with a pizza box and a steaming container that promises creamy pasta. “I never told you my address.” I reach out for my door, to swing it in his face and lock him out. If only I believed doing so would keep him away. “The fact you’ve come to my home implies you harbor nefarious intentions.”

“Or,” he counters, quiet enough to force my eyes up to his lips to register his response. “I’ve been the reason several of your meals over the last week have been ruined. So now I’d like to make that better.” He shakes the pizza box, the scent of melted cheese wafting into my soul. “Though, I admit, I didn’t get your address legally.”

---