Page 21 of Too Hostile

Fine. That’s totally fine because I’m pretty sure the memory of that one fleeting kiss will be in my mind for the rest of my life. Pathetic? Maybe, but who the hell cares? It was by far the best kiss of my life.

And while I want more, maybe talking with Professor Barlowe won’t be so bad. “My parents tried, I think, but I was a surprise. They didn’t really want kids, at least that’s the story I was told.”

“You didn’t know them?”

I shrug somberly as I take a deep breath. “I know them. I actually saw my dad not that long before I was adopted. They—well, he—tried to get me back a few times. I think he felt guilty, but he just couldn’t get it together. I always wound up back in foster care.”

I see the outline of him nodding along. “Drugs?” he asks, and I can tell it was hard for him to ask that question.

“Alcoholics, actually. Never touched the hard stuff.” I try to laugh it off, but the memory of seeing my mom passed out on the couch all too damn often comes right up and clobbers me. It isn’t funny. Her addiction wasn’t funny. Neither was my father’s. It was sad. Truly sad.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“They just didn’t really handle life. Didn’t want to be on a schedule, which having kids requires. My dad made more on the night shift, so that’s what he wanted to work. But that meant my mom had to wake up early and get me to school, which never fucking worked out. I missed so much when I lived with them, though it’s not like foster care was better.”

He’s quiet. Far too damn quiet, and I’m worried he might pity me now. I don’t want that. Pity. It makes me sick to think about it. That’s why I put on the show. I can stand people thinking I’m just like everyone else. Entitled. Or rich. That’s fine. But different, sad, pathetic?

Yeah. I can’t handle that.

“But it’s okay. Blair came along and rescued my ass when I was almost thirteen, and I really am a rich spoiled kid now.” I laugh slightly. “She wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“She sounds nice.”

I grin. “She is. She was totally in love with Rhys and kind of chasing him when Bree literally ran right into Rhys’s tattoo shop, hiding from her asshole foster father.”

“Bree?”

“My sister.” I laugh. “Well, I don’t have any actual siblings, but Bree and Rhett, we met in foster care. They became my siblings.”

“You looked out for each other,” he murmurs.

I nod and go on, “We did. Blair and Rhys were working on adopting Bree, and they let us hang out at their bigass house. I mean, this house was insane. Huge and clean. Furnished so nicely. Lots of food. It was like a dream. And Rhett and I...”—I let out a deep breath—“God, we were so relieved for Bree.”

I’ll never forget how I felt when I knew she was going to be taken care of. That we didn’t need to worry about Bree. That one of us was safe.

“What about you?” he asks me, surprising me a little.

“I was still stuck in foster hell, and so was Rhett, but after school we went to hang out with Bree. It was great.” That familiar chill settles through me, and my eyes involuntarily close. “It all changed when Rhett and Bree were hanging out, and they couldn’t reach me. My asshole foster father went on a bender and beat the shit out of me.”

I feel his entire body stiffen. “He hit you?”

I try to hold back the laugh because it’s not funny, but his surprise is what I would expect from anyone who had a normal life. And once again, I worry that if I don’t shut up, he’s just going to end up pitying me. But I can’t seem to shut my damn mouth. “It didn’t happen that much. Just when he would get drunk, and he was pissed off because I forgot to take the trash out.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s a great reason to beat on a twelve-year-old kid,” he bites out, and I hear the unchecked anger in his voice.

I put my hand out and rest it on his firm shoulder, oddly needing to comfort him. “I was okay, but when Blair and Rhys saw me, they freaked. They ended up getting custody of Rhett and me, and the rest is history.”

“So that kid throwing a fit . . .”

I cringe, thinking about my super embarrassing moment in the coffee shop but not wanting to brush past it either. “I went back to that moment. Moments. When I was just a helpless kid,” I barely breathe out. “I really don’t want to talk anymore.”

I can feel his body near mine. I can smell his expensive aftershave, and God, do I want to kiss him again. His lips are so damn full and soft. His hair is also really damn soft, despite holding its style so well. I thought for sure he had lots of gel or something in it, but nope. It’s just perfect.

Everything about him is so damn put together and perfect, but the way he kisses? There was frenzied passion in that kiss I’ve never felt before and never expected. I want more. So much more.

“We could talk about you...” I say, instead of trying to kiss him again. I’m trying to behave here.

“No,” he says instantly, but there’s a hint of lightness there. It wasn’t a quick no, not just shutting me down and rejecting me like I’m used to from him. “We should go back.”

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