Page 84 of Bona Fide

She jerks her head to the side. “Do you think you can find your way out?”

I hit her with an exasperated look. “Sit.”

Slowly, for added effect, she does, eyeing me going through her kitchen like a stranger, or better yet, someone she doesn’t want here.

“Creamer is in the fridge,” she says.

“Would’ve hoped so.”

“Cups are in—”

“You’re not used to someone taking care of you, are you?” I turn on my heels to look at her, catching her fidgeting with her fingers.

She shrugs. “Not really. Not for a while anyway.” I can’t help it—my eyes slit into a glare.

"Grant?" His name is a gut-wrenching twist to my fragile conscience. I could've beat the fuck out of him for not keeping his damn eyes to himself at the restaurant just on the principle that he knows how it feels to be inside her.

And that she’s mine.

“My brother,” she deadpans.

My hands ball into fists on top of the cheap granite countertop, and I'm glad it's between us because I'd pull her into my arms and keep her there.

“When does he come home?”

“Don’t know.”

“I’m sorry.”

She straightens her spine. “Don’t be.”

“I want to be that for you.”

She scoffs and shakes her head, averting her attention from me. “I want you to go home, Lockwood. You shouldn’t be here.”

“But I climbed over a fence, so, here I am.”

Her eyes narrow. “I just asked you for a boost.”

“And what would you have done if I wasn’t outside of the restaurant?”

“Figured it out like I do everything else.”

“Speaking of that,” I snarl. “I told you not to quit.”

She rolls her pretty eyes. “And here we go…” I stand there because I’m done playing around.

I’m finished living this life.

I’m tired.

I want to be free.

“I’m not running for president anymore.”

Her face twists as she slices her brows. “What?”

"Better health care was on my list of things to do," I reply. "I can help you get some hearing aids if you'd like."

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