Page 51 of Tiny Fractures

“Play what?” I ask.

“Music, of course,” Cheyenne says, her voice dripping with disdain. She leans back in her chair, rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t know you guys played,” I say, choosing to ignore Cheyenne’s attitude toward me, and instead focus on Ronan and Shane, making a concerted effort not to make my attraction to Ronan too obvious.

“We don’t,” Shane huffs. “Not really. We don’t have a band or anything. I just take my frustration out on a drum set, to be honest. But this multitalented asshole here has the voice of a fucking angel and plays like 398 instruments.” Shane throws Ronan an exaggerated look of fake contempt before laughing.

“Don’t be jealous, Shane,” Ronan says, leaning forward on the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees. “It’s hard work being perfect. Enjoy your mediocrity.” Ronan’s grin is mischievous.

“Ouch,” Zack chuckles while everyone busts up laughing.

But I’m intrigued.

“Okay, really though, do you play and sing?” I ask Ronan.

He chuckles. “Not really. Shay’s being stupid,” he says, throwing Shane a look before he continues, “My grandfather taught me some chords on the guitar, but I’m really just average at playing. Nothing to write home about. Seriously.”

“Ran, you should play and Kitty Cat could sing,” Vada says, looking between the two of us, and I blush.

“So, you sing?” Ronan asks, his eyes a liquid green.

“In the shower,” I say, not intending to come off as teasing, but by Zack and Steve’s wolf whistles, I can tell it nonetheless had that effect. “Get your minds out of the gutter,” I scold them, and more laughter erupts.

“Best acoustics for sure,” Ronan notes, still smiling. “I’m down to play if you’ll sing!”

“In the shower?” Vada calls out, her eyebrows wiggling.

“Oh boy,” I sigh, shaking my head. Vada is relentless.

“You have got to let this go, babe.” Steve pinches her side, causing Vada to squeal.

“I can’t help it,” she laughs. “I’m on a mission.”

“And I’m going to grab some food.” Ronan gets up from his chair. “Anyone need anything?”

Everyone starts throwing out requests for Ronan to bring back food and more drinks and he finally walks into the house.

“We’re the worst,” Shane points out. “It’s his birthday and we’re letting him serve us.”

“Nah, we’re just making sure none of those people”—Steve points toward the house and the gaggle of party attendees none of us know particularly well—“steal the best seats in the house.”

“I guess,” Shane chuckles.

But I do decide to get up and give Ronan a helping hand. I wander through the giant wall-to-ceiling glass doors and into the open living space where people are mingling, chatting with each other.

I spot a group of girls from my softball team and stop to chat for a few minutes. Out of my periphery I see Cheyenne stride into the kitchen, where I suspect Ronan is. She’s wearing a short plaid skirt and black combat boots, the combination showing off her toned legs in the most perfect way. She’s also wearing a tight black tank top, and her red-and-black hair, perfectly cropped to her shoulders, is nothing but sexy. She really is a badass, and even though I try not to be, I’m intimidated by her. It doesn’t help that I know her history with Ronan, and I know if it were up to her, it would be her kissing him and not me.

After a couple minutes, I’m able to steal away from my teammates and make my way toward the kitchen. Ronan has his back to me while Cheyenne stands directly in front of him, her hand on the back of his neck as she stands on her tippy toes and leans in close. Her eyes find and lock on mine, and a grin spreads across her face as she whispers something into Ronan’s ear. I can’t see Ronan’s reaction, but it’s immediately apparent that whatever Cheyenne expected or hoped his reaction would be is not what she gets. Her face sours and her hand retreats from his skin as she steps back from him, turns, grabs some of the bottles lined up on the counter, and walks out of the kitchen.

“Stay away from him if you know what’s good for you, Cat. He’ll leave you high and dry if you let him,” she huffs as she stalks past me and back to the deck. I can’t tell if this is meant to be some well-meaning advice or a threat, but I can’t say that Cheyenne’s prior interactions with me have led me to trust her.

I continue into the kitchen and around the counter where I meet Ronan, who looks frustrated, his forehead creased as he tries to balance food and bottles in his arms. He’s still wearing the dark jeans from this afternoon, but he changed into a white shirt, and a black watch adorns his right wrist. Such a simple outfit, yet so effective at rousing something deep in my core. Good god.

“Can I help you?” I ask as I approach him.

The frustration leaves his handsome features. “That would be great.” He unloads the goodies back onto the counter. “So, when are you going to tell me about this alleged birthday gift?” he asks, rearranging some jars of salsa in front of him.

“I could show you right now,” I say, and my heart begins to hammer in my chest while I take a step toward him.

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