Page 53 of Time to Bounce

“You two always that close?” he asked, sounding grumpy.

That’s when it hit me.

He was jealous!

“I mean, he knows what kinds of muffins I like,” I shrugged, trying to act like I wasn’t over the moon about the fact that he was jealous his brother knew I liked muffins. “If that makes us close, I don’t know.”

There was more grumbling, then he threw his arm around me and said, “Well, it looks like we both have the day off. How about you show me this mystery house you live in?”

I looked at him, studying his profile as he watched his brothers all peel out of the parking lot of the diner we’d eaten at for lunch.

I waited until he returned his attention to me before saying, “Is there a reason you’re spending time with me?”

His eyes sobered. “Yes.”

I felt my heart wrench at that.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Because I want to.” He shrugged.

And because I wanted to let him, I did.

He looked at my house in horror.

“You live…” He paused as if searching for the correct word. “Here?”

“I’ve lived here since I was eighteen,” I admitted. “I first rented it from an older couple. They’d both moved to the nursing home right when I needed a place. Their daughter sold it to me for a song—because her parents asked her to—after they passed away.”

“It’s…” He shook his head. “It’s bad, Athena.”

I shrugged.

“Has Maven ever been here?” he wondered.

I scoffed. “As if I would bring anyone down to Eleventh Street if I didn’t have to. No, she’s never been here. Actually, she thinks I live at my brother’s place now, and I haven’t corrected her assumption.”

“Why?” Gable wondered.

“Because,” I said as I started up the front walk, very much aware that every single person in the neighborhood was watching right now. “Why would I want a beautiful woman here when they don’t have to be? Plus, she’s all pregnant and stuff now. I’m not really interested in having Auden hate me.”

“Auden wouldn’t hate you,” he scoffed. “He would appreciate you insulating her from this, though. He’s protective after everything.”

After she was saved from her psycho brother and father.

Or, more accurately, two men who were no blood relation to her at all.

“You can’t blame him,” I said, mirroring my thoughts.

“No,” he agreed as he headed up the stairs to my place and stopped. “You can’t.”

I looked at the doorknob, then back to him. “What?”

“I could probably kick that in,” he admitted.

I snorted. “You could not.”

“How much do you want to bet that I can?” he challenged.

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