Page 72 of Crossover

It was when he pulled his body away from mine that my hormones stopped clouding my judgment, and my heart thundered wildly against my rib cage.

What had I just done?

I just had sex with my father’s killer.

No amount of counseling would untangle this screwed-upness—I’ll tell you that.

But the worst part was that I didn’t fully regret it. I should be repulsed at myself, at him. And I was, but not to the appropriate degree.

A litany of self-loathing thoughts circled my brain as I redressed quickly, then draped my arms over my stomach.

“This meant nothing.” I tried to keep my voice firm, convincing.

Grayson’s mouth tugged up on one side, knowing me well enough to detect my lie as he grabbed the gun and stuffed it into the back of his waistband. Then, he tilted my chin up with a finger and brushed a mockingly sweet kiss to my forehead.

“When you’re ready for another round of ‘nothing,’ you know where to find me.”

With that, he turned and strode out to keep his post outside the door, leaving me to deal with the fallout of my actions alone.

39

IVY

The scent of burned coffee and stale doughnuts wafted around me as I shifted uneasily in the cracked booth of the hotel’s continental breakfast area. It was a welcome change to be in a hotel for once, even if the food left much to be desired. We’d chosen this place for the complimentary breakfast, but Red had warned us that we’d be back to motels soon, this time with a better plan for meals that didn’t risk exposing us at another diner. I pushed the thought aside, focusing on the present moment.

Avoiding Mom’s gaze, I tried to swallow the words that I couldn’t say aloud. How could I possibly explain the depths I’d sunk to?

“Are you okay?” she asked.

No. I’m fairly sure I’m going to hell.

“I’m fine,” I claimed.

“What’s wrong?” she insisted.

Well, let’s see. I participated in murdering a man at a gas station, so now, the cops might also be after me and Grayson, and, oh yeah, I had sex with my father’s killer. You know, the usual.

Not that I’d tell her those details. My mom and I were close, but notconfess to being an accomplice to murderclose, ya know? Plus, I didn’t want to involve her in anything that might make her an accessory after the fact. Or send her into years of therapy.

At least we were together again. It had been such a relief to finally meet up with her and Red today after a virtually sleepless night with Grayson and I alone.

Ish.

Grayson stayed outside the hotel room door all night, gun loaded, sexy hat pulled over his damn face. What, exactly, he thought of our sinfully wrong fit of pleasure, I didn’t know. He hadn’t acknowledged it after his little kiss on my forehead.

Seriously, what is up with that? Last time I checked, a killer turned bodyguard isn’t supposed to give you such a sweet kiss after threatening to unload his gun into another man’s eye socket.

Mom flicked a pack of sugar, ripped it open, and dumped its contents into her black coffee. Red and Grayson sat at a table by a window on the other side of the small room, giving us privacy while being able to keep an eye on the comings and goings of this place.

We’d made it up to central Wisconsin at this point, but we weren’t headed in a direct line to anywhere in particular.

“Is this about me?” Mom questioned.

Huh?

She must’ve read the confusion on my face.

“I know you’re furious that I kept the truth of your father’s death from you,” she explained. “You were right; we should have told you what was going on.”

---