Page 13 of I Should Hate You-but I Don't

She ran up the rest of the steps and almost collided with Kingsley, who was coming out of a bedroom holding a motorcycle helmet.

He grabbed her arms, stopping her from plowing into him. "Whoa. Slow down."

"Sorry." She hitched her backpack higher. "I thought you were Zane."

Kingsley let her go. "Not many people get us confused."

While the Stafford men appeared similar in build and good looks, their personalities made them different. Kingsley was quiet and rarely smiled. There was an intensity that made him mysterious.

Zane—while he never walked around grinning, he communicated better, making him the easier brother to get along with. He was more approachable, probably because he had a motorcycle club to run.

"Is he here?" She looked behind her, expecting him to pop out of his room.

This was their childhood house. Their father, who was in prison, raised his sons here. It was beautiful, big, and well taken care of. As adults, they both should be comfortable sleeping in their own space. Instead, they chose to live in the garage apartment, leaving her in the house alone.

"No." Kingsley thrust his hand in his hair. "Zane's at the clubhouse."

"Oh."

"Do you need him for something?"

She chewed the inside of her cheek. She needed Zane for everything, but that was hard for someone else to understand.

"No." She swallowed heavily, changing the subject. "I don't work in the kitchen anymore."

"You don't say," he murmured.

"Zane's put me in the cabin at the campground." She held up her hand. "Now I'm typing with these fingers instead of washing dishes."

Kingsley's expression hardened, and he grabbed her wrist, bringing her closer and studying the back of her fingers. She pulled her arm, wanting to hide her hand.

He ran the pad of his thumb over the brown mark on the knuckle of her ring finger. "Kenna has the same mark."

She pulled her hand out of his grasp and rubbed her fingers as if to rid herself of the birthmark. "Hers is on the—"

"Middle finger." Kingsley backed away. "Sorry about grab—"

"What the fuck is going on here?" Zane approached them. "What did you do?"

Kingsley held up his hands and shook his head. "Slow your roll, brother. I was only talking to River."

"What the hell are you doing in the house?"

She slipped her hand into Zane's hand. "This is his house."

"Not while you're living here," he blurted.

She shook her head. "That's not right."

The two brothers never even glanced at her. The way they stared at each other made her uncomfortable. If Zane had a problem with Kingsley being in the house while she stayed here, she could fix that problem.

"I can move out and—"

"You're not going anywhere." Zane put his hand on the back of her neck and looked at his brother. "She was gone all day. You could've come over when she was at work."

"I came home, showered, and needed to grab my helmet. I'm riding out and will be going over the state line." Kingsley lifted the helmet as if to prove his story. "I got some information I want to follow up on."

"Club business?" asked Zane.

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