Page 3 of For the Record

“I won’t since you’re a retired gynecologist!” Sawyer hollered back, sniggering as she pushed into the house.

She was in the shower when a frustrating, albeit intriguing, image of the rugged woman from the night before came to mind. Turning McCoy away had clearly been for the best. Games were for children, not grown women. No matter how lonely she got inher big house with just Patches to keep her company, she’d never trade in her self-respect.

“Speak of the devil, and she appears,” Sawyer muttered when the long-haired calico rubbed her whiskers against Sawyer’s leg as she toweled off. “Hey, cutie.”

“Meow.” Patches stared up at Sawyer with an expectant look on her adorable bicolored face. One side was completely black, and the other orange, with thin strips of black above the eyebrow.

“This one, Maman. This is the one I want,” Bree had proclaimed years ago as they’d stood in front of the litter of kittens.

“And then she went off to college and left you here with me,” Sawyer murmured, bending down to stroke the soft, thick fur on the feline's chest. She tsked. “You poor thing.”

Drying down her torso, Sawyer pulled the material gently over the long scar a few inches from her belly button. Staring into the bathroom mirror, her gaze fell to where her fingertips were lightly tracing the thin red mark.

“Stop. It wasn’t meant to be.”

Sawyer inhaled, straightening her spine so her breasts jutted out. Her scars were there as a reminder, not for self-pity.

Chapter 2

McCoy

Lately, every single timeshe made a bet with Sloane, she came to regret it. Coy liked to believe her sister enjoyed living vicariously through her since, between the two of them, Coy was more suave with the pickup lines. Sometimes, though, it really felt like Sloane loved watching her crash and burn. Coy stared up at her bedroom ceiling, a disheartened sigh escaping her lips. To say the night before hadn’t gone as planned was an understatement. The bet had been simple. Decide on a possible one-night lover, inform Sloane, and go make eye contact with said stranger. There, Coy would obtain a name and/or number, whisper a few sweet nothings into the femme’s ear, and for one night have them forget every other lover before McCoy Miller. It should have been an easy bet, one Coy could have done blindfolded or sweaty and dirty after a hard day at the shop. Winning beautiful femmes over was practically a personal goalof hers—one she’d achieved more times than she cared to think about.

But, as she was staring into a pair of incredible smoky gray eyes the night before, all Coy’s training and smooth pickup lines had gone awry. She’d been nervous, whichneverhappened, and instead of playing it casual and easing the femme into conversation, she’d become a babbling idiot who missed all the nonverbals until it was too late.

But hell, the woman at the warehouse had beenstunning. Older than Coy’s twenty-seven years, perhaps late thirties or early forties, with a tanned complexion. Silky smooth waves of black hair had covered one cheek, the rest cascading down her back. A few age lines bracketed her sensual mouth, but in no way had it taken away from her natural beauty. And the way her off-the-shoulder red top had fallen had exposed the finest throat and collar bones Coy had ever seen.

Coy rubbed a calloused hand over her face—to wipe the sleep from her eyes and also to hopefully snap herself out of the slump of rejection. The action caused Ash’s hand to dip lower onto Coy’s stomach but thankfully didn’t wake them. She didn’t want anyone to see her this bothered over a woman, especially one of her one-night stands. There was a likely possibility the woman from the night before was straight, but Coy’s gaydar rarely failed her. There had been enough suppressed lady-loving vibes emanating from that dominating personality and sexily accented voice to have Coy picking her tongue up off the floor.

She was mystified. She couldn’t remember the last time she was turned down flat. Elementary school, maybe? She groaned, knowing that was a bit of a stretch, but fuck, charming her way into a woman’s bed was part of her identity. McCoy Miller—daddy’s girl, twin sister of Sloane, car-obsessed mechanic, mountain bike enthusiast, and playgirl extraordinaire.

Ash snuggled closer to McCoy, their sleepy voice breaking the silence in the room. “You’re up early.”

Coy peered down at her friend and occasional lover, pressing a kiss into their hair before pulling back the blankets. “Sorry if I woke you. Go back to sleep.” She slid out from under Ash, scooting to the edge of her king-sized bed. One glance over her shoulder witnessed Ash doing as instructed, their enticing ass wiggling a little as they got comfortable under the covers once more. Coy got to her feet, lumbering down the apartment hallway to the bathroom.

She was washing her hands when the unmistakable sound of glass breaking made her slap the sink faucet closed mid-clean. Muffled crying commenced, and Coy’s heart leapt in her throat. She’d know upset Sloane anywhere. Dashing from the bathroom, she landed directly in Sloane’s firing range, barely dodging a picture frame flying over her head to hit the man behind her.

“Fuck!”

“Get out, Lucas,” Sloane sobbed from her bedroom doorway. She wore just a thin tank top and hipster briefs, too distraught to notice they now had an audience.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do, you crazy bitch!” Lucas growled. Coy’s eyes flared at the venom in his tone, and instant rage boiled in the pit of her stomach and set her teeth on edge. No one spoke to her sister like that.

“Clearly not fast enough, Lukey,” she drawled, bending to scoop his bundle of clothes up that Sloane must have thrown out of her room. Coy shoved them into his naked torso, probably a little more forcibly than necessary she realized when he stumbled into the wall.Fuck, cool it, She-Hulk. Sometimes, she forgot her own strength.

“Well, if Sloane would stop—”

“Nope,” Coy cut him off. “Fuck off.” She grabbed his arm, guiding him through the apartment to the front entrance. “I don’t give a shit what Sloane did. You don’t speak to her like that.”

Lucas did the honors of opening the door, huffing in frustration. “She can’t handle a breakup. Not my problem, Coy.”

Coy snatched Lucas’s shoes from the boot rack, handed them to him and said, “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but the truth is,” she gave him a little push past the threshold, into the hallway of the apartment and smirked, “I never liked you, Lukey. B-bye now.”

Coy closed and locked the door, rolling her eyes at Lucas’s several choice words out in the hallway. It took about a minute, but she finally heard his footsteps retreating. Sloane was curled up in a fetal position atop her messy bed when Coy walked in. Her face was buried in the pillow she was hugging to her chest, but Coy could still make out her hushed words. “D-Did he say why?”

Sighing inwardly, Coy climbed on the bed behind Sloane. It always took her some time to think of the right things to say to placate her sister, especially when all she wanted to do was rejoice. Sloane had only dated Lucas for the last three months, but they were three months too long in Coy’s opinion. “C’mere,” she murmured, pulling her sister into her arms. “I’m sorry, Sloane. I know how much you liked him.”

“I loved him, Coy.”

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