Page 81 of You Don’t Kiss Your Brother's Best Friends

Pain flared again, as she dug her nails in. Evelyn’s hair fell over her face as she climbed me like a ladder, clawing at my body, using her body weight to pin me to the floor. I fought her off, kicking at her face to create some separation. But she only dodged, pulled my wrist in, and sunk her teeth into my arm.

“FUCK!”

I shoved my arm forward, even harder into her mouth, rather than pull it away. I’d learned in a self-defense class that the best thing to do in a dog bite situation was to shove inward, rather than rip back. The trick worked, because Evelyn gagged on my forearm and opened her mouth even further. In that split-second I yanked my arm back, without ripping it against her teeth.

Then I punched her square in her stupid fucking face.

“UNNGFF!”

Her hands went up purely by reflex, cradling her hopefully broken nose. Red-faced and bleary-eyed, I almost felt bad for her. Almost, but not quite.

“WHO ARE YOU!?” she repeated. “Who the FUCK let you in here!?”

She was shrieking now, her voice cracking at such a high pitch it pierced my eardrums. I used the lull in the action to pull myself to my feet. It wasn’t easy, though. I was still dazed, still woozy, still bleeding from where she—

In a roar of fury Evelyn was upon me, having jumped up and launched herself through the air like a human projectile. I grabbed her for balance, but the forward momentum was too much. In a messy tangle of flailing arms and legs and flowing hair, we fell sideways…

… and straight onto the library’s poor, ancient couch.

The piece of furniture upon which Andre had so spectacularly fucked me, pretty much exploded from the combined weight of our fall. All four legs splintered, shooting off in diagonal directions. I felt the crunch of more wood as the frame came apart, followed by a whoosh of air leaving my lungs. Evelyn had broken her fall with my body, and it knocked the wind out of me so badly I was left gasping and wheezing.

“WHO…” she screamed, grabbing a fistful of my hair again. “THE FUCK…”

Rolling her knuckles, she slammed my face into the floor. Or at least, it felt like the floor.

“ARE…”

I struggled to fight her off, but couldn’t. I had no breath. I felt like I was going to die.

“YO—”

CLANG!

The sound was offensively loud, and reminded me of a gong. Evelyn’s fingers went limp, and all of a sudden I had my hair back again. I was shocked as she slumped to the floor beside me, eyes closed, so immediately unconscious she was actually snoring.

What the fuck?

When I looked up again, Bruschetta Joe was standing over me. In his big hairy hand, he held one of the serving trays from the bar.

“Holy… holyshit,” I finally managed to gasp.

Joe didn’t offer to help me up. Instead he dropped the tray, sank to the flood beside me, and leaned wearily into the wall.

“You can say that again,” he murmured.

For a good half minute we just sat there, gathering our composure, saying nothing. Eventually I closed my hand over his. It felt warm and reassuring beneath my palm.

“I owe you one,” I breathed, letting out an involuntary, cathartic laugh. “If you hadn’t—”

“I soak the heads in a balsamic reduction, before I roast them,” Joe said nonchalantly.

I blinked in confusion. “What?”

“The garlic,” Joe said simply. “Three-seventy five. Forty-five minutes. I wrap it in aluminum foil first, drizzled with olive oil, and a teaspoon of honey.”

My arm was bleeding. My knees were on fire. Joe and I sat in a pile of broken furniture, surrounded by hundreds of wooden splinters. At that exact moment, Kayden and Andre came rushing into the library.

“IknewI tasted honey,” I elbowed him.

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