Page 10 of Bitter Beats

It’s all fucking wrong. This isn’t Mckenna.

Her smirk twists and I want to kiss it off her face and devour it, so she never wears it again.

What the hell is happening? Kiss Mckenna?

The thought pulls me up short.

“I thought we were just getting started,” she taunts, her voice jagged.

What the fuck is going on?I tear my gaze from checking Mckenna out because as much as I want to memorize her delectable body in the scraps of black lace she’s wearing, I don’t want it likethis.

Something is wrong, and even in my slightly inebriated state, I know it. I know it, and I don’t fucking like it.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” I toss her librarian turtleneck at her chest. “Put your sweater on.”

She laughs like I’m the one being ridiculous.

“I’m serious, Mckenna.” I bend to pick up her jeans and press them into her hands. “What the hell is this?”

Her laughter holds an edge of sarcasm, of pain that doesn’t make any damn sense. “As if you could ever understand,” she spits, her laughter dying as her blue eyes darken. Angry and hurt and reckless.

I cross my arms over my chest. She knows shit about my life before the band blew up. That’s one of the most annoying things about fame; people think you don’t understand struggle. Or disappointment. Or anything negative at all. “Try me.”

“No.”

“Whatever the hell you’ve gotten yourself into?—”

“I didn’t get myself into anything!” she bellows, her cheeks two pink patches of emotion. Her eyes fill with moisture.

“Fuck. Are you gonna cry?” I rake my fingers through my hair. I don’t do well with tears. When the waterworks start, I usually usher said woman out of my house, out of my life, and close the door behind her.

But I can’t do that to Mckenna. She’s my fucking roommate.

She closes her eyes, the spunk draining out of her. Two tears trail down her cheeks, sliding to her chin before falling softly to her chest. I track the movement, getting distracted by the swells of her breasts, her hard nipples puckering through the lace.

Fuck. I snap my head up and stare at her face again. I amnotchecking out Mckenna. She’s already a giant pain in the ass, not to mention a complication in my life. Take today—our interactions have swung wildly between volcanic and glacial. It’s so out of the norm for us—forher—to show this intensity of emotion. Something is clearly off.

“Go to bed, Mckenna,” I say, wanting this weird vibe to dissipate. Wanting this night to end.

I glance around the living room. Twenty minutes ago, my friends and I were kicking it, having a good time. Now, it’s filled with the piercing kind of silence I hate. It’s the kind that gets under my skin and stays there. Makes my fingers itch and my head spin. It’s a warning that I need my music. Or it’s a recipe for bad choices.

I drag my gaze back to Mckenna.

She rolls her eyes and mashes her lips together. “You go to bed.”

I snort and shake my head. She looks like an angry cat, ready to strike. Blowing out a sigh, I bend and toss her over my shoulder, one hand wrapped around the backs of her knees, the other gripping her upper arm.

“Mav!” she shrieks, slapping my back. “Put me down.”

“I’m putting you to bed.” I climb the stairs to the second floor. I need her locked in her room, away from me, before I do something absurd. Like kiss her. Or try to comfort her. “I don’t know what the hell just happened, but you should be in time-out.”

She smacks my back again. But a moment later, the fight drains out of her, and her body falls slack. It causes my concern to spike because if Mckenna isn’t flipping me shit, then something truly awful is unfolding.

I barrel into the master bedroom—of course, Derek claimed that shit—and toss her in the center of the king-sized bed.

She lands with anoomphand turns her chin up to the ceiling, staring right at it.

I pace along the foot of her bed. I’m way out of my comfort zone here. I don’t do girl drama. Save for Allegra, I don’t even have female friends. I mean, other than the ones I casually fuck, like Lia.

---