Page 18 of Bitter Beats

I shrug.

Drew chuckles. “Couldn’t be all that bad. The brunette was hot.”

“Like all the rest, Drew. She just wants bragging rights.”

He turns in his seat, narrowing his eyes at me. “And what do you want?”

I give him a look. “What kind of question is that?” I laugh. “Man, I’m living my best damn life. I don’t want for anything.”

Drew nods and turns back around. He looks out the window.

We both know I’m lying. He just won’t call me on my bullshit because I sign his paychecks.

Alfred pulls up to the brownstone. “Thanks, guys. Have a good night.” I slide out of the SUV.

Drew does his usual sweep of the property before letting me inside and saying good night.

I stand in the quiet foyer for a long minute, listening for sounds of Mckenna. There’s no way she’s out, so is she already asleep? Disappointment swirls in my stomach. I was hoping we could, fuck if I know, hang out? Watch a movie?

As much as I hate having her here, a part of me relishes it too.

I climb the steps to her bedroom and push the door open softly, not wanting to wake her.

I pull back in surprise when I note her empty bed. My eyes swing to her alarm clock. It’s 1:48 AM. She was telling the truth. She’s not coming home tonight.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

Panic floods through me, causing my heart rate to jump. Where the hell is she?

A caginess I hate claws at my skin, pinches down my back. I grip the side of my neck and spin away from her room.

Did she have a date? Fury turns my vision red as I think of Mckenna out with another man. Images of his hands tracking up her body invade my mind, and I clench my hands into fists.

Already, I can’t stand the random guy. Already, I know he’s not good enough for her.

I snort, the sound ugly. Objectively, I know she’s an attractive woman. Of course, someone from her pretentious law school is interested in her.

I take a long shower, promising myself that when I get out, she’ll be home.

But even after I pull on sweats and brush my teeth, her bedroom remains empty. I pace through the house, stomping up and down the stairs, my eyes constantly checking the time.

At 2:45 AM, I call Allegra, but the call goes to voicemail.

“Dammit!” I smack my palm against the butcher block island and narrow my eyes at the locked front door.

I make espresso, hopping myself up on caffeine and nerves. Then, I sit my ass down at the kitchen island and glare at the front door, willing Mckenna to walk through it.

The minutes tick by, painfully slow, as the silence I despise bears down on me. Relentless.

SEVEN

MCKENNA

I’mdead on my feet when I enter the brownstone the following morning. It’s just after 4 AM. I need to throw myself in the shower, scrub off the scent of grease, and catch an hour or two of sleep. Then, I plan to drink my body weight in coffee.

My shoes drag on the floor as I shuffle forward. I’m still bundled in my coat, the hood pulled up. Exhaustion clings to my bones and I debate skipping the shower and falling into bed with my coat on.

But that would clearly be unacceptable.

---