Page 44 of Wicked Rockstar

I shrugged. It wasn’t a secret that a drug deal gone bad killed my father. He did whatever he had to do to get his fix, and he pissed off the wrong people one time too many. “I’m not doing it to avenge him.”

I was grateful to whoever had pulled the trigger. My dad had been a fucking bastard, a waste of space that only felt like a big man when he was beating on his wife and son. I was seven when I entered the foster care system.

“I can understand why you might do something like this.” Her emotions quickly played across her face—concern, fear, and something that looked like resignation—she’d never been very good at hiding them.

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow, curious to hear her thoughts. Besides the thrill, I didn’t have any other deep-seated reasons for choosing to do something so dangerous.

“If you can stop the drugs from ruining another family, then maybe another kid won’t have to go through what you did.”

Damn.She hit the nail on the head.How had I not seen it?

I couldn’t remember a time in my childhood when I didn’t have to fend for myself. I was lucky I survived, and typically didn’t think any deeper than that. Her insight into my motives caught me off guard, forcing feelings I thought I’d long since buried to bubble to the surface.

I grunted, not ready to give life to her words. Needing to change the subject, I abruptly told her. “I’ve decided to help you.” It was the least I could do.

Surprised, she dropped my hand.

Immediately, I missed her touch and had to stop myself from snatching her hand back.

“You will? Why?” Her questions seemed to create an invisible barrier between us. I flinched at her suspicion.

I offered out of guilt—out of what happened this weekend—and nothing more.

Or nothing I wanted to acknowledge.

Instead, I said, “We start tonight.”

“Tonight? Doing what?” Her eyes carried a mixture of shock and barely contained irritation.

I was pleased that my desire to change topics worked. Although, her amped up anxiety made me uneasy.

“I thought we’d discuss this and make a plan if you agreed.” Tink liked having a plan. Very detailed plans.

In an effort to comfort her, my hand found her knee, and she looked up at me. Her quiet sigh alerted me that the touch had grounded us both, a physical anchor in the storm of emotions and uncertainties swirling around us.

“I’ll be right there.” I knew she’d struggle with the suddenness of this. “I need to see how you act with guys so I know how to help.”

She rubbed at her chest. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“And giving you time will only make you feel worse. Which is why we’re going to an event right now.”

“Now? I haven’t had time to get ready for whatever it is. I need to shower, change—” She looked down at her wide-legged jeans, white top with tiny green flowers, and a matching green cardigan.

“You look perfect.” For some unknown reason, having Tink go home and change into something sexier didn’t sit right with me. “Besides, this is just practice. You’re not going to actually date any of these guys.”

“Right. Practice.” Her voice grew breathy, and she squirmed in her seat.

That was when I realized my hand was creating a lazy path from her knee to her mid-thigh. It was a jolt to my system at how natural it felt to touch her like this.

“Wait. Guys? What did you do, Killian?” Her hand closed over mine to stop it from moving.

“Drive,” I said to Max. He started the car and pulled away from the curb.

“Killian?” Her eyes narrowed in frustration or anger, I wasn’t sure which. Maybe it was both. Her hand now gripped mine so tight I was surprised I didn’t lose circulation.

“Speed dating,” I said simply, letting the cat out of the bag and enjoying her eyes growing wide. I’d done nothing but think of Tris once I was released, and with a few phone calls I was able to find the event and get her registered at the last minute.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “No. No way.”

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