Page 47 of Flaunt
“With Brock?”
She grins. “Maybe.”
I bend forward, resting my forearms on my desk, and look at her. She’s so damn pretty and tries so hard to be tough. The persona she projects is a good one. She’s a tough nut to crack. But underneath that strong-girl facade is a vulnerability she doesn’t want the world to see.
I know because Paige had the same look in her eyes for a long time. It was only when she and I were alone, hanging out on the beach or riding around in my truck to escape the chaos of our brothers, did she explain it to me.
My sister grew up a Carmichael, but she was born a Hudson—to another family in another place. And even though she played it off like it didn’t bother her that she was adopted,it did.She would have these bouts of feeling like she didn’t fit in. And because of that, she had to be strong, tough, and indestructible. If she wasn’t, it would only deepen the crack she perceived between her and our family.
It made her prone to destruction.
Is that what’s going on with you, Sara? Did you lose your whole family when your dad died? Do you feel alone in the world?
My insides twist.Whoa, get ahold of yourself here. She doesn’t want you to know her deeply. She’s told you that.
“Well, that’s too bad that you said yes to Brock,” I say, shrugging.
She narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I was going to let you stay with me. But since you’ve already committed to him and—”
“Wait.”
Got ya. I grin. “Wait? Why?”
“Are you screwing with me?”
“Do you want me to be screwing with you?”
She fights a smirk.
This is a mistake—one I’ll come to regret. But between needing to ease my guilt in regard to Maddox and needing to find a way to quell this pull I have to Sara, this is the only viable solution.
Let’s just hope I’m still viable after this is over.
“If we could come up with some ground rules … I do have an extra bedroom.”
“You do, do you?” She grins. “What kind of ground rules are you talking about?”
Fuck if I know. I grab the first piece of paper I can find—one of the invoices Tasha gave me to approve—and flip it over.
“First one is no touching my stuff,” I say.
She tilts her head to the side. “Your stuff is everywhere, Banks.”
“Because it’s my house.”
“I can’t even walk through the house without touching your stuff. There’s a car part on the kitchen table. You had a pair of boots turned upside down in the sink.”
“I was working at the table, and the boots were drying.”
She holds her hands out. “You got the tire air thingy from your silverware drawer.”
“You could take a fork out and then close it. The tire pressure gauge didn’t need to be moved.”
She huffs. “Fine. What else?”
I scribble down the first rule on the invoice. “The second rule is that my room is off-limits.”
