Page 13 of Flame
Jason: Treat it like a vacation.
Tate: Oh, I’m sure she’s going to get a little … rest.
Jason: Can you just … not?
I snort.Damn you, Tate.
My youngest brother and I have had more than a couple of conversations about Foxx. He’s the only one out of my siblings who I can truly be open with about things like men. That’s probably because he’s done so many debauched things that he can’t possibly judge me. On the same note, you can’t get anything past him when it comes to things even remotely involving sex.
Tate and I can walk into a full room. Within two seconds, I can find the single person wearing Oud Wood cologne. In the same amount of time, Tate can determine who’s fucking and who wants to hook up.
Me: Feel free to come down and hang out with me, Tate. I’m sure I’ll be tired of talking to myself by morning.
Tate: I’m sure you’ll manage.
I laugh softly at my brother’s reply.
“Everything okay?” Foxx asks, side-eyeing me.
I win.
Me: Love you guys.
I set my phone on my lap. It dings five times in quick succession. That sound makes me smile.
“Yeah, everything is fine,” I say. “Jason is leaving the airport soon. He was letting us know.”
Foxx regrips the steering wheel.
“This is a cute little town,” I say, throwing the words out there. I don’t want to lose the six-word progress we’ve made. “Have you always lived here?”
“Yes.”
I groan before letting out a long sigh.
“What?” he asks.
“I didn’t ask to be here with you. To be perfectly clear, I don’t want to be here with you.”
He runs his tongue across his bottom lip. “Why did you come today?”
“Because Jason asked me to take a day trip with him. He said I needed to get out of the office, which is true, and he had a golf outing lined up with Ford Landry. Something happened before we got there, so he changed the plan to swing down here since we were so close.”
“I see.”
“So if having me around is annoying to you or is putting you out in any way, I’m happy to call Renn and—”
“Stop it, Bianca.”
I flinch. “I’m sorry. Have we been apart so long that you forgot thatstop itdoesn’t go over very well with me?”
His lip twitches.
We turn up a street that slips between a row of thick foliage. A green sign that reads Honeysuckle Lane is tucked under a palm tree.
The truck slows as we creep down the small lane.
Two houses are on each side and two more sit at the end of the cul-de-sac. Each home is adorable—something out of a movie—with hanging flowers on porches and tidy landscaping. A large metal rooster has been placed in one yard. But before I can ask about it, three chickens race from one side of the street to the other. They barely miss the front of the truck.
