Page 107 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

His voice made the cold seep into my bones and stay there like a permanent resident. As if I’d never find warmth again.

“You said you didn’t want to go home yet. I didn’t think you wanted to drink. Did you? Christ, Nash, you never learn.” Slowly, he shook his head. “Or is it Alex now?”

The question triggered a memory of Lindsey by the waterfall. Crying out my name as I pleasured her with my tongue and fingers. Tasting it on her lips as we kissed afterward.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

Oddly, she probably would. But she was also my reason to live.

“Nash. Still Nash.” No one else called me by my given name but her.

Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself to my feet. Kyle made no move to help me.

“I get it. She has special dispensation as your lover.”

“How the—” I caught my breath and tried again. “How do you know what she calls me?”

“You told me.”

“I didn’t fucking tell you anything. I didn’t call you.”

Did I?

My head reeled as I gazed up at the turbulent sky. The sharp tinge of ozone scented the air.

A storm was brewing. Lightning in the east. The rumble of thunder.

The sound of Kyle moaning as the EMTs poked and prodded at me.

“Of course you did. Here, look at my phone.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his extended hand. “It’s in my call log.”

I gripped my head. It was goddamn throbbing now. “Why weren’t you at Shooters then?”

Shooters. A dive bar if I’d ever seen one. I wouldn’t have asked to meet there. The scent of beer had soaked into the damn booths.

He had to be fucking with me. Had to. But there were gaps in my memory, patches I couldn’t string together. And I’d been out of sorts all night. Maybe I’d lost my senses for a minute, asked him to go there to relax…

Didn’t mean I intended to drink.

It didn’t.

I pushed his hand away without looking at his phone. If I saw Matthias’s number there in his call log, I didn’t know what I’d do.

“I’m your best friend. You knew I would go with you. You called me because I’m the one you trust. The only one you can. Other people sell your photos for a quick hit of cash, but not me.”

I frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The ones in The Tattler. Someone at Lo’s sold you out. Your back was bare—”

“I know that. You think I don’t know that? I saw them. Heard all about them.”

From Kyle, for God’s sake. Did he think I didn’t remember?

Of course he did. Because I’d proven my memory was shite.

How could I forget calling him? Sure, I’d been exhausted and out of sorts before the crash, but this was next level.

---