Page 21 of Twisted Redemption

Before I realize the words coming out of my mouth, I mutter, “I wish.”

The kid in front of me frowns. “Am I at the wrong house?”

Oh—shit. “Uh, well, my name’s Brooke. But my last name isn’t Grayson.”

Did he—no. No, he wouldn’t.

“Oh, my bad. It just says it’s for Brooke. The guy who ordered it is named Blaze Grayson, so I just assumed—sorry.”

Fuck. He did.

“Oh, that’s me, then. Thanks.” I grab the coffee and bag, trying to hide my reddening cheeks. “Have a great day.”

“You too,” he says with an amused smile before hopping down the steps back to his car.

“Why would he do that?” I mutter once I’m back inside, opening the bag to find my favorite breakfast soufflé and pastry.

I miss you. No. I hate you.

And why’s that?

For making me miss you.

With a groan, I slide onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter. What the hell was wrong with me last night? And getting drunk just to spite Blaze? I’ve never done anything like that before.

But the way he was looking at me, and how he took my drink from me—assuming I was planning on getting drunk. It scraped at my nerves in just the right way. So I drank until I could barely stand.

I’ve never done that before.

And, considering this ridiculous headache, I never will again.

With a sigh, I take a sip of my coffee—just the way I like it. Being around Imani will probably be a little awkward if she’s always going to have Grayson Security on her tail. Which makes sense, considering her fiancé, DeAndre, is a pretty famous actor.

I kick myself for suggesting Grayson Security to her when DeAndre was looking for a bodyguard last year. I’d avoid Imani if I could, but she and Liling are my best friends. And I’m also pretty damn involved in Imani’s wedding, considering I’m a bridesmaid.

As I eat my breakfast, I contemplate texting Blaze to thank him for the thoughtful gesture. But I can’t—I just can’t. Not after last night, and definitely not after yesterday afternoon.

With a groan, I let the memories of his hands on my skin wash over me. We’d been only a couple feet away from where I’m sitting right now. With his arms around me. His hands on my legs, my ass, my back. And his mouth... god, his mouth.

Why do I want more?

“Stay away from him,” I mutter to myself. “He’s fucking engaged.”

My mother’s birthday party is in a week. Maybe I can ask her to un-invite him. That won’t work. Maybe I’ll pretend I’m sick.

Other than that, I can’t think of any reason I should have to see him. And what are the odds of him going out in the field again? Last I knew, he was transitioning to helping Dom run Grayson Security instead of taking on jobs.

Great. Perfect. Fine.

Daisy.

My hand moves to my phone, and before I can stop myself, I’m pulling up our texts—not that we’ve messaged each other in a year—and typing out a message.

Brooke: Thank you. And I’m sorry about last night.

I regret it the second I hit send. But maybe not entirely. He was so gentle when he brought me home last night, but beforehand, at the club? God, I wanted to strangle him the second I saw him glaring at me.

Until I didn’t, and all of a sudden I wanted—needed—him to show me that he cared about me.

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