Page 40 of Second First Kiss

With a sigh, Kat said, “You’re this far in, might as well make your statement clear. I mean, you wouldn’t want to be misunderstood, would you?”

Her gut said that’s what this kid was grappling with, being misunderstood. Kat could recognize a confused and angry soul when she met one—and he was hurting, which broke her heart. He was too young to have been let down.

“I’m Kat,” she said, handing him the can. “What’s your name?”

He stared at the can, then at her, his lips pressed into a thin I ain’t gonna tell you line.

“I just figured that since you dragged me into this, I should at least know who my partner in crime is.”

When he didn’t answer, she breezed past him and lifted the can and aimed it at the wall. Before she pressed down on the button, she looked over her shoulder with a raised brow. “You sure you don’t want to tell me your name? I can always call the cops.”

“Tommy,” he said.

“Tommy what?”

“Tommy Kincaid.”

“Well, Tommy, I guess you’d better get painting before we attract the attention of Ms. Greenwald, who will call the cops.”

He froze in his little skater shoes. “You want me to finish?”

“You don’t strike me as a quitter. Are you a quitter, Tommy Kincaid?”

“Nope,” he said with as much attitude as a five-foot-tall kid could muster and took the can from her. With his tongue peeking out the side of his mouth, Tommy squeezed in a sideways C between the FU and K, then stepped back.

“Feel better?” she asked, and a tiny smile tickled the corner of his lips.

“Sorta.”

“Sorta? This is a hell of a lot of risk for a ‘Sorta.’”

He gave a tiny shrug of the shoulder.

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve been there too.” In fact, she’d been there just this morning, but she’d picked the right path. Maybe all the kid needed was someone to point out that path. That it was her made her snort. But there they were.

“Being a hot head doesn’t always pay off. Trust me.”

He blinked up at her. “Why?”

“Sometimes things that we do in a moment of anger only make the problem bigger.” As she could attest to.

Tommy studied the ground as he scraped at the driveway with the toe of his sneaker. “What helps?”

Just last week she would have said, “Tequila, ax throwing, a good old-fashioned bar fight.” But she knew that they were about as useful as spray-painting the F-word on someone’s house, particularly for a kid. In fact, the only thing that had helped lately was—God, was she actually going to say it?

“Talking it out.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said so quietly she barely heard him. Now the tears in his voice, that came through loud and clear.

“Okay, then why don’t we talk about why you picked Nolan’s house.” Because Tommy had picked this house and that word for a reason, and she had a feeling that was a big piece of the puzzle.

“Why? You his girlfriend or something?”

Kat snorted. “No. I am most definitely not his girlfriend.” Guys like Nolan might want to sleep with girls like Kat, but they definitely didn’t want to date them. Oh right, she forgot, she was a distraction he didn’t want to sleep with either. “In fact, I’m the polar opposite of girlfriend when it comes to him.”

Tommy looked relieved. And wasn’t that interesting. “Then why are you driving his truck?”

“My car was vandalized.” She looked up at the garage door and let out a breath. “Was that you?”

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