“He’ll coordinate with me,” Jack continues. “He answers to Kael, not me, but we’re on the same team. He’ll improve your physical security, sit on you when you get squirrely, and generally make my life easier.”
“He will make my life impossible,” I say. “And tell the asshole he can’t sit on me. I’ll die.”
Jack’s gaze flicks to the front door. He tips his chin toward it. “You can tell him that yourself.”
SIX
TWIGGY
ForasecondIthink he’s joking.
Then someone knocks.
Three firm, measured raps. Not tentative. Not aggressive. Just…there.
I stare at Jack. “You did not.”
He doesn’t bother to deny it. “I told him to meet me here.”
My heart starts doing an impression of a hummingbird in my chest.
“He drove from Philly already?” I ask. “It’s barely—” I glance at the clock “—seven-thirty.”
“Bran Kelly‘s idea of a good time is a dark road and a clear objective,” Jack says dryly. “Open the door, Twig.”
“I hate you,” I mutter, but my feet are already moving.
I take the chain off, flip the deadbolt, and pull the door open.
He fills the doorway.
Last time I saw Bran, he was framed by Brodie’s much larger front door. Somehow, he looks even bigger in mine. He has to duck a fraction just to step through. His shoulders nearly brush the narrow frame. Cold air rides in with him, along with a hint of coffee and winter and something that might be clean soap.
He’s in a dark jacket over a sweatshirt, jeans, and heavy boots. His hands are bare despite the cold, his knuckles scarred and one wrapped in white gauze. His hair is a little longer than I remember, dark brown curls flattening slightly under the damp.
His eyes hit mine, a muted blue so dull it’s almost gray.
His gaze is dark. Assessing. No visible surprise.
I slam the door in his face, relishing the look of shock just before his boot catches it.
“What the hell, Tallulah?”
I move to stand before him with my hands on my hips. “What the hell? I’ll give you what the hell, you overgrown…big…giant,” I trail off lamely, noticing for the first time that my head barelycomes up to his pecs, and he could easily break me in half. “And don’t you dare call me Tallulah. It’s been Twiggy forever. Thanks to you, I might add.”
A corner of his mouth notches up. “Kael calls you Tallulah.”
“Kael also calls you Kelly like you’re in detention.” I cross my arms. “You going to stand in the hall all day or are you coming in to tell me why you’re ruining my life?”
“Good morning to you, too,” he says mildly. He gives me a slow, head-to-foot assessment.
“Nah. You’re not a twig anymore. Look at Tinkerbell, all grown up,” he murmurs.
My eyes narrow to slits. “Look at the Incredible Hulk, still a child.”
“Still a mouthy little brat, I see.”
“Still a jackass, can confirm.”
