Chapter 2
Ryan
Shifting in my seat, I ran my fingers over my cell phone, clicking on the video for the millionth time. All I could think about was Brooke Fury. The glow of the recording lit up the small confines of the car. Hastily, I glanced out the windows, making sure no one was around. My eyes flickered back down quickly, and I pressed play.
Her image popped up, curvy, in that tiny slip of that tight skirt. Her backside round and plump, her calves working themselves in those stiletto heels. Dark hair cascaded down in long, silky waves. She swayed her hips for me, more than normal and when she got to the back of the bar, she looked over her shoulder toward me. Damn, her smile was deadly.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her—not since the first time I saw her in the office, running up a flight of steps with a fire in her eyes. I’d been crushing hard on her for weeks, and I couldn’t get myself to stop.
A fist pounded on my window, practically shoving itself down my throat and yanking my heart right through my asshole. “What the hell?” I shouted, fumbling to end the video and shut off my phone.
Outside the window, stood my brother, smiling at the roof of my car, snow settling in the messy, brown curls of his hair. He pounded on the window again.
I shoved my phone in my coat pocket and opened the car door. “Hey, Cameron. How are you?” He was dressed for a winter storm—two layers of coats, bright red gloves, green and brown striped snow boots, and a pair of Pokémon earmuffs.
He smiled awkwardly at the top of my head and yanked me up the walk by the scruff of my coat until we were inside the foyer of my mother’s house. “Girl,” Cameron said, tapping his index finger to my phone. It made me wonder how long he had been standing outside the car door in the snow, watching along with me.
“Yeah, she’s just a friend,” I said, but I was hoping to change her mind.
“Just a friend,” Cameron repeated, sliding his arms out of his coat and hanging it along the hooks in the hallway. “Take shoes off,” he continued, without hesitation.
I tugged my own coat off, watching Cameron hang each piece of his clothing on a hook. Two coats, both gloves, the earmuffs—each piece taking up its very own hook—hanging at a precise angle. When he was finished, he stood barefoot, hair dripping with melted snowflakes spreading into a puddle on the hardwood floor. He was still smiling at the top of my head.
“Take shoes off,” he repeated, his tone a bit higher than before.
“I will, don’t worry,” I said, slipping my feet out of my boots.
He showed his teeth at my hair again, some smile only Cameron could do, and walked into the living room without another word.
I kicked my boots against the wall and rubbed my hands down my face. I was exhausted and stressed, and the thought of one of my mother’s home-cooked meals had my mouth watering. The house smelled like garlic and roasted tomatoes.
My mother’s heels clicked softly on the kitchen floor. The clinks and clanks of dishes and silverware being laid down made my shoulders relax. “Is that you, Ryan?”
“Yeah, Ma. Just taking off my boots,” I called out to her.
“Just a friend,” I heard Cameron repeat again as I walked inside the kitchen. He was sitting in his chair, rocking back and forth, a fork fisted in his hand, ready to eat.
My mother ignored him and yelled out my stepfather’s name. From somewhere upstairs, I heard a television shut off and footsteps bounding overhead. “Come and sit, it’s getting cold. You’re late. I thought you were coming an hour ago.”
“Sorry, I had work stuff,” I said, pulling out a chair. “Had a memorial party to show my face at.”
Cameron looked under the table at my feet as I sat. “Shoes off.”
“I took my shoes off already,” I said, grabbing a homemade garlic roll off a platter and placing it in his plate. He snagged it off his plate and devoured it in two huge bites.
My mother plopped a heaping pile of baked ziti onto my dish, “Eat some salad too, will you?”
“Yeah, Ma. Of course,” I smiled, grabbing my bowl of salad and shoving a huge forkful of green leaves in my mouth and smiling around it. “Yum,” I said between chews.
She swatted me on the shoulder and laughed. “Animal.”
Behind me, my stepfather, Anthony, walked through the door and smiled warmly. “Hey, Ryan. How’s the transfer going? You good in the new squad?” He sat down and grabbed a roll and a dish of salad.
“Yeah, it’s great actually. Close to home,” I answered.
“Yeah? Good guys?” he asked, dipping the top of his roll into the salad dressing,
“Yeah, for the most part. The squad is awesome. I’m still getting to know them.”
