“I could use a friend,” she agrees.
“Give me your phone,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“So we can exchange numbers. That’s what friends do,” I reply, giving her a smirk when her eyes roll at me.
Aurora rolling her eyes is becoming a favorite of mine. That and her smile. Definitely her smile.
She hands me her phone and I notice that it’s one of the no-contract nine-dollar ones you get at a chain store. I program my number in hers and store her number in my phone. Knowing she must use credits whenever she makes a call or sends a text, I’ll have to be careful how often I contact her. That, or buy her a new phone. I like the second option much better.
“Only contact me in emergencies. I try to roll over as many minutes as I can each month,” she tells me.
I quickly type out a text to her and send it. She scowls at me when her phone makes a noise.
Flipping the cover up, she reads the text as she walks over to her motorcycle.
QuarterbackKing: Goodnight, Princess Aurora.
The sound of her giggle as I climb into my truck has a smile plastered across my face all the way home.
Chapter 7
Holy shit! I exclaim loudly in my head as I drive my motorcycle up the circle driveway. This house could fit a large village’s worth of people. I turn my bike off and kick the stand down, leaving it parked next to the large five-tiered fountain. It’s not like anyone here will steal my bike…I hope. Just in case, I wrap a chain around the body and wheels, and secure it with a small padlock. Taking my helmet off, I hug it to my side as I stare up at the giant monstrosity of a mansion before me.
It’s late afternoon, the low-hanging autumnal sun casting red and orange hues against the white brick. I imagine this is what castles must have looked like in Medieval Europe, sans the turrets.Get back on your motorcycle and leave. You don’t belong here.
“Like your bike.”
I turn to see who is talking to me and am met with the softest, greenest eyes I have ever seen.
“You Aurora?” the guy asks, walking slow circles around me and my bike while rubbing his thumb against his bottom lip.
“Yeah. And you are?”
“Seamus Knox. Everyone just calls me Knox.”
Knox is gorgeous. Mocha-colored skin, dark hair that curls slightly around his temples, and he’s leanly built like a runner. He looks to be about my age, but I’m not entirely sure. Maybe a year or two younger?
“You live here?” Jesus, is he another potential half-brother?
Knox stops in front of me, a wicked grin on his face, his eyes dancing with mirth. I can’t help but smile back at him.
“I do now. Fallon took me and my mom in. I’m originally from New York.”
That explains the accent. There’s a saying here about one of the towns, Cary, located nine miles west of Raleigh. You can tell most of the residents are transplants from up north based solely on the way they talk. We call Cary the “Concentrated Area of Relocated Yankees.”
“Took you in?”
“Yeah. Me, Trevaughn, Devon, and Butch all lived at a women’s shelter in the city. He and Hoops found us there last year.”
“Hoops?”
“Oh, sorry. Elizabeth. Hoops is Elizabeth. She’s one of Fallon’s friends. Devon’s living in her house.”
“So, this is Elizabeth’s house?” I’m so confused.
He chuckles and rubs his thumb across his lip again. “No. Sorry again. It’s a long story. I’m sure with you being Fallon and Trev’s baby sister, they’ll fill you in on everything.”
