“Yeah, and your girlfriend tried to take a few inches off the top.” The man I’d attacked gestures toward his hair, then the steak knife on the counter.
Zane looks from it to me, then back to him. “You should have knocked,” he says simply.
“Never have before,” he replies.
“I’m not here alone anymore.”
The man grins.
“We’re sorry that we didn’t knock,” the guy who’d disarmed me says with a soft smile. “It was rude, especially knowing what you’ve got going on.”
“Thanks.”
“You okay?” Zane asks.
Our gazes hold, and the same heat that was between us before sparks to life, but this time it’s laced with understanding of just what happens when you light a match amidst a sea of kerosene.
Because that’s what lies between us.
It’s always been there; I was just too foolish to see it.
“Apparently, Zane has lost his manners. I’m Sawyer.” The man who threatened to throw me overboard grins at me, though the smile doesn’t reach his caramel-colored eyes. Tattoos climb up one of his arms, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt.
“This here is Garrison. But we call him Demo,” Sawyer introduces the muscled guy beside him. He’s the same one who disarmed me, but he doesn’t say anything in response to the introduction. Just offers me a simple nod.
“Demo?” I arch a brow.
“He likes to blow stuff up.” Sawyer winks and points to Weston. “Of course, from what I hear, you already know Cowboy.”
My gaze lands on Weston, who is still glaring at me. There was a time when I counted him amongst my closest friends, though I recognize that my leaving probably hurt him, too.
“Cowboy?”
“Yeah,” he replies, his tone sharper than a razor blade.
“And this here is Tank.” Sawyer clasps Ryker on the shoulder.
“We’ve met,” he replies.
“That’s right,” Sawyer says. “Because you and Cowboy got to ride into the rescue last night.”
Weston rolls his eyes. “We were together when Cap called,” he says. “It would have taken extra time to grab the two of you. Besides, I called and clued you in.”
“Yeah, after the fact,” Sawyer replies. “Either way, I’m hurt. I considered us close as family.”
The door opens again, and this time, a petite blonde strolls in, carrying three large shopping bags.
“Here, let me help,” Sawyer says and rushes forward to take the bags from her.
I fight my own smile at his eagerness to help, something that isn’t too difficult to do, when the woman turns toward me, and I see that she’s none other than Anastasia Knox.
Zane’s younger sister.
Her smile dies when she sees me, and the momentary joy I’d felt at seeing her again withers in my chest at the way she glares back at me. Of course she’d hate me, too. She and Zane are closer than most siblings. When I left him—I left her, too.
And according to him, he hasn’t told her why.
“I brought you clothes and toiletries.” She points to the bags Sawyer just set on the table.
