Page 2 of Worth the Fight

Literally.

I shove up off the couch and head to the one room I’ve been avoiding. The bed is bare—mattress without sheets, pillows on the ground from when I threw them in a fit of fury—and I head to my closet for my suitcase. As I grab its handle, I dial my brother.

“Hey stranger.” His voice breaks the dam against the floodgate of tears I’ve been trying to hold back.

“Da-Damon.”

“What did that bastard do to you?”

“I need your help.”

CHAPTER ONE

DYLAN

I awake disoriented and lost in the silence. It feels weird without the usual sounds—the loud honking of cars and music floating up from the dance studio across the alley. It feels like I’m naked.

Just absolute and complete silence.

Then I hear the giggle. A thump against the wall. A swear following the thump.

And I know he’s finally home.

Crap.

This isn’t how I planned on meeting him, but what am I going to do? Hide away in this bedroom and pretend I’m not here when my car is clearly parked on the left side of the driveway?

I scramble out of bed and throw on a robe, pull the sash on it as tight as it can go, and prepare myself to meet my new housemate. Of sorts.

There’s another giggle. A murmured sound of satisfaction. Both make me cringe to open my bedroom door.

But I do. Curiosity gets the best of me.

I’m blinded momentarily as the sun from the open front door reflects off one very sexy, slinky, and daring silver sparkly dress. A pair of sky-high strappy heels is in one of her hands. Her other is threaded through the hair at the base of the neck of the man whose back is to me.

I shouldn’t stare, but I do.

And not because I’m being rude but because of the immediate sense of inadequacy I feel when I look at her. My frumpy robe admittedly makes me feel out of place next to her in her party dress.

“I’ve gotta go,” she murmurs against his lips and, of course, her voice sounds like she looks, sultry as all hell.

“Mmm. You sure?” His laugh is a deep rumble that fills the hallway.

Another kiss. The run of his hand down the side of her torso until it rests squarely on her ass.

“No . . . but yes.”

They both chuckle as their lips meet again before she steps out of the open doorway, their arms stretching between them, giving me a full view of her for the first time.

Mussed, brown hair that makes bedhead look sexy. A body I’m used to seeing in the Los Angeles perfection I escaped but know I’ll never have: long legs, subtle curves, defined arms, great boobs. Simply put, she’s gorgeous.

I don’t even fear she’ll see me, because her eyes are so completely focused on him that I fade into the background.

They look like an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. Their positioning—her body turned toward his, the pout on her lips, the undeniable attraction between them.

Dear God. Is this what I’ve moved into? Perfectville?

After one more hesitation, she walks away with him staring after her and me looking at the back of him.