Page 3 of Worth the Fight

A car door shuts. An engine starts. His focus still on her.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare? If you were interested in joining, I’m sure Mal would’ve been all for it.”

His words blindside me, but nowhere near as much as the sight of him when he turns to face me.

Wow.

I open my mouth to speak. Close it. Open it again. Sputter. “I don’t—I’m not—she—” I manage to get some words out, but they come off sounding just how I look: frumpy. In my white fluffy bathrobe—that I’m holding closed at the neck—I look like someone’s aunt Gertrude while he looks like . . . that.

Perfection with a little bit of grit thrown in.

Those aqua eyes of his pin me motionless as they narrow and stare. “Well?” He lifts his eyebrows as he folds his arms across his chest and leans his shoulder against the wall. The hardened expression on his face transforms instantly when his mouth turns into a carefree smile. “Relax, McCoy. I’m just teasing you, but I have to admit, the look on your face was worth it.” In the same amount of time it takes me to breathe a sigh of relief, he crosses the distance of the foyer and reaches a hand out to me. “Grady Malone.”

“Dylan McCoy.” I look at where our hands meet, and my attention is hijacked by the abs in the background, peeking out from behind his unbuttoned shirt. All eight of them. “But you knew that. Thanks for letting me . . . uh⁠—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says as he walks past me and into the family room. “Sorry I didn’t know you were here or else I would have”—he shrugs in an adorably sheepish way that is in complete contradiction to the pure, heady maleness of him—“not made so much noise.”

“My car’s in the driveway. Can’t be much more obvious than that,” I say, fully aware I’m being sarcastic when he doesn’t deserve it. But, he opened the door with his initial comment.

And frankly, I’m sick of taking shit from men. After Jett . . . ugh. After Jett is all I need to say to remind myself why I’m allowed to be snarky.

“I never use the driveway.” He looks at me and lifts his eyebrows unapologetically.

“And I’m supposed to know that, how?”

“Are you always this combative?” His tone sounds as if he’s irritated, but his smile says anything but.

It stops me from saying more, and I remind myself he isn’t Jett. Grady Malone isn’t the man who broke my heart. He’s not the reason I’ve set off for the next few months to lick my wounds and gain some distance to grow immune to his charms before I have to face him again.

“No. Sorry. I . . . it’s just been a long few days.” I hang my head for a moment, swallow my pride when I’m so used to being strong, and then lift it back up. “Thank you for letting me stay on such short notice. I appreciate it.”

“You needed a place to stay. I have an extra room in a house where I’m gone several days of the week. And it’s Damon.” He shrugs as if letting a friend’s sister stay in his house for a few months is something he’d do any day of the week. “I’d do anything for your brother.”

“Thanks. Like I said, I appreciate it more than you know.”

“We all need to get out of Dodge sometimes. I get it.” He opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. I shake my head when he holds one out to me.

The scanner on his bookshelf comes to life—codes dispatched to Fire Station Thirteen—scaring the shit out of me, and brings back the bittersweet memories of my childhood. I must jump a foot because Grady laughs. “Sorry ’bout that. I have a habit of turning it on the minute I walk in the door.”

“It’s fine. I’ll get used to it.” I was used to it once.

“You can always turn it off if I forget when I leave for a shift.” I nod in response. “Make yourself at home. Did you find the Wi-Fi code?”

“No.” I remember my fruitless attempt to find it. “I didn’t want to snoop.” I rest my hips against the back of the couch as he walks out of the kitchen and mirrors my posture against the counter a few feet across from me.

“Snoop all you like. I’ve got nothing to hide. Besides, I made sure all the really embarrassing and equally pleasurable sex toys were put away before you arrived.” He flashes that grin, and I stare at him, mouth agape, wide-eyed and innocent when I’m far from it.

All I can do is choke on air.

He shakes his head. “Jesus. You’re as easy to rile up as your brother. If you’re going to live here, Dyl, you’re going to have to learn to relax. I like to joke. Life’s too serious not to joke. So get used to it.”

“Dyl?” I’m so used to Jett and his broody ways that Grady’s humor is going to take some getting used to.

“We’re roommates now. It’s normal to shorten each other’s names, isn’t it? You’ll call me Grade. I’ll call you Dyl. See? Perfect.”

“Are you always this cheerful?”

“Depends on the day. Or the morning.” He rubs a hand over his unshaven jaw and grins as his eyes flash toward the door. Ah, Mal, the source of his happiness.