Rebel Soul

Her cheeks pinken. “Yeah, that.”

“No shame in your game, girl. No need to act coy—I know you. You liked fucking before Brock, and you absolutely love it with him. Need I remind you of the tubing trip? Y’all were so busy getting it on you almost missed the trolley back!”

“You’re one to talk!” AJ hoots. “Because I’m pretty sure I vividly recall stumbling upon you grinding all over West’s lap in the back seat of Brock’s truck, titties out and all, while y’all waited on us!”

Judging by the warmth engulfing my face, my cheeks have to be as red as my hair. “Yeah, well, shut up.”

“For real, though, are you gonna be okay with him sleeping right down the hall?”

“He’s downstairs,” I counter lamely. AJ tilts her head, studying me. “You know how I feel about stairs; dude might as well be at the base of Everest.”

“You’re insane.”

“Insanely awesome.” I heft my bag up onto my shoulder. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I know you will. And this weekend, let’s brunch.”

“Mmm. I could def go for some Benny’s.”

My bestie laughs and draws me into an awkward side hug, thanks to my duffle. “It’s a date.”

Chapter Twelve

West

Ever since Colton left and I realized Stacia wasn’t here, I’ve been on pins and needles. Honestly, I don’t even know why, but the thought of her suddenly not living here made me feel ten shades of crazy. Which is crazy, since she hasn’t even moved in yet.

“Jesus.” I check the clock for what feels like the fifty-billionth time. Maybe it’s time for something stronger than water. I help myself to a beer from my fridge, something local, brewed in small batches. I twist off the cap and take a long pull, sighing as the hoppy brew slides down my throat.

When the clock strikes four-thirty, I go ahead and start buttering slices of bread for our grilled cheese. Once I have eight slices prepped and ready to go, I heat my pan and get to cooking.

Stacia walks in just as I go to flip the third sandwich. “Honey, I’m home,” she calls out, and for reasons I’m not willing to examine in depth—or at all—it sends a little pulse of happiness straight to my heart.

“Wanna grab me a soup can from the pantry?”

She walks into the kitchen and plops her bag onto the floor. “Sure. But…where’s the pantry?”

“Guess my tour was lacking, huh?” I nod my head to the left. “It’s the door on the left before the laundry room.”

“You pointed out all of the important things.”

I warm the soup on the stove, adding milk instead of water, which blows Stacia’s mind. Once everything is ready, I plate it up and grab myself a new beer. “You want one?” I ask, and Stacia eagerly accepts.

“So, you really can’t cook anything other than grilled cheese?”

“I am also a scrambled egg master. Hmm, what else…I can make ramen noodles that are out of this world, and what might be the best PB-and-J in the entire state.”

Stacia laughs, just like I wanted her to, and the sound soothes some wayward part of my soul that only seems to exist in her presence. “It seems like such a shame for this pretty kitchen to go to waste.”

I glance around, taking in the space through her eyes. From my custom cabinets to the Sub-Zero appliances, this kitchen is any chef’s wet dream. “It came with the house,” I say, and she laughs again. “Plus, that big-ass fridge holds a shit-ton of drinks and takeout. Did I mention I’m fucking great at ordering takeout?”

The gorgeous redhead lifts her bottle in a toast to mine. “Now, that’s something we have in common!”

“I’m sure you’re tired of talking about this, but how is everything going?”

And just like that, Stacia deflates. “It’s…really rough. I know this sounds incredibly first world, but it’s like my entire life was ripped away in the blink of an eye, and processing it has been really hard. Add in this bullshit with Dad’s lawyer, and I just…feel kind of hopeless.”

“What’s going on with his lawyer?”

She turns to me with fire blazing in her eyes. “The pompous jackass said he couldn’t risk the scandal of representing him. Never mind the fact that Dad has been his loyal client for as long as I can remember.”

“Shit, Stacia. That blows.”

“Tell me about it,” she laments, burying her face in her hands. “Feels like we’re being fucked by the long dick of the law.”

An idea dances on the periphery of my mind—maybe I could ask Colton to help her out. But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanishes. I mean, even if I could get—coerce—him to agree to it, she would never accept his help. Those two are straight-up oil and water; I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people clash right off the bat like the two of them did.