Playing with Fire

Because Grace was my weakness.

And Appleton thrived on exploiting others’ weaknesses.

West: No retaliation. He’ll answer to me in the ring. Which reminds me—Grace cannot know about the fight with Appleton.

Reign: How can you keep this from her? Shit’s gonna sell out in a day.

East: Your friend here is not wrong, Westie.

West: I’ll tell her closer to the date. She’s got a lot on her plate. She doesn’t need to worry about this too.

Between finding a caregiver for Savannah, and potentially failing a semester, Texas didn’t need to worry about me. My plan was to spring it on her the day before the fight. Explain why I had to do it, even though I’d tried to get out of it, and assure her it would all be over in less than twenty-four hours. That way, she’d worry about me for a day, not weeks.

East: I’ll tell Max to keep the ticket sale on the DL.

West: Appreciate it. How’re things going with Tess, @Reign?

Reign: They aren’t. Her lady boner is still firmly directed at you.

East: She’ll come around.

Reign: And on my face.

East: Amen.

I wasn’t Tess’ number one fan after she’d been bitchy to Tex, but I was all for her hooking up with Reign. The faster she landed in the idiot’s lap, the less she’d bother Tex.

East: Talked to your folks recently, @West?

West: Negatory.

East: You’re the worst.

West: But I’m the best at being the worst.

I’d just sent them a few pictures of my new shiner and welts when Grace entered the room, patting her blonde hair dry with a towel after coming out of the shower. Her face was full of makeup, as always. I’d been with this chick for a while now and still didn’t know exactly what she looked like under all the foundation.

She was still freaked out, but fairly pacified since we’d called Mrs. Contreras and given her the rundown of what happened. We’d had to wait for the cops to arrive to give a bullshit statement before being promptly sent home. Mrs. Contreras was there, too. She went back with Sheriff Jones to the station to file an official report.

Texas collapsed beside me, kissing my wounded shoulder. I tucked her under my arm and gave her neck a soft bite.

She closed her eyes, her little breaths tickling my jawline. Her fingers trailed circles around the tattoo on my inner bicep.

“Who were you texting?”

“East and Reign.”

She cleared her throat. “That it?”

“Who the fuck else?” Had she missed the memo that I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly?

“Tess?” she asked quietly.

I snorted, stroking away ribbons of gold hair from her face. She looked so much like an angel, sometimes I wanted to run a hand over her bare back just to make sure she didn’t have wings.

“Green looks good on you, Tex.”

“Remember the first time we met?” She strummed my hair with her fingers, like I was a violin, her head tucked under my arm.

Of course I remembered. It was the night I’d lost the bet to Tess and bought everyone slushies and tacos. Tess and I had probably looked chummy that night. It was the same night I’d bent her over the Ducati and fucked her raw in the junkyard, barking at her to mind the paint. It made sense that we were cool with each other. That was how guys operated—we were nice to chicks we wanted to bang, until we banged them.

The morning after I’d twisted Tess’ gymnast ass like a pretzel, I gave her a ride home and got rid of her number. I was crude enough to make a stop at the food truck for the job interview, to make sure the position wasn’t taken.

“Vaguely,” I lied, mostly because it was pathetic to admit most of what I remembered from that night included Grace, not Tess. “Why?”

“Tess asked you what the tattoo on your bicep meant while I served you.”

My heart stopped beating for a second. She proceeded with caution and determination.

“What does the tattoo mean, West?”

I knew I had to tell her. That if I didn’t, she’d think she and Tess were in the same category. They weren’t. Tess was a one-night stand, and Grace … Grace was an every-night lay. A girlfriend. The first girl to mean something to me in a long while. She ought to have known that.

“A stands for Aubrey. My baby sister.”

“You said you’re an only child.” I felt her eyes fluttering open, her lashes flapping over the side of my chest like little butterflies.

I sucked in a breath. “No. I said I have no siblings. And I don’t. She died when she was six. I was seventeen at the time.”

“Oh.” The quiet around us was so loud, I wanted to rip down the walls with my bare hands just to hear the crickets outside. “I’m so sorry.”

What could I say to that? Thank you? I hated thanking people who didn’t help me. Being sorry for my loss didn’t bring Aubrey back.