The Bride Test (The Kiss Quotient 2)

Khai tilted his head as his chest hollowed out and caved inward. “Because I asked him to. I wanted to hang out.”

Shit, this awful feeling was guilt. He had a name for it now.

“And have you once in the past ten years invited anyone to come see you?” Quan asked.

Khai shook his head. “But that’s because I don’t need people around. I don’t get lonely.”

“The guy who invited Andy over because he didn’t want to be alone doesn’t get lonely?” Quan asked. “How’s that flu going for you? Did you ever get a fever?”

Khai stared at his brother mutinously. He didn’t want to talk about the fever he’d never had.

Quan arched an eyebrow. “So are you gonna tell her now?”

“Tell her what?”

“That you’re embarrassingly in love with her, that’s what,” Quan said in an exasperated tone.

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not in love with her?”

Quan rubbed at his head for a moment before he took a bracing breath and considered Khai with renewed patience. “How do you know?”

Khai blinked. “How do I know I’m not in love?”

“Yeah, how do you know you’re not in love?”

“I know because I can’t love.” He’d gone over this already, and he didn’t like repeating himself.

“So, like, you don’t think about her ever?” Quan asked.

“No, I do.”

“And you don’t care about her? Like if she’s sad, you don’t give a shit?”

“No, I care,” Khai said.

“And you wouldn’t take a bullet for her?” Quan asked.

“No, I would. But you would, too. That’s the right thing to do.”

“You don’t like being with her more than other people? You could trade her for someone else with no regrets?”

Khai scowled at his brother, not liking how he was manipulating the questions. “No, I like being with her a lot, and I wouldn’t trade her for anyone else.”

Quan gave him a deadpan look. “I bet the sex is super shitty.”

“It’s none of your business what it’s like.” Memories from less than an hour ago played in his mind, Esme coming against his mouth, moaning his name, rubbing his cock over her wet sex. “But it’s not shitty.”

“Lucky bastard,” Quan muttered. “I hope you realize when you say all those things about someone, it means you’ve got it bad for them.”

Khai stepped away from the motorcycle, abandoning the keys to Quan. “I really don’t.” Love and addiction were different things.

“Oh, come on, Khai,” Quan exploded.

“I’m going to take a shower. After you’ve decided what you’re doing with the motorcycle, please shut the garage.”

He escaped into his house through the garage entrance. Once inside, he took his shoes off, carried them to the front door, and sat down on the couch, propping his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his palms. Through the hard slamming of his heart, he heard the garage door shut and Quan’s Ducati roar to life. The loud engine sound receded and disappeared altogether.

Alone again.