A Shattered Heart (Fractured Lives 2)

"How about coffee? Can we talk about that?" He grinned at me. His grin hurt. It was Dan's grin. It was a grin I'd seen a million times.

I looked away. This was going to be hard. I could sense it with every fiber of my body. It would please Mom and Dad, and Carlton would consider it a victory. "We can always talk about coffee."

"Good. I'm driving." He slipped past me, headed toward the driver's seat. I gaped at him. He was a cocky one.

I wasn't ready for coffee with him yet. I needed to prepare myself before an encounter like that. By prepare, I meant dull my senses with liquid courage. "No one drives my car," I said, holding my door with a death grip.

He plucked the keys out of my fingers. "That's not true. I drove it to your apartment."

I groaned. I'd tried to forget about that night.

"Besides, I've seen your driving, and I value my body too much to entrust it to you." His words tiptoed close to the off-boundaries zone but I let them pass. He took advantage of my momentary shock by sliding into the driver's seat and tugging the door closed in my face. He grinned at me behind the glass. I debated pressing the issue but conceded. I really didn't have a rule about driving my car.

"You never told me what you were doing at Fred's," I grumbled, climbing into the passenger seat after throwing my bag into the back.

"What were you doing there?" he countered.

"I'm older than you," I declared, waiting for him to pull out. "You can go."

"Um, seatbelt," he said, reaching past me to grab my belt and lock it into place. His hand grazed my side where my shirt had pulled up and a flash of awareness flared through me. His knuckles were rough as they scraped across my bare side.

A flush spread across my chest, making its way up to my neck. This was Dan's brother. I mentally punched myself in the face. Brian was a kid.

"You're only six months older than me," he said, throwing me off.

"What?" I gulped. How the hell did he know what I was thinking? The heat moved from my neck to my face. I needed to tell him it had nothing to do with him. I was sure anyone could touch my side like that and it was bound to get a response from me. I frantically searched for the right words so he wouldn't think I was a pervert.

"I have as much right to be at Fred's as you do," he clarified, steering the car out of the parking lot.

Relief coursed through me. I was an idiot. He didn't notice the touch because it meant nothing. There was a time we were practically like brother and sister. He was just trying to reclaim a part of that.

"I guess. I forgot that. I always measured your age by Dan's..." I'd broken my own rules within minutes of us being together.

Brian didn't call me out on it. "Do you go there often?" he asked, pulling into the parking lot of Starbucks.

I shrugged. "I used to go once a week or so. That's the first time I'd ever seen you there." My words sounded more accusing than I intended.

"I was dropping my friend Chad off. His dad owns the place." Brian unfolded himself from the driver's seat. "God, your car is not built for men," he griped, stretching his back.

I refrained from mentioning he didn't have to drive. Instead, I addressed his first comment. "Fred is your friend's dad?" I asked, climbing out. Talk about small-ass world.

"Stepdad, I think, but they're close so I guess it's the same thing. You're on a first-name basis with your bartender?" he teased, holding the door of the coffeehouse open for me.

I rolled my eyes. "It's hard to miss since its on the side of the building in two-foot letters."

"Can I help you?" the barista asked as the couple in front of us finished paying.

I gave her my order and waited for Brian to give his. "Why don't you find us a table?" he suggested.

I bristled. I didn't remember him being so bossy. "Or you could find us a table," I countered.

His lips quirked with amusement. "I don't remember—" he started to say before switching his words around. "Are you always this stubborn?" he asked instead.

"Are you always this bossy?" I volleyed back, much to the amusement of the barista, who was still watching us.

"I need to be," he answered easily.

I eyed him skeptically.