Free Sweet Cheeks by K. Bromberg Page B

across the bridge of her nose.
    I stare at her. The memories clear as day. Ryder and I running and her chasing. The two of us tricking her and then sometimes letting her hang with us. Because sometimes she was cool. For a girl .
    “You’re looking at me like that again,” she warns.
    “You haven’t changed, have you? Still bossy.” I’m baiting her. Figure if I get that temper going, she’ll yell at me, and I can figure out what the hell she was trying to do tonight in the club. The extra swing to her hips and the added taunt in her smile wasn’t for nothing.
    “Neither have you. Still causing trouble everywhere you go. I figured Hollywood would’ve tamed that side of you, and yet the National Enquirer seems to love you these days.”
    I take her dig for what it is. Understand she’s trying to hurt me any little way she can. Shit, she has every right to. My ego likes knowing she’s followed me. My pride hates that she’s noticed the bad press that’s always blown way the fuck out of proportion.
    I bite the rebuke on my tongue. Fight the want for her to know I’m not that guy and confess the truth behind the bullshit rumors. And yet, I can’t. I may be having a good time, trying to help her out, and yet she’s a part of my past, and the rumors are trying to protect my present.
    “Don’t always believe what you read about me.”
    “No worries. I don’t ever read anything about you.” A hint of hurt. A trace of spite.
    “I deserve that.” She’s lying . The finger twirling in the hair at her neck tells me so. I fight a smile at seeing the simple tell she still has.
    “No, you don’t deserve shit from me.” And here comes the temper .
    “Good thing I don’t want anything from you then.” Why does it feel like I’m the one telling a lie now?
    “Then why are you here, Hayes? Why? Not the ‘in town for the funeral’ part but rather I’m talking about tonight. Why come to the club and more so, why are we here right now? If you want nothing from me, then why’d you bring me to the tree house?”
    What the fuck am I supposed to say to that when I don’t know the answer myself ?
    “I was at the club because Ryder invited me, and I wanted to catch up. I didn’t expect you to be there. Thought you’d be out with your fiancé. What’s his name? Mitch something-or-other?” Layton . I know the last name all right. Remember him to be a pompous prick when I played baseball against him in high school.
    But let’s see if she takes the bait. Finishes the question. Gives me an in to open the door and start the conversation we need to have.
    “Mmm.” That’s all she says in response.
    I study her reaction. Notice the purse of her lips. The hair wrapped around her finger again. The sudden shifting of her legs as she fidgets.
    I could press her right now. Push those buttons of hers. But there’s something beneath the surface I can’t quite peg. So instead, I opt to finish answering her question. Try to gain her trust so she stops hating me.
    “And we’re here . . . we’re here because it’s kind of fitting. After the other day at the bakery and then tonight at the club, I don’t know . . . I needed to apologize to you. Explain why I . . .” I blow out a sigh and run my fingers through my hair unsure myself what I’m going to say. “This was where we always came when we needed to talk.”
    “It’s in the past,” she whispers, eyes angled back up to the sky but the contempt in her voice has been replaced by guarded hurt.
    It’s not in the past. Not for her. And that’s the bitch of it, isn’t it? Knowing someone so well for so long, even though time’s passed, you still know them. Can read their body language and infer from their tone so you can’t escape the fallout of your actions.
    “You don’t owe me anything. No apology. No anything. It wouldn’t matter if you gave me one anyway,” she replies as she lowers her face from the sky so she can meet my eyes. The defiance I see