But just as quickly as her eyes widen at seeing me, they narrow into a slant and fill with one thing as the car speeds out of the parking lot, the radio blasting.

Disdain.

I don’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed. She’s the one undressing in the parking lot of a youth center in front of testosterone-fueled boys and heading off to a job where she gets paid to flirt with men… not me. Her disdain should be for herself.

I feel like an old man as I tiredly crawl into my Porsche, letting my head rest against the seat for a second, absorbing the spring sun and the fresh breeze before I fire up the engine. As I do, my phone rings and Sin’s name flashes on my screen.

“Yes?” I answer as I back out of my parking spot.

“Dude, I just found out that Amy Ashby is coming to my party tonight. Aren’t you costarring with her in your next gig?”

“Seriously?” I have to admit, I’m surprised. Amy Ashby, super-starlet, hardly ever ventures out of California. She doesn’t see the need. To her, all intelligent life ends at the California–Nevada border.

“Yeah,” Sin answers. “She’s dating a Blackhawk now, apparently, which is a shame because I’d like to motorboat those tits of hers. Are they real? I know you know. You had a sex scene with her in Visceral Need. I know you tapped that ass. You must’ve.”

For just a second, I think about that film, the one that shot both me and Amy to superstardom. And of course, I think about that sex scene. It was my first on-screen sex scene and hers too. We joked that we were popping each other’s cherry. Her tits aren’t real, but I don’t tell Sin.

“You’re ridiculous,” I tell him instead. “And fuck, man. How many parties do you need to have a week?”

Sin chuckles. “Don’t hate. But hey, I just thought of something. Is this going to cause a problem? Because Kira is coming tonight too. I know that Amy likes to have your undivided attention—whether she has a boyfriend or not.”

I sigh. “Amy is definitely high maintenance. But that shouldn’t cause a problem with Kira, because she knows where she and I stand. We’re convenient. That’s it. But knowing it and knowing it are two different things, and she’ll probably get jealous and throw some sort of fit. Why’d you invite her, anyway? I don’t want to babysit.”

“Because she wanted me to call her for my next party,” Sin replies, and I can almost hear him shrugging. It’s not his problem, so he’s not concerned. “And when the fuck did having a fuck-buddy turn into babysitting? Whatever, dude. We’ll make it work.”

An idea occurs to me and I grin.

“Oh, it’ll work. I’ll go home tonight for dinner. Mom’s been wanting to feed me, anyway. Have fun at the party.”

Sin starts to protest, but I hang up on him and turn the car around, heading the opposite direction toward Palos Park, the Chicago suburb that I grew up in.

The Chicago streets turn into the highway, which eventually runs through Palos Park. The quiet streets that I ran on when I was a kid surround me and I take in the quiet scenery as I drive through town to the country. Castle Kinkaide sits on ten acres outside of town and I can see the spire of the tower a mile away.

Honestly, I can’t help but smile. For the most part, I had an awesome childhood and I have great memories of growing up out here in the middle of nowhere, in a house that everyone around considers a gigantic novelty.

As I pull onto the long drive, surrounded on both sides by flowering trees, I take a deep breath of country air and exhale it. I always forget how good it smells here, but once I’m back, it brings back instant memories. Summer nights chasing lightning bugs, camping out with my dad and brothers, and swinging from a rope swing out by the stream.

It was a surprisingly rural upbringing in a town only a few miles from Chicago. As I climb out of my car, I hear Fiona and my mother… their voices drift toward me on the breeze, and I turn to find them walking from the garage into the house. Fuck.

How had I forgotten that Fiona is staying with my parents while her new condo downtown is being renovated? Mother fuck.

Fiona looks up and sees me first, and for the briefest of moments her eyes light up the way they usually do when she sees me. I’ve always been her favorite.

But not now. Now her expression immediately hardens and she pointedly looks in the other direction, a not-so-subtle way of reminding me that I’m on her shit list.

Whatever.

She’s on my shit list. She can ignore me as long as she wants. I can guarantee that I’ve got more patience than she does.

As they walk up the steps into the house, Mom turns her head and drops the sack she’s carrying as soon as she sees me. She runs toward me like she hasn’t seen me in a year. It’s only been a few months, but you’d think it was an eternity by the way she barrels into me and clutches me tight. Her head barely reaches my sternum, but she buries it there, her hands clasped behind me.

“Dominic James Kinkaide,” she scolds. “You’ve been away too long this time. You’re getting too thin. You’re not eating.”

She looks up at me, her blue eyes snapping. “You get yourself inside and wash up. Dinner’s in thirty minutes, and you’re going to eat everything I put on your plate.”

She marches ahead of me, trying to pretend that she’s angry and not happy to see me. But her eyes betray her, because when she stops to let me open the door for her, they’re warm.

“It’s about time you came home,” she tells me as she walks past. “Go see your father. He’s in the library.”

Fiona ignores me so I ignore her, walking past her into the long hall that leads to the library that serves as my dad’s study. When I round the doorway, I find him staring out the window, a glass of scotch in his hand.

“Hey, Dad,” I greet him quietly. “Can I get one of those?”

My father turns his head and smiles at me, his temples a little grayer than the last time I was home.

“Hey, Dom. Sure, help yourself. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

I chuckle because it’s the same thing he always says and help myself to a glass. The fiery liquid burns a trail down into my gut and I down the entire thing, then pour another.

“What happened the other night?” Dad asks without preamble. “You can’t go around assaulting people. I don’t care how pissed you are.”

I shrug. “I just found out that Fiona’s dating Cris. I don’t appreciate it and I told her so.”

Dad raises an eyebrow. “And then you showed Cris with your fists? I always told you, Dom… I don’t want you to start things. You can always finish them, but don’t start them.”

I shake my head and set my glass down. “Cris started this long ago, Dad. And there’s going to come a point where I need to finish it. For real.”

My father levels his green gaze at me. “You ever going to tell us what the hell happened with you two? He spent almost as much time here growing up as you did. If there’s something I need to know, I’d appreciate knowing it.”

My gut tightens.

It’s not that I don’t want to tell them. It’s that I can’t. I can’t fucking talk about it. Every time I try, the words freeze in my chest and they won’t pass my tongue. They’re just too fucking ugly to say.

My father raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

I shake my head. “It’s between him and me. If Fiona doesn’t want to listen, that’s her problem.”

Dad rolls his eyes and downs his whiskey. “I thought you’d say that. I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that he’s coming tonight. We didn’t know you were or we wouldn’t have invited him.”

I stare at him dumbly. I shouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t even call to tell them I was coming. But still. It’s my fucking home and I shouldn’t have to tiptoe around wondering when and if Cris fucking Evans will be here.

Shit.

“Great,” I mumble. “It’s been good seeing you.” I stand up and turn to walk out.