“Come on in.” She tugs her hand free of mine to open the apartment door, and I resist the urge to snatch it back.

“Kayla in?” I amble into her living room and switch on the lights. It’s tidy and clean and smells of some floral cleaner.

“She’s out.”

“Just you and me, then, kitten?” I flash her a grin when she turns to give me a look from where she’s hanging her purse on a hook behind the door.

“Cut it out, JJ.”

Still not taking my shit. I almost reel with relief. Back on solid ground after a night of spinning like a damn merry-go-round.

“I know.” I wink at her and lick my lips. “I’m a big dick.”

Doesn’t stop a flush from rising to her cheeks, and I grin wider.

Gotcha.

I love getting under her skin. Fuck, I love getting skin-to-skin with her even better, but after our last encounter and the way it ended… Because of my knee-jerk reaction to anything having to do with Helen and my past.

“I wouldn’t know the size of your dick,” she deadpans, slipping off her sandals and padding quietly across the room to close the curtains on the two windows facing the street below. “But from your need to talk about it constantly, I’d guess it’s very small.”

“What?” I sputter and cup my crotch protectively. “This is small? Who the hell said that?”

“So you’re big. Just how big are you?”

I gape at her, even as my dick starts getting interested in the proceedings, hardening against my palm. “Big.” I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with her, with Amber. My gaze strays to the swell of her tits under her tight, green top and my dick jumps under my hand, making me hiss. “Big enough.”

“We’ll see about that.” She winks at me heading to the kitchen, and I choke on my inhale.

What the fuck just happened?

What happened is I walked right into that one. Shit, that’s a first. This girl’s messing with my head, throwing my teasing back at me.

That’s a first, and damn if I don’t like it.

***

“Is it good?” She pushes a glass of juice toward me as I inhale the last of the spicy tuna rolls she put in front of me less than a minute earlier.

“Terrible,” I say with my mouth full and lick hot sauce off my fingers. “A health hazard. I think you’re trying to poison me.”

She giggles, but then her eyes focus on my finger-licking and widen a little before she turns away.

“I’ll let Kayla know how much you hated her rolls,” she says.

“Oh, she made them?” I could have eaten another ten of the tiny things, but I gulp down the juice instead. “They’re really good. Maybe she could show me how to make them one day.”

“You want to learn how to cook?”

I put my glass down, shrug. “Yeah. Is it weird? I’ve watched Mel at the taco stand, but I can’t eat tacos every night.”

She blinks at me, looking confused. “Can’t you cook something else?”

“If I knew, I would.” Now my belly’s full, my eyelids are drooping. I stifle a yawn. “It’s strange, having a kitchen, you know, where you can store food and cook and stuff. On the street you just grab what’s cheap and ready.”

Her face falls, and yeah, I’ve shoved her into the shitty reality of my past again. I keep forgetting most people have no clue what that’s like.

Not sure whether I should say I’m sorry for speaking out or cut my losses and shut up.

But then she says, “I’m sorry.”

What is she sorry for?

“Well, I’m not. Having a kitchen is damn cool, let me tell you that.”

She huffs a little laugh and pushes at my shoulder with her hand. “Shut up. You know what I mean.” When I stare at her, lost, she swallows hard and sits back down across from me. “I’m sorry you had to live like that before. It makes me sad.”

I hate pity. All my life I’ve fought it. I’m a proud person, although I’ve had to crack down on my pride quite a few times to avoid checking out of this world. Still… I’m glad she’s not pitying me, because otherwise I’d be out the door already.

And thinking she’s sad on my behalf sends those bands of warmth tightening around my chest until I can hardly breathe.

“Today…” I turn the cool glass in my hands, making it squeak on the table. “Today’s Helen’s birthday.”

I have no clue why I’m telling her this, sitting at the little table in her bright kitchen, spilling my guts out. I haven’t talked about Helen since the day she vanished. What’s wrong with me?

And worse still, why can’t I seem able to fucking stop?

“I always toast her with a shot of brandy on her birthday. She liked the stuff. I save a bottle in my room for special occasions.” I force my hands to still on top of the table. “I asked Mel to let me leave early. Not because of Helen, just…”

My fists are so tight my nails bite into the flesh of my palm, and yet I can’t feel any pain. Numb.

“What happened?” Her hands slide over mine like cool water, covering my fists, until I relax them and let my hands lie flat on the table. “When you got home?”

“Things went to hell before that.” I draw a breath and find myself trembling, so I pull away my hands and let them fall on my thighs. “On the way, I met Jason. He’s a hooker, still works the streets. He’s the one who found me that night when I was attacked, three years ago.”

“The night you got the scars?”

I find myself scratching at them unconsciously, and make myself stop. “Yeah. Jason has been on my case since then to report what happened to the police. I refused. Guy who cut me up is a gang leader. He’ll have my head on a spike if he finds out.”

She pales as she bows her head, taking this in. “I understand.”

Not fucking likely, not without knowing the whole story, and fuck if I’m ever telling her.

“Yeah, well. Jason insisted I should report the guy, said he’s been harassing everyone in the neighborhood. Harassing people I know, that I lived side by side with.” I heave a breath that seems stuck in my chest. “Jason was right. The guy attacked another homeless boy early this morning, cut him up. Kyle is his name. He’s at the fucking hospital. I don’t know the boy, but if I had reported the sicko back then, if I had done something… this wouldn’t have happened. Fuck, this is on me.”

A screech alerts me to the fact she’s pushed back her chair. I look up to see her walk around the table. She kneels at my feet. I have no clue what she’s doing, not even when she takes my hands in hers and squeezes.

“And then what happened?” she asks softly, so softly that I have to tell her, have to keep talking, because for once in my life someone is paying attention. Yeah, Zane and Rafe and the guys asked me some questions, but they mostly let me be, and I was grateful.

But now it’s not enough. Not anymore. I need… someone to know, to understand. I need Amber to understand. It’s never been so important to me before.

I want to wrap myself in her and just be.

“Then I returned to the apartment. I went to get my bottle of brandy, and it was fucking gone. Fucking roommates.”

“They took it?”

“Assholes.” What a clusterfuck. I can’t look at her, too raw, too pissed. Tonight of all nights… “They can’t respect my stuff. It’s not the first time. Just because they have money and can buy more of whatever they feel like at any moment doesn’t mean I can, too. Fuckers.” I realize I’m shaking again, and I don’t know why. “I punched Gage, and he gave as good as he got, then Travis got between us. Sorry, Embers. I’m just…”

I shake my head, unable to explain anything, and turn my baseball cap around, hiding my face in the shadow of the brim.

She squeezes my hands again and I force myself to lift my head and meet her eyes. She doesn’t look upset by my cursing and strange mood. She only looks… thoughtful.

“Come with me,” she says and gets to her feet, pulling on my hands until I get up and follow her. She leads me out of the kitchen and into the empty living room. My feet drag, heavy as stones. I’m suddenly so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open as she tugs me to the sofa and pushes me down on it.