Page 52 of Point Blank

Peyton shrugged. “She vouched for them both. I took her word.”

Interesting. Serena rolled that information over in her brain. Dani was a little more trusting than she was, but she wasn’t careless.

“What do you say, Priss?” Milo asked. “Are you in to rob Titus tonight?”

Peyton nodded. “I don’t usually do pro-bono work, but for Dani, of course.”

“You don’t have to get involved,” Serena said. “No one would hold it against you.” Peyton deserved a way out, even though Serena knew there was no chance she’d take it.

Peyton curled her lip. “There’s no way I’m going to sit around twiddling my thumbs when Dani is in danger. You bet your ass I’ll be there.”

Serena and Milo stood. Peyton followed suit and yanked Serena into a hug. “She’ll be okay,” Peyton choked out.

“We’ll come back tonight with Brock,” Milo promised, as he tugged Serena’s arm. They stepped into the hallway. The dead bolt clicked and the chain slid with a resounding tinkle.

Seeing Peyton rattled shook away the doubt edging her mind. She strode a pace in front of Milo with renewed determination.

Waiting until tonight would be hell.

“Coffee?” Serena bustled around his kitchen as if she’d been there months and not two days. Before he could answer, she’d set two white mugs on the island.

“Sure.” He dropped onto one of the barstools, taking the opportunity to observe her. She’d tugged the elastic from her hair the second her shoes were off. Wispy strands licked her cheeks and the rest of her locks waved over her shoulders.

Brunette now. So weird.

She scooped sugar into each mug, her eyes downcast and her movements jerky. The ceramic cups were the only matching pair in the cupboard. The last two of the set he’d purchased when he bought the house. One was somewhere in the garage where he’d last been working; the other had broken. Four other miscellaneous mugs took up the shelf, and yet she’d taken down two matching ones—a couple.

Jesus, was he seriously comparing her choice of mugs to their relationship? As if what they drank out of meant anything.

Fuck it. Fuck all of this. He was losing his mind and it was because of her. Because he couldn’t get her out of his head. Couldn’t chase away the guilt of abandoning her, couldn’t sweep away his attraction or their history any more easily than he could stop staring at her.

He was done fighting.

He got to his feet and rounded the island.

“I’m glad to have Priss with us on this.”

He smirked at the use of her friend’s nickname. It was funny she never called Peyton Priss in front of her, knowing it would annoy her. He rested his hand on the counter and continued studying her while she fixed their coffees. If she was aware of his proximity, she didn’t react.

“Do you want to pour your cream?” She held out the carton, her gaze lifting to his for the first time since they’d gotten back to his house.

“Nah. You make it better.”

Her mouth twitched and her gaze dropped to his scar. She poured a splash into one cup and three times that amount into the other.

She lifted the one with the most cream and sugar and handed it to him. “What happened to your jaw?”

He sipped, and the warm brew rolled over his tongue, ringing his senses to life. He frowned and rubbed his stubble. Was she hinting at the excess hair he was sporting due to lack of shaving over the last day and a half? “What about it?”

She rested her palm where his jaw met his ear, and her thumb brushed over the spot she was referring to.

“Ah, that.” He took another drink and set the cup on the counter. Taking advantage of the fact that she’d turned to face him, he cradled her hips in his hands. “I got that at Alban’s. After you left, I got into it with another guard. He hit the butt of a steel flashlight against my face. Hurt like a bitch and left a scar.”

Her eyes crinkled in sympathy and her thumb stroked it again.

“I’m fine.”

“I know.” Her tongue slid over her teeth then disappeared into her mouth, taunting his to follow.