Page 112 of Crash

Those words seemed to enrage Ryker even more. A one-off hookup was one thing. A complicated, long-term relationship? That was exactly what Ryker was trying to avoid this whole time between me and Blake, and Blake defied his warnings.

“I’m going to sell your organs on the black market!” Ryker started struggling again.

“Fascinating business model,” Jace remarked dryly, “but I’m afraid medical ethics committees tend to frown on organ harvesting from living donors.”

Blake and Ryker lunged for each other, arms around Jace.

“STOP IT!” I shrieked. “You guys are middle-aged!”

They all froze, like someone had hit pause on a very violent movie. Three heads swiveled toward me in perfect synchronization, wearing matching expressions of horror.

“I’m not middle-aged,” Ryker said, looking genuinely wounded. “I’m thirty-five.”

Blake shoved away from my brother and Jace, brushing grass from his now-ruined dress shirt. “Middle-aged is, like, forty-five.”

“I don’t even have gray hair yet,” Jace added quietly, looking legitimately offended.

I stared at them in disbelief. “Seriously? THAT’S what got you to stop?”

“We’re not middle-aged,” Ryker muttered again, wiping blood from his split lip with the back of his hand.

“For once, I actually agree with your brother,” Jace said, straightening his tie, which had almost remained perfect despite the physical intervention.

I planted myself between Ryker and Blake, arms spread between their chests, just in case they started acting like morons again.

“A) You’re not teenagers anymore, so stop acting like them! And B) in case either of you needs a reminder, I’m thirty-three years old. You.” I jabbed a finger at Ryker. “Lost the right to express opinions over my dating choices when I stopped wearing braces, and you”—I turned to Blake—“are not helping your case by rolling around on my lawn like a WWE reject!

“And you.” I turned to Jace, who actually took a step back, hands raised in surrender. “What are you even doing here?”

“Ryker and I had plans. He took a detour, to check on you.” Jace shot an accusing look at Blake. “Seems multiple people have been worried about you lately, Tessa, and that role should come with a warning label.”

Good God, people were still recording us. Probably posting videos online as we spoke. I could imagine the headlines now.

Emergency Room Doctor Practices Bone-Setting Technique on Best Friend’s Face.

High-Profile Criminal Defense Attorney Discovers Assault Charges Are Less Fun from the Other Side of the Courtroom.

“Till Death Do Us Part” Takes on New Meaning at Wedding Planner’s Home.

Billionaire CEO Referees Lawn Brawl. Stock Prices Soar!

“Get in the house,” I hissed, pointing at my front door. “Now. Or I swear to God, I’ll be the one selling all your organs on the black market.”

They maintained their alpha-male staring contest for a few more seconds, muscles tense, like two tomcats deciding if another round was worth it. Finally, they trudged up my sidewalk, leaving a trail of grass clippings and wounded pride in their wake.

I followed behind them, already mentally composing an apology email to my landlord about the decimated flower bed.

“What are you doing here?” I snapped to Ryker once inside.

“You haven’t been returning my phone calls. Decided to pop over and make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ve been busy,” I said apologetically.

“So it would appear.” My brother’s gaze attempted to incinerate Blake.

“Not like that.”

Jace moved to the kitchen, inspecting the five-dollar coffee maker I’d snagged at a garage sale like he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. His coffee maker was probably a shiny silver thing with three hundred buttons. Mine had a crack, a chip, and a stained carafe that hadn’t been truly clean since the 1980s.