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CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

CORTLAND

Chase

Staying away from her?

Brinklin

Seriously, Cort, Maya already knows you were with her once.

Storm

Don’t you two have a circle jerk to attend?

I glance at Storm across from me in the living room, watch his eyes drift up from his phone to me. A smirk plays around the corners of his mouth.

“It’s his dad,” he says quietly, one knee bent, leg crossed over the other. He doesn’t have a shirt on, and his sweats are low on his hips, his tattoos on display.

I glance back down at my phone and Maya is calling.

I ignore it, thinking of seeing Remi outside of therapy last week. We’ve texted a few times, but she’s trying to distance herself from me.

I know why.

I know she hates it.

What she feels for me. What I feel for her. I don’t even know what it is, exactly, but whatever it is… I hate it too, baby. It’s like shooting up poison. Maybe it’ll kill you. But maybe one more hit will be the antidote.

“What do you mean?” I ask Storm.

He shifts his hips, his abs flexing as he pockets his phone. It’s Monday evening, and I won yet another game over the weekend. I had dinner with Dad and Tristan afterward even though they didn’t go to the game to avoid Mom, but Remi…

She probably would’ve been happier if I’d gotten a concussion. I didn’t see her in the stands, and I never expect to see her there again.

Still, it’s a nice fantasy.

Thinking of her waiting for me in my truck afterward, completely naked, sprawled out on my backseat.

Yeah, that’s never going to happen.

Storm shrugs. “Greg McGowan. If he knew you two were…” Storm gestures toward me with tattooed fingers. “Doing whatever you’re doing…” He runs his hand through his black hair before dropping it onto the arm of his chair. “He’d have a stroke. You know he’s always been about his image.”

I scoff, leaning back on the couch, tossing my phone beside me. “His image is that of a rich, sloppy, fucking drunk redneck.”

Storm nods. “Right. And any talk about you and the girl who accused you and his son of rape being seen together, that might not be good for business.”

I roll my eyes. “Good.”

Storm brushes his hand over his mouth, shaking his head. “Small towns talk. People like Greg listen.” He stands, stretching, his arms overhead. “ Watch out for her.” He drops his arms by his side, staring at me. “And watch yourself around her.”