The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,582

green. His favorite pizza is sausage and mushroom. I know he’s a side sleeper. I know his favorite sexual position is reverse cowgirl. I know when he’s had a bad dream at night because he does this twitchy thing and makes this angry face. I know when he can’t sleep because he tosses and turns and puts his arm around me when he thinks I’m out cold. I know he takes his coffee black, his favorite movies are anything starring Al Pacino, and I know he’d do anything in this world for his sister.

But all of that means nothing.

My knowledge of him is only skin deep.

He won’t let me in beyond that.

And I wish he would.

So much.

Because I still think he’s pretty amazing.

And if all the parts of him I do know are good, how bad could the rest of him be?

Thirty-Eight

Madden

* * *

“You coming over tonight?” Pierce asks Friday morning as we open the shop.

“Yep.”

“Bringing the girlfriend?” he asks. For all intents and purposes, everyone thinks we’re an item. It was easier to keep up the illusion across the board in the beginning, but then we just kept going with it because at the end of the day it’s no one else’s business but ours. “She skipped out last week.”

“I don’t know what she’s doing tonight.”

He gives me a look, scoffing. “What do you mean you don’t know what she’s doing tonight? She’s your girlfriend. And it’s the weekend. You should know exactly what she’s up to.”

I shrug, flicking on the neon “Open” light in one of the front windows.

“Come on. Don’t act like you’re not batshit fucking crazy about her,” he says, swatting my shoulder. “You can drop the act. I mean, man, she’s good for you. And we’re all glad you were finally able to move on from Whore-onica.”

“Glad you guys like Brighton, but we’re not that serious.”

His jaw turns slack. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re a fucking moron if you’re not serious about her. She’s an eleven. Straight up. No shitting you. Intelligent. Kind. Hot as fuck. The trifecta. It literally doesn’t get any better than that and here you are, sitting around all smug like you could take her or leave her, like she’s some piece of ass you picked up at O’Callahan’s on a Saturday night.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Newsflash, Madd. She’s too good for you. Hold onto that with everything you’ve got and don’t you ever fucking let go.”

I arrange the magazines on one of the tables in the waiting area before grabbing one off the top and paging through. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

“Shit. If you don’t want her, give her to me.”

My gaze flicks up from the glossy pages in my hand. I see red before I see him.

A wide grin covers Pierce’s face. “See. You do like her.”

“I never said I didn’t.” I wish he’d drop this entire fucking conversation, but he won’t let it go, like a mutt with a bone.

Even if I accepted the way I’m beginning to feel about Brighton, it won’t change the fact that our pasts are painfully intertwined.

I don’t blame her for what happened. She was just a kid. Completely innocent. And I’d never hold any of this against her, but how would she feel knowing I’m the son of the man who brutally murdered her beloved family members … the son of a man who probably would’ve killed her too had she been awake to witness it.

My father’s a monster.

And I’m the son of a monster.

And she deserves so much more than anything I could ever give her.

Pierce slaps my shoulder before motioning toward the door, where a tall man in an expensive tailored suit, shiny shoes, and dark sunglasses walks toward the shop with wide, confident strides.

“Who the fuck is that douche lord?” Pierce asks.

I toss the magazine aside and fold my arms across my chest.

“That,” I say, “would be Brighton’s father.”

The bells on the door jangle as he walks through, and he scans the front of the shop before yanking off his glasses and pointing his intense stare at me.

“Mr. Karrington,” I say, remembering I’m still his daughter’s “boyfriend” in his eyes. “How can I help you today, sir?”

I sound like the biggest jerkoff, but I remind myself this is all for her.

“Was hoping I’d catch you,” he says. “I’d like to have a word with you.”

Brighton’s dad looks at Pierce, who throws his hands up in the air before walking to the back and making himself scarce.

Charles’ lips