Page 38 of Unmarked Magic

In a far corner, Colt took to a boxing bag. Watching him box was like watching storm clouds roll in. You didn’t know if they would slide by fluidly or rain down all hell at a moment’s notice. His muscular torso moved with ease, each blow calculated like he knew exactly where the bag would return with each swing. He landed a roundhouse kick to its middle, and the heavy thud when his leg connected with the bag punched through the room. It swung back swiftly, only to be dealt several more short jabs.

“You good?”

I turned back to Ty’s voice; he was helping himself to a drink from the bar cooler. “Got room for these?” I held up my six pack of beers.

A swift nod. “Hand them over.” He took them from me, then took the lid off one with the bottle opener nailed to the makeshift bar before handing it back to me.

“Thanks,” I grunted.

He frowned, giving me a once over. “You look like shit.”

“Need a beer.” I leaned against the bar, lifting the bottle to my lips and taking a long drink. Unfortunately for me, I knew that statement alone would rouse Ty’s suspicion. Because everyone knew I wasn’t a big drinker. If I turned up with beer, they knew something was wrong.

“Rough day at work?” He stashed the rest of my drinks and closed the frosted door shut. His heavy stare landed on me again. Raising a brow, he gave me the ‘are we talking about this or not’ look.

Fuck. I really wasn’t in the mood for questions.

As if on cue, Colt formed an unintentional intervention, approaching the bar. Sliding off his boxing gloves, he dragged a towel over his glistening front. He stared at the beer in my hands but said nothing.

I didn’t need his scrutiny. “And?”

The look he gave me signaled his discomfort. “Still don’t want to talk about it?”

I shrugged, taking a long drink. “No.”

How could I possibly explain how I’d finger-fucked our friend until her orgasm had erupted from her as easy as breathing. Never in my life had I done that to a woman, let alone fuck it up just as quickly.

Because, seconds later I ran. Then she found me covered in blood. To make matters worse, because life threw me every middle fucking finger known to man, she put me to bed, saw my scars, then touched them.

Again, I ran.

If disaster had a heartbeat, it would probably sound like mine.

Running a hand up the side of my face, I rubbed the nape of my neck, looking anywhere but at Colt. His assessment branded my skin.

“That brunette from the bar got your balls in a twist?” joked Ty.

I shook my head. “Just shit going on is all.”

He slapped a hand on my shoulder. “A night with the boys will fix it.”

No. It wouldn’t.

And, as if the world owed me nothing, Wes dropped onto the landing at the bottom of the stairs. He held Skye’s hand as she trailed behind him, followed by Morgan, then —

Fuck. Red.

My attention instantly gravitated to her, her eyes latching onto me like a fucking magnet. How did she do that? Make me so aware.

She wore a black dress that snatched in at the waist, emphasizing the curve of her hips. Slits up each side to the knee revealed shapely calves, and her feet were buried into her usual Doc Martens.

I was fucking dead.

Her eyes traced over me the way I’d seen her inspect her botanicals. She noted my usual long-sleeved tee and jeans that had become my everyday staple. Only now she knew what I’d hidden underneath for as long as she’d known me.

Her eyes drifted to my cap, which I’d put on backwards for no other reason than because I felt like it. Not to impress. It was just me.

Lifting my beer to my lips, I held her gaze overtop of the neck of the bottle.