The Broken Sister (Sister #6) (10 page)

“Maybe.” Silence lingered as they stepped in sync. “Anyway, what college did you go to?”

He shook his head to zone back into the girl with him now. “Peterson.” It popped out before he meant it to. But really, what were the chances she’d find out who he was? Thousands attended Peterson and many had to have the name Tristan.

“Oh. How long ago?”

“I graduated five years ago, after I got my MBA.” They then stopped before a storefront that had single door to the left of it, and inside was a lighted foyer with a few metal mailboxes in the wall and a staircase leading upstairs. She must live over the small shop.

She glanced up, her expression surprised. “How old are you?”

“Older than you,” he said as she stopped and faced him.

“How much older?” Her voice was soft; he had to lean in to hear her. She peeked up at him and then back to her toes. He stepped closer. To hear her? It seemed like that at first, but then he was closer and he too stared at the black, rounded tip of her work shoes she seemed to find so fascinating.

“Too old,” he evaded, his tone husky. What the hell? Maybe he was doing it on purpose without realizing it? She glanced up at him again. This time he was so close she had to tip her head back. He watched her throat swallow. His finger came up and traced the line down her throat, which made her swallow again as his fingertip circled the hollow of her clavicle. “Thirty. I turned the big three-oh about three months ago.”

“That’s… grown up.” Her voice sounded strangled, or more like she was about to pass out from his presence.

“Aren’t you grown up?”

“No.” She whispered it. He could feel her heart fluttering too fast against his fingertip. He’d never touched a woman like this before. All it was was the pad of his finger and his own breath was catching. There was something oddly sensual about it, about her at his fingertips. He leaned closer.

“Old enough, though?”

Her head just barely bobbed up and down. He was making her nervous. He could feel the way her lungs almost rattled as she drew in a breath. “No.”

He leaned back, his gaze finding hers. Shit. Was she somehow underage? He hadn’t gotten that wrong, had he? “You’re eighteen, right?”

A smile crossed her face. “Twenty.”

His own smile mimicked hers. “Old enough,” he finally mumbled, leaning towards her. Her tongue came out to lick her lips. He stared into her eyes then lowered his gaze to her lips. He dropped his hand to her waist then and pulled her against him. His coat parted and she was then along his body as he slid his hand further around her so his palm sat at the base of her spine, and he pressed her body closer to his. He held her gaze as he dropped his head lower, and lower and lower. Slow enough she could step away, turn away, slap him, anything to prevent his obvious intentions.

His lips touched hers and she leaned up towards him, rising up on her tip toes and then her lips pressed into his. At first it was just lips brushing over lips, but she let out the softest little sound. A moan or groan or sigh, he wasn’t sure; just a small sound that had him leaning down over her more and opening his mouth as hers opened. Her hand crushed the front of his button-up shirt in her fist and she leaned against him to hold her balance, as she was still up on her tiptoes. Something about her holding herself up by her tiptoes had him smiling at the girlishness of it, while his mouth opened over hers, treating her as anything but girlish.

He stepped forward so his leg slid between hers and nearly pinned her to the stucco of the building’s wall. He trapped her in, his other hand sliding up to her face, and he ran his fingertips over the side of her face and into the slicked back strands of her hair. He rubbed her hair, and then let his hand fall to her neck, which he then cupped and held her steady as he deepened the kiss even more. His tongue was lost in the depths of her mouth. She tasted like nicotine and coffee… and it should have disgusted him, or not have interested him, but it was entirely the opposite. He pushed her into the wall, his hands then grasping both sides of her face, as he was lost in the kiss that went on and on and on. His hips pushed against her. She slid down onto flat feet and he had to bend more to reach her.

He could go in to her place. Push it. Push her. Fuck her like he was supposed to. He could. He should. He would.

Wouldn’t he? Didn’t he always do what needed to be done?

Not old enough.

Her statement rang through his brain even as his entire body tingled and despite his best efforts responded to her. There was something oddly innocent, delicate, and almost vulnerable about her. But it wasn’t obvious at first. It was just under the surface and he didn’t understand his own reaction to her. He was supposed to be using her, yet he found himself gentling the kiss, as his tongue came from her mouth and he pressed his lips to hers while his hand cupped her jawbone. He pressed three, four, five kisses to her mouth, then he finally stopped and held her against him. Her arms were around his trunk, under his coat, but not touching any of his skin.

“You want to come upstairs?” Her voice again, so quiet. So unsure. Yet everything about her first appearance would seem like she’d be kind of tough and streetwise.

“Do you want me to?” He asked it while she was tucked up against him, his jaw resting now on her head.

“I don’t know.”

Wasn’t this just what he should expect from her? The kiss? The invite. Or almost invite? But he felt something from her. Her indecision. Her nerves.

“Do you invite strange men up often?” For some reason he didn’t like that. At all. It made his tone come out surly.

“No.” She struggled to push away from him. He let her go, surprised by how much he didn’t want to. “Not when I’m sober, that is.”

“Do you want to go out on a date?”

“What?”

“Go on a date? Us?”

Her eyebrows shot up. So did his. He hadn’t planned to ask her out, when he was about twenty seconds from convincing her to let him up to her place for sex.

“Okay.” Her answer was casual, but her tone, the look in her eye, was anything but.

“Okay.” He found himself mimicking her as they held each other’s gaze.

“What’s your last name?” she finally asked softly.

“Aderly.” It was his mother’s maiden name and his middle name. God help him if she tried to look up his name. What she’d find. Certainly not his face connected to any of the Tristan Aderly’s. But it was as close to the truth as he could get. “What’s yours?”

Her laugh was louder than it had been. As if the irony of their embrace, their date, and figuring out their names was funny to her. “McKinley. Kylie McKinley.”

He put his hand out as if to casually shake hers. She put her hand into his. “It’s nice to have met you, Kylie McKinley.”

“You too, Tristan Aderly.”

“Can I pick you up here? Tomorrow night?”

She shook her head. “I work again. Through Sunday night.” She hesitated and then added, “But I can Monday night, if that works.”

He touched the end of her long ponytail, which was caught on her shoulder. “That works. Here, at, say, seven?”

“Yes. I’m apartment G. You won’t miss it.”

“All right. How are you getting home tomorrow night?”

“Uh… walking.” Her eyebrows lowered and almost twisted with her obvious confusion over why he asked.

“I don’t like that.”

She shrugged and a small smile filled her face. “Luckily, I don’t have to do anything you like. I like the city. I like it at night. I find it comforting and interesting and walking to and from work is a pleasure to me.”

“Get a ride home,” he grumbled.

“It’s not even worth a car accelerating. It’s too close.”

His lips scowl. “It’s not too close. A lot can happen in a few blocks.”

Why was he pressing her safety so much? He shrugged it off. He would for any woman. It’s not like he was okay with violence against women. Any woman. Even one accusing his brother of it. Still, it surprised him that she wasn’t savvier about taking care of herself.

“A lot can happen anywhere. You can’t really control stuff like that.”

“You can reduce its chances,” he muttered. Almost angry now. “Just think of a better way. God, don’t you have friends to call?”

“Not many I’d consider close to me.” She dropped her head. “You sound like my sister. She’s always on me to take better care of myself.”

“Sounds like a smart girl.”

“She is. You’d love her. Everyone does.”

He had to stop this. He could not go out on a freaking date with her. Look at what he already knew. She seemed sad. She didn’t take very good care of her safety. She had a sister. She seemed to lack friends. He didn’t want to know her. To understand her. No. What the fuck was he doing?

A smile lurked at the corner of his mouth. “You trying to set us up?”

She shook her head. “You’d be a better match with her.”

“How can you possibly know that? You don’t know me.”

“You don’t know me.”

“No, that’s what the date is for, right?”

She smiled. “Right. Date. You’ll show up?”

Something in her offhand questions stung his heart. Her face turned red. He was sure she didn’t mean to say it. He touched her cheek as he stared right into her eyes. “I’ll show up.”

She flushed again and dropped her face towards her feet. He touched her chin, lifting her face up so her gaze tangled with his. “And not for a date with your sister.”

She grinned. “No. That would be odd. Goodbye, Tristan.”

“Goodbye, Kylie.” She stood there still. He finally made a motion with his hand. “I won’t leave until I see you go in safely.”

She saluted in mock gravity and then spun and left with a laugh before he could react. He was troubled to find he watched her lithe, skinny legs climb the stairs while a smirk at her sarcasm sat on his face. Disgusted with himself, he wiped it off and turned with a vengeance to stop this and get his ass back on task.

KYLIE LEANED INTO HER closed door with her heart nearly bursting as a huge grin burst out over her face and dug into her cheeks. Holy shit! What had that been? Where had that come from? Who was he?

Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Not like this! He had walked her home as if she was some delicate flower that might wilt after hours. It was ridiculous. She’d been traipsing up and down Marsdale since her first week at college, much to the chagrin of her cousin and sister and even the few friends she’d made. She was braver (or stupider) than most. She admitted. It just didn’t scare her. Not like it should, perhaps. She knew most didn’t get why it didn’t. Darkness wasn’t her enemy.

She’d been raped in bright light. In front of a crowd. With dozens of people around, to be more specific. So how much more dangerous could a city street be?

But his concern was sweet. And so strange. What guy had she ever been around who acted like that towards her? About as close to that was Derek Salazar, who used to date her cousin Olivia until they found out he was a drug dealer, and he nearly got Olivia killed her freshman year. Kylie felt guilt over that down to her toes. She’d known there something off about Derek. He’d been lying from the start but her cousin was so good and Kylie thought she could use the fun, the danger, the walk on the wild side. She never dreamed Olivia would end up overdosed and in the hospital. It is what should have happened to Kylie, not Oliva. Kylie’s behavior, her lack of concern and safety, and hooking up with way too many guys should have ended up like that, not her sweet, innocent cousin. It was in fact, one of the few times in the last decade that Kylie had cried inconsolably, when she realized the damage done to Olivia and that she could have maybe stopped it. But she was lousy as a friend as she was a student or even a rape victim. She was terrible at all of it.

But this? It was nothing to do with drinking or frats or her reputation or her life here. It was exciting. It was crazy. It was… fun. She had never had an experience like it with a guy. She was usually so tongue-tied when sober that none of her conversations with guys she was attracted to ever went anywhere. Not one of the older men who dined at The Acorn had ever wanted her. Not a one! No innuendoes, no asking to hook up. Nothing.

But tonight it had. Tristan Aderly was the most drop-dead gorgeous one of them all. A smile that would melt through any girl’s panties. A way of speaking with enough reserve that he totally controlled the conversation. Confidence nearly dripped off him.

In all honesty he looked like someone Ally would date. Put together, sophisticated, business-tycoon hot. Already done with school and on to a successful job. Or at least he portrayed all that.

She stepped into her studio, a tiny smile lingering on her face. Inexplicably, her heart felt like it had been pumped full of helium and was floating out of her body. She so rarely, maybe never, felt this way. She didn’t often get crushes. Never did she then interact with that crush. These strange feelings caused her to have a stomach full of butterflies. The last time a guy had set her pulse skittering strangely was when she first liked Tommy… but no. Not now. She didn’t have to think about that. She needed to think about tonight. Tristan. The past had nothing to do with this.

She glanced at the clock. She’d love to call Olivia and share this with her. Last year it would have made Olivia so happy, because this involved a guy when Kylie wasn’t drinking or high. But Olivia was spending this year at a state school and had since her trauma last year with Derek. She kept to herself these days.

Still… she wanted to talk to someone.

She grabbed her cell and clicked her sister’s number. Ally answered after just a ring. “Are you all right?”

Kylie sighed. Not that she could very well blame Ally. There were many times when such a greeting to Kylie’s late night phone calls were justified. Ally had picked her up more often than once drunk or high from parties or get-togethers.

“I’m… good. I’m actually really good.”

“You sound sober.”

“I am. I just got home from work.”

“How did you get there?”

“A friend walked me home.” Ally often had Tristan’s same argument with her.

“What’s up?” Her sister’s voice loosened up and Kylie could picture Ally sitting back and relaxing, sure now there was no Kylie to come rescue at the moment.

“I met someone and I wanted to… talk about him.” She lost her train of thought for a moment because she’d never called her sister about a guy she’d met. Or even slept with.

Silence met her proclamation and then a squeal. “Ky, are you for real? You met someone and you want to talk to me about it?”

“Yeah,” Kylie answered, her tone mushier than how she usually spoke. She knew how her sister worried about her and for her. She didn’t make Ally’s life easier. Ally hid most of it from their mother but worried like her mom would.

“This is kind of epic. So spill… who is it?”

“Someone new. I met him at work.”

“Another waiter?”

“No. He’s a businessman and he came in for dinner. He’s—older than me.”

Silence. “Oh. That’s nice, Kylie. I’m sure it was a nice change for you.”

“What just happened? Why did you get all pissy?”

Ally’s tone was weary when she spoke. “I didn’t see older as something I had to stress over next. Is he, like, Mom and Donny’s age?”

“No. No, it’s nothing like that. Honest! We didn’t sleep together. He ate all proper-like and never even flirted or asked for my number. He happened on me as I was walking home. He didn’t like I was doing it alone and walked me home. He just wanted to, I guess.”

“He came in though?”

“We kissed goodnight. I invited him up and he instead asked me on a date. And older, like thirty, not creepy like my dad’s age.”

“A date? Like, pick you up and all that?”

“I think so… No, I know so, yes. Monday night, the next night I don’t work.”

“Oh, Kylie. This is kind of new and real. You didn’t sleep with him?”

“No. You know I only do that when I’m drinking. I was at work. I don’t mix those.”

“I know you don’t. So, wow, this is huge.”

“I’m excited… but Ally, what do I wear? He’s more like someone I see you dating. He had an expensive looking suit. You’d know the brand, I’m sure. It looked tailored to him and button-up shirt and tie even. He said he works at Tamasy Industries and graduated with an MBA from Peterson. I have no idea what he’d see in me, but he asked.”

“Kylie, you’re incredibly beautiful, you just don’t see it.”

“Or do anything to enhance it. I know you hate my style.”

Quiet. Then Ally sighed. “No, that was shitty of me to say. You’re lovely just as you are, with how exactly you want to dress. Do you think he’s more my type because he’s not a loser? You deserve so much more than the losers you sleep with. That’s not what you deserve or who you should waste even a breath on.”

Kylie sat on the end of her bed. Her sister sometimes tried this. Her pep talks to get Kylie to behave or how Ally thought she should behave. Grow some confidence. It usually had Kylie shutting her eyes, trying to keep her patience from snapping, because the bottom line was, she didn’t usually believe her sister. Or mother. Or cousin.

“Maybe I mean that. Anyway, I won’t get too excited. This might go the way of all the rest of them.”

“Don’t sell yourself so damn short, Ky. You deserve the real thing. And not a loser. You are not a loser. Get that straight, okay?”

“What if he finds out about… you know? The stuff said about me at school? Or my past?”

“You are not the total sum of that stuff. And your past is just that: your past. It’s not
you
. Who you are. Let him meet you, Kylie. Please. I’ve been waiting since you were about twelve for you to let anyone, girl or boy, meet the real you. You let me in, Olivia too, but no one new. I blame that fucking bastard for your inability to trust others with who you are. But Kylie, not all men will leave or hurt you. Not all men are like
him
.”

So rarely did Ally mention Micah anymore. Never did she refer to him as “Dad.” It was usually
fucking bastard, SOB
, etc. She had a plethora of names for him. Kylie closed her eyes. She had let her father’s abandonment of them rule who and what she was for so long. Why? Why could Ally blow it off and seem to get stronger inside of herself for it, when it so ripped Kylie to shreds? “Do I do that?”

“You do that. Terribly. You don’t think I don’t know that. The sweet, quiet, rather serious girl inside of the party-girl you let the rest of them meet? That’s who you should let this guy meet. What’s his name?”

“Tristan.”

“Tristan.”

“He wasn’t like my usual.”

“Then let it be different, okay? Let it be your unusual.”

“Well, then what do I wear so I don’t scare him off?”

Ally’s laugh filled her ear. “You should wear what you want. Don’t pretend. Don’t drink. Don’t sleep with him unless you’re sober.”

“I thought you’d say don’t sleep with him.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having sex. It’s when you use it in place of making any real relationships or ties to anyone.”

“You’re saying go as me? What feels right to me?”

“Yup.”

“What if he realizes how skinny I am? The work uniform hides it. He’ll be disgusted. Most guys think I’m too skinny.

“Stop it. You’re not disgusting. It’s a fact of who you are.”

Kylie closed her eyes and laid back. “I wish…”

“Kylie, someone is going to love you like I love you, like Mom and Donny and Julia love you. You aren’t who you think you are. Just let him meet her. Sober. Don’t hide in the substances.”

“Okay.”

“I’m proud of you, Ky. Even trying this? This is huge.”

She pulled her legs up to her chest. “I love you, Ally. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never find out. You want me to come over before it?”

“Would you?”

“Yes.”

They talked for a few minutes more, going through Ally’s common litany of questions. Ally was her older sister, and friend and too, her caretaker. Ally kept watch on her, her weight, her drinking and how she was coping with it all. Sometimes it seemed like she resented her sister’s stability, intelligence, confidence, beauty, and how likeable she was. Kylie regretted sometimes how much she needed Ally. But she would be lost without Ally. She might be completely screwed in the head instead of the little bit she was.

The only thing she hadn’t gone to Ally with was Tommy Tamasy, for some reason. Even though Ally was the person Kylie admitted everything to. Every guy she slept with or drug she tried, or when she shoplifted a bra, underwear, lip gloss, or flunked a class, or hadn’t eaten all day, Ally was the only one who knew about it.

She was too strangely wired to sleep. She pulled out her charcoals and began sketching. It helped her express some of the stuff inside her head. The knot that constantly seemed to tie her stomach up. She drew often. Black charcoal drawings were her favorite. The stark lines often so easily depicted her feelings. Stark. Brutal. Complicated, but also so simple.

She finally fell asleep in middle of her bed with her supplies all around her and the sketch book under her.

****

The knock on her door was at precisely seven o’clock sharp. Her stomach was in a knotted mess. She hadn’t eaten much today. Lots of water. She couldn’t make herself take the bites; she was too nervous and wound up and nothing sounded appealing because she was so full of nerves as she got dressed.

She’d never done this before. Primp for a date. She’d settled on this tank-style black and white dress that stopped mid-thigh, but was casual with a skinny black belt and a fitted leather black jacket, with black tights and her black boots. It was her usual, but a little more feminine. Nothing Ally would wear, but she didn’t feel totally stupid either. But she was a mess of nerves, because the rich-looking, fully grown-up man wasn’t supposed to be someone she felt a connection with. And in all honesty she wasn’t used to connecting with anyone besides maybe her own family members.

Her knees were almost knocking together when she opened the door. Her breath whooshed out of her lungs and through her open lips. She pressed her lips together as she met his gaze, which fell over her in bold, confident, easy perusal. “You remembered.”

It flipped out of her lips before she could clamp down on the wayward thought. She slapped her hand over her mouth. She’d almost convinced herself he wouldn’t show up. And she didn’t have his phone number, there was no way she’d ever hear from him again. But here he was! And on time!

“I wasn’t likely to forget. It’s been three days.”

She felt the burning blush up her neck and cheeks. It had happened more than not. She was either forgettable, or guys just didn’t feel any kind of obligation to her.

He stepped closer. She gripped the door handle as her breath felt like it caught in her throat. He smelled good. Like something rich and spicy and no doubt expensive. She felt like leaning in and sniffing him with a big whiff of ecstasy. He wore another flawless suit. Had any guy ever taken pains to show up for a date with her? It was as much as an aphrodisiac as him showing up there. On a Monday night. She wasn’t sure what to say now.