Flopping onto my back, I groaned and the sound echoed in the room. I stared at the ceiling knowing I was more likely to sprout wings and fucking fly than I was to get any more sleep tonight. Especially when damn near every part of me wanted to get back in her bed and pick up exactly where I’d left off.

Chapter 11

Sydney

Kyler avoided me the next day like I was some ugly chick he’d drunkenly brought home from a bar and couldn’t get rid of. The whole thing was about ten levels of awkward and a basement full of someone-kill-me-now.

As I made us cold-cut sandwiches for the second day in a row, he lingered at the edge of the kitchen, and when I handed him his plate and our fingers brushed, he jerked back, knocking the plate out of my hand. Honey ham and swiss cheese went flying. Mayo splattered along the pretty tile.

“Shit,” he said, and he’d been saying that a lot lately. He knelt down and started scooping up the mess. “Sorry about that.”

I stood there, hands shaking. I wanted to cry. Like a fat, angry baby who wanted to be fed level of crying. Mumbling something I didn’t even understand, I went over to the counter and grabbed some paper towels. With every intention of helping—and somehow cleaning up the more important mess—I went back to where he was and bent over.

At that very second, Kyler stood, and the top of his head smacked into my chin, snapping my head back. Sharp pain burst across my jaw as I stumbled back, dropping the paper towels as Kyler cursed like the F-word was going out of style. Standing up, he reached for me, but the laws of gravity were totally against me. I knocked into the heavy-ass oak kitchen table, shaking it. Perched in the center was a vase that his mom had commissioned over five years ago, which started to wobble from side to side.

I spun around, reaching for the stupid purple and pink work of art. It was like one of those really bad movies where a series of accidents leads to something priceless being destroyed. I practically dive-bombed the table, catching the vase a second before it committed suicide off the edge.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, out of breath.

Kyler appeared at my side, helping me straighten up without doing any more bodily injury. “Are you okay?”

I couldn’t feel my chin. “I’m okay.”

He took the vase from me and waited until I backed away from the table before he placed it back down. “I’m sorry. I could’ve knocked your teeth out.”

There was nothing for me to say, so I stood there, trying not to come in contact with anything. “Are you okay?”

“I have a hard head.”

That he did.