Said eyes lock with mine—a deep, dark blue that lures me in—and I yank my gaze away, heat creeping up my neck.

I clear my throat and fumble with getting the drawer shut. “Don’t touch my stuff and I won’t touch yours, got it?” Embarrassment makes my tone unnecessarily harsh. Again.

And now shame makes my stomach churn. The room constricts and the temperature in the cramped space increases ten degrees.

She’s so weird. She hasn’t spoken more than a few words since the whole agreement went down and she barely makes eye contact and something about her throws me off-balance, making everything I say sharp as a dagger.

She was witness to one of the worst moments of my life. It’s like she can see every horrible thing about me and I can’t do anything about it. Maybe I shouldn’t take it out on her but it’s like I can’t control it.

She just turns away to reach into another box.

It irks, that she doesn’t even respond to my harsh tone. Doesn’t fight back. I could use a good row.

Abby would have my ass if I talked to her like that, and I would deserve it. Since we were kids, she’s had no problem taking me to task, standing up for herself.

Reese is nothing like Abby.

Abby is brash, confident, tall, athletic. More likely to punch you in the face than hug you.

Reese is a little wisp of a thing, a mouse. More likely to run and hide than speak up.

Although . . . she didn’t do so bad earlier. She didn’t actually say much, but she’s still here. She followed me despite my harsh words, she didn’t leave when Jude issued his ridiculous terms, and she’s still not cowed by me, even though I’m being a total dick. Momma would kill me if she could see me now.

“I’ll . . . see you out there,” I mumble, leaving the room and confusing thoughts about my new competitor behind.

Heading down the hall, I have to step out of the way of some guys wheeling a couple of kegs in through the front door on a dolly.

The house is filling with random people.

“Jude won’t say what it is, man, just that it’s going to be a moneymaker,” a guy in a fraternity shirt says to someone on his cell as I pass by the living room.

Beast is at the counter in the kitchen, writing in his notebook. I stop next to him. “They don’t even know why they’re here?”

Beast stares at me but says nothing.

Does he ever speak? Or have a real name?

Voices and laughter and a strange humming filter in through the open window from the backyard.

I step out onto a recently stained wooden patio. The yard is larger than it looks like it would be from the front, stretching straight back for nearly an acre. Oak trees and giant bushes line the surrounding fence. There’s a pad of dirt in the way, way back and a swath of grass in the middle—covering almost the entire space.