“Where’s Melanie?”

In the Hamptons, fucking Harlan. “Can we focus? I’m kind of bleeding and stranded over here.”

She blinked. “Oh, right. Bleeding. Naked. Don’t move. You’ll make it worse.”

“Not much choice, KC.”

Her attention flicked back to him, and he realized the mistake he’d made. The old nickname had tripped off his tongue unbidden. He didn’t get to call her that anymore. He hadn’t called her that since they were seventeen.

She looked down at her large purse and made a show of tucking away her pepper spray, thankfully ignoring his gaffe. “Is there a broom here? I can clear a path for you.”

“Check the closet by the door. I think I saw some cleaning supplies in there.”

Kincaid set her stuff down on the table and then made her way toward the front door, her black heels clicking along the floorboards with purpose. He couldn’t help but watch her. Kincaid had always walked like she was inviting every eye in the room to follow—chin up, hips swaying, blond hair spilling down her back. Not seductive per se. More like she was issuing a challenge she didn’t expect anyone to meet.

Today she was wearing some outfit that made Ash think of the pink ladies in Grease. Fitted black pants that stopped at her ankles and a pink suit jacket over a black top. It was business wear, but he had no doubt that her outfit had some of her male clients forgetting that they were supposed to be buying or selling a house.

Kincaid had always known she was beautiful and had leveraged that when she needed it. He couldn’t blame her for that. Being pretty and bubbly was how she’d eventually risen above the scorn from others about where she came from and who her mother was. When she turned her charm on you, it was nearly impossible not to be drawn in. By the end of high school, no one was calling her white trash like they had in middle school. They were voting her prom queen.

Kincaid rummaged in the closet by the front door and came back with a hand broom and dustpan. She frowned at the mess at his feet and let out a heavy sigh. “What a waste. That was such a pretty bouquet.”

Ash’s lip curled. “Glad you’re so concerned for the flowers, Breslin. Meanwhile, I’m bleeding out. Can I have the broom, please?”

She gave him a cocked brow and a head tilt. “Honey, you don’t want to squat down right now. I saw quite enough of what’s under there in sixth grade when your swim trunks got snagged on a branch at the lake. I’m still slightly traumatized. I don’t need a repeat.”

Heat crawled up the back of his neck, some remnant of the awkward boy he used to be trying to surface, but he shoved the feeling down. He wasn’t that person anymore. Plus, they both knew that sixth grade wasn’t the last time she’d seen him naked. She would never mention that other time, though. Pretend, pretend, pretend. That was the game they played. “Just leave me with the broom and go. I’ll clean up when you’re gone.”