Somehow, she’d considered only LJ’s response. She hadn’t even imagined she’d be so out of place in his neighborhood, among his friends. And he’d defended her, but his welcome had been . . . off. Not as enthusiastic as he normally was.

She should have expected that, considering she was here without an invitation, during a time when he needed to be focused on his family.

Andra shut off the tap and stared down into the sink. Had coming after him been a giant mistake?

Twenty-four

LJ glared at his best friend. Blood rushed down his arms and into his fists, the muscles in his arms twitching with energy. “Don’t push me right now, Ty.”

“Look, Reggie’s a dumbshit, but he was just saying what everybody else is thinking.” Tyrone barely topped five foot seven, but he stared stonily up through nearly a foot of height difference separating his face from LJ’s. He was the only guy in the whole neighborhood who’d ever put LJ on the ground, and no one forgot it. “If you’re serious about that girl, okay. I’m happy for you, but a lot of folks aren’t going to be, and you can’t expect them to be.”

“Go.” He could barely get the word out from between his teeth.

Ty shook his head. “Whatever, man.” He picked up his guitar by the neck and sauntered out onto the street.

LJ whirled and grabbed the door handle. It took him a second to relax his grip so he wouldn’t shove it open hard enough to rip the screws out of the hinges. There was no sign of Andra in the kitchen, but water ran behind the bathroom door. He bent down and straightened the heap of his shoes by the door, lining them up in neat pairs.

Yesterday, he’d finally scraped up the courage to call her. No Delisle was a coward, and he knew if he wasn’t sure what to say to her, she’d be even more lost. He was the one who always broke the ice between them, and whenever he did, her rare smiles usually followed. But that time, all he got was her voicemail. It was clipped and distant and sounded nothing like her.

You’ve reached Cassandra Lawler with Lawler Performance Quarter Horses. Leave a message after the tone.

For as many times as her number had come up in his missed calls list, she’d never left a voicemail. He joked and rambled on hers but ended up hitting the “Delete” key when asked if he was satisfied with his message.

LJ threw a quick glance at the closed bathroom door and then picked up the chair with the ripped cushion, sticking it behind the table, where it wouldn’t be so clear it didn’t match the other. He swept crumbs off the table and into his palm.