“I’m not starting anything.”
Leaning over the sink, I freeze. My fingers tighten on the towel. Guess I should have glanced over after all, because that wasn’t Zoe’s voice.
I turn my head to find a skinny, shirtless, heavily tattooed guy standing just inside the door, his low-slung jeans unbuttoned.
“Unless,” he continues, giving me a slow-once over that is the creepiest thing I’ve ever experienced, “you want me to.”
And he grins.
Okay. The once-over was the second creepiest thing I’ve ever experienced. That smile of his is number one.
Keeping my eyes on his, I ease back, holding the towel in front of me like a shield. I dart my gaze to the door but he’s blocking the way. He’s wiry, the muscles of his arms, chest and stomach well-toned, his expression telling me he’d enjoy me trying to get past him. Especially if it means he gets to try and stop me.
I consider screaming, but that would only scare Taylor and I’d rather she not know there’s a strange man at our house.
Plus, she might say something to Devyn about it and then all hell would break loose.
Right on Zoe’s head.
Then again, I’m standing in our cramped bathroom in shorts and a bra while some creeper is edging closer and closer to me by the second.
Hell breaking loose seems pretty fitting.
“Zoe,” I whisper-shout, hoping that while she can hear me, the sound doesn’t travel over to my room. “Come and get your sleepover pal.”
His smile amps up a few degrees and I see it, why Zoe brought him home. The sexy grin, the long, light brown hair and sharply planed face, the faded jeans and hard body covered in ink. He’s got the whole bad-boy vibe down pat.
And Zoe loves nothing more than falling for a guy who’ll never fall back.
Guys like she used to hook up with in high school, who strung her along until they got bored or found some new girl to mess with. Guys like Taylor’s father, who spent months lying to her and cheating on her, always begging her to take him back, promising he’d change, that he loved her and wanted to be with her forever.
Until she told him she was pregnant.
Forever. Not as long as you think.
I skim my gaze over shirtless guy. Gah. Her taste hasn’t improved.
“No need to be scared,” he says, still coming at me. The hard edge of the counter digs into my lower back. “I’m just being friendly.”
I open my mouth to yell for Zoe again when she steps into the room. My hero has arrived and she’s wearing a faded Minnie Mouse T-shirt that barely covers her white underwear, her hair is flat against one side of her head, sticking out on the other, and last night’s makeup is smudged and smeared around her eyes, making her look like a raccoon after a bender.
Wonder Woman she’s not.
Zoe’s gaze narrows. “What’s going on?”
I incline my head toward the guy. “He’s being friendly.”
Mouth thinning, she crosses her arms, her lips barely moving when she speaks. “Get out.”
My jaw drops. “Hey, I was in here first.”
She rolls her eyes but then holds her head with both hands as if afraid it’ll fall off her shoulders with any other movement.
Hangovers: Nature’s Karma.
“Not you.” She jabs a finger at the guy. “You.”
I frown as that processes. Nod. “Okay. Yeah, that makes more sense.”
Sisters over misters and all that.
Shirtless guy holds up his hands as if in surrender, but he’s still sending me I’d love to eat you up looks, like he’s the Big Bad Wolf and I’m Little Red Riding Hood. Next thing I know, he’ll lick his lips and start howling.
I tug the towel around myself tighter. Wish I could drop it long enough to put on my tank top but I’m not giving this guy any more glimpses of my skin than he already has.
“Come on, babe,” he says to Zoe in a low, and what I’m assuming is supposed to be seductive, tone. “Don’t be jealous. The three of us could have some fun.”
Oh. Blech.
“I’d rather lick the toilet brush,” I tell him. “Which should give you a huge clue about what I think of that idea.”
The gleam in his eyes makes my skin crawl but it’s nothing compared to the fear when he winks at me, like I’m flirting with him or something. “I bet you’d like it just fine.”
“Get out,” Zoe repeats in an icy tone that means she’s nanoseconds from ripping your heart from your chest and shoving it down your throat.
If shirtless guy wasn’t a freaking sexual predator trying to talk me into a threesome with him and my sister, I’d almost feel bad for him.
Obviously he and Zoe hadn’t spent the past few hours discussing their personality quirks, their likes and dislikes, because he smiles at her, like she’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen with her bare legs and crazy hair and scary scowl.
“I bet you’re that fiery, too,” he murmurs to me, his gaze flicking to my slicked back hair. “Aren’t you, Red?”
“Don’t look at her,” Zoe says, yanking his arm and whirling him around to face her. “Don’t talk to her.” She shoves his chest hard and he stumbles back, landing against the doorframe with a dull thud. Before he can fully catch his balance, she’s pushing him out into the hall. “Just leave.”
As soon as he clears the room, I drop the towel and yank on my shirt, then hurry after them in case he starts pushing her back.
Leaving him by the bathroom door, Zoe goes into her bedroom. A moment later, a motorcycle boot is tossed out, landing next to his toes with a thump that has him hopping out of the way and me wincing and glancing at my bedroom door. I peek through the crack. Taylor doesn’t even stir.
The second boot flies out of Zoe’s room, landing next to the first one and I quickly pull my door shut. A wallet follows, then his phone. Last comes a balled-up T-shirt that he snags out of the air.
A T-shirt I bet has the logo of some metal rock band from the nineties on the front and is missing its sleeves—the better to show off all that ink on his arms.
Shaking it at her, he steps forward and I move over to stand by Zoe’s side.
As always, it’s the Jones’ girls against the world.
Or, in this case, against one wannabe biker badly in need of a haircut.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he growls.
He’s glaring, a greasy, riled-up dude whose morning is not going the way he’d hoped and that’s ticking him off but good.
Though she’s six inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter, Zoe is not intimidated.
My sister is fearless.
The reckless usually are.
“My problem is you’re still here.” She points dramatically toward the door, arm straight at shoulder height, chin lifted—a hungover queen in underwear and a Disney shirt. “Leave. Now.”
He swipes up his things. “Whatever.”
But as he passes her, he knocks into her shoulder, pushing her back a step. She makes a low sound and leaps at him, fingers curled, nails ready to do some serious damage to his face. I grab her around the waist and haul her back before she can reach him. Hold on while she kicks and swipes at him.
He sneers at her, like she’s so far beneath him, and I want to scratch his eyes out myself.