“So how do you wanna do this?” Brody asks, leaning back against his car door, looking down at me from his superior height. If I had a pair of heels though, I’d beat him with them, so he really has no idea how close to injury he really is.
Were his shoulders always that hulking, always that broad, or is this a very recent development?
I’ve had enough pictures of the guy shoved up under my nose by the Kanes whenever I had the (mis)fortune of seeing them at the grocery store near my parents’ place whenever we had our hundred-and-four family gatherings during the year—birthdays, holidays, and just-becauses.
I blink at him roughly a hundred times a minute. “Uh, do what? You haven’t explained yourself at all. At all. What? Am I supposed to read your brain, understand what’s going on in your
