Page 8 of Torn
I’m not about to turn away food. “Actually, I could use something to eat.” Kenzi makes wicked omelets, expertly folded like they serve you at a diner. When I try to make one myself, it ends up looking like roadkill.
As soon as Asher’s gone, I get up and dump the coffee he made and start a new pot. He always makes this expensive crap that’s way too strong and it makes my heart jump around for the rest of the morning.
“Did you sleep in my shirt?” I ask.
She flips the omelet in the pan and peeks at me from behind the veil of messy golden hair falling over her face.
“Maybe…”
Scowling, I take two plates out of the cabinet and set them next to the stove for her. “Kenz… I had that on while I was working on a bike yesterday. It’s probably got grease on it. And sweat.”
Shrugging, she transfers a perfect omelet onto one of the plates. “You can have that one. And so what? I like it. It’s cozy.”
“It’s dirty.”
She laughs. “Cozy. Dirty. What’s the difference? I like how it feels and smells.”
Her liking the feel and smell of cozy and dirty while she’s wearing nothing butmyshirt is not something I should be thinking about. But I do, for a quick second, before I bury it deep in that place in my chest with the other thoughts I don’t let myself think about.
Like the thought that I wish I’d had a chance to say goodbye to my father.
And the thought that I should have been there to help my brother.
And the thought that I should have tried harder with Sydni years ago.
And let’s not forget the thought that I should have stayed in the band.
So many regrets.
I wait for her to sit with me at the table before I cut into the omelet, because my mom raised me with manners, and high on that list is you don’t start eating until everyone is seated at the table.
“So… you had yourself a little binge last night?” Her eyes dance as she chews and swallows. “What brought that on?”
“Just a bad mood, I guess. It’s not going to be a habit.”
“A bad mood named Sydni or a bad mood named Lisa?”
“Eat your breakfast. And both.”
“Neither one of them is worth drinking over, Uncle Tor. You want to turn into a drunken mess again?”
I glare at her for bringing that up. A few years ago, I had what you might call a drinking problem, but I’ll never go down that road again.
“Not gonna happen.”
“Good. Because I’m older now and I’m armed with a camera and social media. I’ll document all your embarrassing drunk moments.”
“I’m sure you would, brat.”
She tilts her head at me, chewing her lip, and I know that look all too well. It means she’s thinking about asking or telling me something. I brace myself, because Kenzi saves all her deepest and craziest conversations for me.
“Chloe thinks I should give up my V-card to Jason,” she finally says.
I choke on my coffee.
“Chloe should keep her mouth shut. And her legs.”Christ.I’m totally not prepared for this conversation, especially hungover. I was expecting her to want tattoos or nose piercings, or maybe purple hair to match her socks. But not sex.
“Why? I’m seventeen. Almost eighteen. Maybe she’s right.”