The Broken Sister Part 5

She finally crossed her arms over her chest. "What possible difference does it make to you?"

"Look around next time. You had no idea I was standing here, for a good thirty seconds watching you."

"Now you sound creepy," she mumbled, eyebrows raised.

He stepped back, shaking his head and rubbing at his chin. Something about her lack of concern for her own safety, taking basic precautions that any sane girl should take, struck him with annoyance. That irritation showed in his tone. "I meant it as a warning. I saw you step out as I was pa.s.sing, recognized you, but didn't like the look of the alley, so I waited. End of story. Bottom line, you need to be more careful. Look around, for starters. Be aware of your surroundings. You were more worried about your cancer stick than if anyone was around here."

She stared at him for too long without commenting. Her face was neutral. He felt the strong urge to shuffle his feet. It was almost never he felt the need to fidget or fill an uncomfortable silence. But from some girl who was his target? It seemed impossible he'd feel odd or out of place, but that's exactly what he was feeling. Finally, she shrugged and hunched her shoulders forward as she turned, and seemed intent on starting to walk down the sidewalk. Without answering him? She turned back and said over her shoulder, "If you're so worried about little old me and my safety, you can walk with me if you want."

He stared after her as five, ten, fifteen steps separated them. She didn't glance back to check if he came. A strange surprise filled him. A weary smile tugged at his lips. d.a.m.n, she was... odd. Strange. And yet, he was loping after her to catch up and fall into step with her.

"Where is it we're going?" He shortened his step to match hers. She had on a black leather jacket over her uniform.

"I'm going home."

"You know, I have a perfectly nice car in the parking lot right there. That's where I was headed."

"Are you offering me a ride?"

He frowned. Was he? If so, it wasn't even part of his malicious plans for her. It just seemed wrong to leave a college coed walking alone on these streets at night. "I guess I am."

She turned and a smile tugged her lips up. They were outlined in a dark maroon color that wasn't pretty but somehow kept his gaze pinned to her thin lips with some kind of magnet pull. "Now that seems dangerous to me. Accepting a ride with a stranger? Trapped in a car with some guy I know nothing about, who appeared out of nowhere, watching me exit the building? No thanks."

He didn't get her odd codes of conduct. Walking down a deserted city street at night was okay, but a ride from him was out? He might be a stranger to her, but he didn't come off as creepy. He stared back at his car, a sleek, black sports car sitting there. He sighed and instead fell into step with Kylie McKinley.

"So where is it you live?"

"I'm not inviting you in."

"I wasn't asking," he grumbled in response to her snapped statement. "I'm trying to be chivalrous here, Kylie-my-waitress-from-tonight, who was very nice and polite to me, so I am trying to return the favor. And I have to tell you that is not a role I've played very often, so sorry if I suck at it."

She stopped dead and stared up at him. She tilted her head. "Really?"

"Really what?"

"You're trying to be a gentleman? To me?"

He sighed. Her expression was oddly girlish-looking then, almost hopeful, like she liked the thought of him doing that. Was he doing that? Yes, kind of. The street was dark in shadows. A few lone persons walked here and there. There was any number of alleys along the way she'd pa.s.s all alone and vulnerable. He tightened his mouth. "Yes. I guess I am."

Her expression was different. Her eyes were big and she finally nodded. "Thank you, Tristan. Not... not many people worry about my safety like that. So thank you. I guess I thought... I don't know what. I live a few blocks from here. But yes, I'd appreciate it."

He nodded, his own mouth now puckered in disgust. What the h.e.l.l was he doing? He towered over her by almost a head length. The top of her head came to his shoulder and as they walked, she glanced up at him then and caught his eye, and a smile touched her lips before she blushed and dropped her gaze once again back to her feet. She often walked staring, straight down at her toes, he started to notice. Something weird zinged in his gut at her presence. What? Protectiveness? That would be odd, considering that she technically needed protection from him if she had any clue of his real intentions towards her. They were probably far more lecherous than any other stranger could have towards her.

"So you do usually walk alone?"

"Sometimes."

"Didn't you ever learn to not walk alone in the dark? Seems like the first thing women are taught."

She shrugged. "College town. Students walk everywhere. Lots of girls walk around alone. Before parties, after parties... Walking home from work seems pretty harmless. At least I'm sober."

He couldn't see her face, but her tone was wry. "Are you often not?"

"I'm a student in college. Were you often sober while you were in college?"

He laughed. "Touche, you got me. No, I wasn't often. But still, I really don't think you should be walking the downtown all alone this late at night. Or, for G.o.d's sake, at least glance around and make sure no man is standing right there."

So she admitted she drank a lot. Seemed to like parties too. So maybe drunk Kylie was totally different than this Kylie here. Because this Kylie here, he just could not see with his brother. It was such a stretch that he didn't know if maybe the entire night was made up. Maybe Tommy was mistaken they'd ever even had s.e.x.

Just as he was about to keep asking her questions about herself, a woman stumbled out from the alley in front of him. She wore platform shoes and a short skirt. From a distance the get-up made her s.e.xy, but up close, her rotting teeth and the harsh lines that dug into her face were outlined in heavy make-up that only enhanced their appearance. She was tugging her dress down as she tucked money into her b.o.o.bs. Kylie and he glanced down the alley and a man was quickly disappearing the other way.

"Evening, Tansy," Kylie said with a nod and small smile. Tristan's head popped up his expression shocked when Kylie so easily greeted the garish-looking woman, who had obviously been turning tricks just seconds before down the alleyway.

Tansy whipped around. She might be thirty or fifty, Tristan wasn't sure. "Oh hey, kid. You got a cig I can borrow?"

"Yep." Kylie dug in her pocket for her cigarettes and lighter and handed both to Tansy, who took them with her blood-red fingernails. She lite the cigarette and let out a long exhale of smoke as she nodded her thanks. "How's business?" Kylie asked.

"Slow tonight. But... you know." She kept sneaking glances towards Tristan. "Who's the suit?"

"My friend." Kylie dug in her pocket and came out with loose ones and fives. Tristan guessed they were her tips from tonight. She handed the wad to Tansy. "Use it for a meal tonight. If business is slow, you need to eat before you get a fix. Okay?"

Tansy nodded, licking her lips. "Okay." Her eyes were set on the money in Kylie's hand, which she finally released into Tansy's. Tansy glanced up at her. "You're a decent kid. Not many like you, ya know."

"Just eat tonight."

Tansy smiled and strolled off, hips swinging and gait awkward. She wasn't all that s.e.xy with her stumbling walk and dirty, stained skirt. Kylie looked up to Tristan, who had been speechless the entire time. His mouth was set in a strange scowl.

"What are you friendly with the neighborhood wh.o.r.e?"

Kylie glanced up at his surly tone. She then smiled softly as she said, "See you, Tristan," and started walking off without him. He stood there sh.e.l.l-shocked. What the h.e.l.l? Where was she going? Was she ditching him? Why? How had he so quickly lost the rapport they'd had going?

"Hey, where are you going?"

Kylie stopped dead on the sidewalk as he called after her. She turned just her head, eyebrows raised as she said, her disdain clear in her voice, "Neighborhood wh.o.r.e? Like she's just a piece of trash you can discard because you don't like how she earns money? And yes, I'm friendly with her. You don't get to disdain her because something in her life led her to the streets and not wearing a fancy suit like yours."

"Something like meth?" he scoffed.

"Yes. Most likely. Or heroin. Or maybe she was abused and this is what she thinks she deserves. Like she enjoys her life, Tristan. Like it's a satisfying day at work." Kylie turned and started to walk again, her hands deep in her pockets and shoulders hunched. He was sure she'd just completely dismissed him. He was shocked at the speed with which she'd turned from him. He had to stride to catch her. He gently touched her shoulder to get her to acknowledge him. He could not remember the last time he went running after someone to get or keep their attention. "She'll use that money you earned to go get a hit."

"Maybe." Kylie shrugged. "But maybe not."

"Hey, Kylie!" interrupted them. She glanced over her shoulder toward where a man sat in the doorway of a small shop that was closed for the night. She waved back with a smile. Tristan's gaze followed her wave.

He stared at the homeless man and then back at Kylie's face as she remained stoic, eyebrows arched with disdain. He shook his head. "Another of your peeps?" His tone was dry with sarcasm.

She bristled. "I often interact with the people in my neighborhood. And yes, they are people. Which so easily gets forgotten when people have to walk past them to get to work or avert their eyes while driving past them. They aren't mangy vermin, you know."

She started to pa.s.s around him, her tone of disdain clear. He had to step in front of her. "Wait. I'm sorry. You're right. I'm being a judgmental p.r.i.c.k. It just surprised me, okay? I've never known a young girl alone on a street to so casually make friends and help a prost.i.tute and a homeless man."

"At least you didn't say wh.o.r.es and b.u.ms. I appreciate the restraint. And I don't help them. I talk to them. I give any greeting I'd give any neighbor I've talked to on my street. If they are courteous towards me I return the civility. Really, that's all I do."

His gaze stayed on hers for a long, drawn out moment and he smiled gently. "Somehow I think it's far more than that. And I guess you're not afraid of the dark because you seem to have befriended them all."

She shrugged. "Well, kind of. I mean, I run into them a lot and no, I don't fear my safety around here. In my own neighborhood."

"I should let you be, huh? You can handle this just fine, can't you?"

"Yes." She glanced up and pretended to evaluate him through squinted eyes. "Besides, this is not a bad neighborhood. Have you ever been to the slums around here? That is dangerous."

"Not lately, no. But yeah, I have. My company does outreach programs and I go do volunteer work sometimes."

"I can't picture it."

"Who's being the sn.o.b now?"

She stopped dead. He followed her lead, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "What?"

"You're right, I'm sorry. This cla.s.s I'm taking this semester has weekly practic.u.ms we have to take. We are required to go to homeless shelters, halfway houses, and alcohol and drug recovery programs. You name the social program or problem and we have to go experience it. Anyway, I started with this homeless shelter over on Sixth Street. It was easy to get to know the people. They are so unpretentious and so grateful for a little bit of dignity. I can't change any of their lives, but maybe I can give them a few moments where they remember what it's like to be part of the community. I don't know... respect, talking, a conversation, it costs nothing and I swear to you, it did more good than any amount of money I could dump on them. Though of course that's needed too. I just think it's important to treat everyone as I treated you when I first met you. I mean, your clothes, the way you talk, and present yourself portray a certain image and certain facts about your lot in life. Same goes for homeless people or prost.i.tutes or drug addicts. Of course it's a pretty negative impression. But if you just talk to them... sometimes it's kind of cool who you find. Sometimes not. I don't deny it backfires. I've just learned to not be afraid. To try."

"I think most people go their whole lives without ever looking past the stereotype. Impressive that you've learned it and done it so young. I don't think I learned anything close to that in college."

"Maybe." Silence lingered as they stepped in sync. "Anyway, what college did you go to?"

He shook his head to zone back into the girl with him now. "Peterson." It popped out before he meant it to. But really, what were the chances she'd find out who he was? Thousands attended Peterson and many had to have the name Tristan.

"Oh. How long ago?"

"I graduated five years ago, after I got my MBA." They then stopped before a storefront that had single door to the left of it, and inside was a lighted foyer with a few metal mailboxes in the wall and a staircase leading upstairs. She must live over the small shop.

She glanced up, her expression surprised. "How old are you?"

"Older than you," he said as she stopped and faced him.

"How much older?" Her voice was soft; he had to lean in to hear her. She peeked up at him and then back to her toes. He stepped closer. To hear her? It seemed like that at first, but then he was closer and he too stared at the black, rounded tip of her work shoes she seemed to find so fascinating.

"Too old," he evaded, his tone husky. What the h.e.l.l? Maybe he was doing it on purpose without realizing it? She glanced up at him again. This time he was so close she had to tip her head back. He watched her throat swallow. His finger came up and traced the line down her throat, which made her swallow again as his fingertip circled the hollow of her clavicle. "Thirty. I turned the big three-oh about three months ago."

"That's... grown up." Her voice sounded strangled, or more like she was about to pa.s.s out from his presence.

"Aren't you grown up?"

"No." She whispered it. He could feel her heart fluttering too fast against his fingertip. He'd never touched a woman like this before. All it was was the pad of his finger and his own breath was catching. There was something oddly sensual about it, about her at his fingertips. He leaned closer.

"Old enough, though?"

Her head just barely bobbed up and down. He was making her nervous. He could feel the way her lungs almost rattled as she drew in a breath. "No."

He leaned back, his gaze finding hers. s.h.i.t. Was she somehow underage? He hadn't gotten that wrong, had he? "You're eighteen, right?"

A smile crossed her face. "Twenty."

His own smile mimicked hers. "Old enough," he finally mumbled, leaning towards her. Her tongue came out to lick her lips. He stared into her eyes then lowered his gaze to her lips. He dropped his hand to her waist then and pulled her against him. His coat parted and she was then along his body as he slid his hand further around her so his palm sat at the base of her spine, and he pressed her body closer to his. He held her gaze as he dropped his head lower, and lower and lower. Slow enough she could step away, turn away, slap him, anything to prevent his obvious intentions.

His lips touched hers and she leaned up towards him, rising up on her tip toes and then her lips pressed into his. At first it was just lips brushing over lips, but she let out the softest little sound. A moan or groan or sigh, he wasn't sure; just a small sound that had him leaning down over her more and opening his mouth as hers opened. Her hand crushed the front of his b.u.t.ton-up shirt in her fist and she leaned against him to hold her balance, as she was still up on her tiptoes. Something about her holding herself up by her tiptoes had him smiling at the girlishness of it, while his mouth opened over hers, treating her as anything but girlish.

He stepped forward so his leg slid between hers and nearly pinned her to the stucco of the building's wall. He trapped her in, his other hand sliding up to her face, and he ran his fingertips over the side of her face and into the slicked back strands of her hair. He rubbed her hair, and then let his hand fall to her neck, which he then cupped and held her steady as he deepened the kiss even more. His tongue was lost in the depths of her mouth. She tasted like nicotine and coffee... and it should have disgusted him, or not have interested him, but it was entirely the opposite. He pushed her into the wall, his hands then grasping both sides of her face, as he was lost in the kiss that went on and on and on. His hips pushed against her. She slid down onto flat feet and he had to bend more to reach her.

He could go in to her place. Push it. Push her. f.u.c.k her like he was supposed to. He could. He should. He would.

Wouldn't he? Didn't he always do what needed to be done?

Not old enough.

Her statement rang through his brain even as his entire body tingled and despite his best efforts responded to her. There was something oddly innocent, delicate, and almost vulnerable about her. But it wasn't obvious at first. It was just under the surface and he didn't understand his own reaction to her. He was supposed to be using her, yet he found himself gentling the kiss, as his tongue came from her mouth and he pressed his lips to hers while his hand cupped her jawbone. He pressed three, four, five kisses to her mouth, then he finally stopped and held her against him. Her arms were around his trunk, under his coat, but not touching any of his skin.

"You want to come upstairs?" Her voice again, so quiet. So unsure. Yet everything about her first appearance would seem like she'd be kind of tough and streetwise.

"Do you want me to?" He asked it while she was tucked up against him, his jaw resting now on her head.

"I don't know."

Wasn't this just what he should expect from her? The kiss? The invite. Or almost invite? But he felt something from her. Her indecision. Her nerves.

"Do you invite strange men up often?" For some reason he didn't like that. At all. It made his tone come out surly.

"No." She struggled to push away from him. He let her go, surprised by how much he didn't want to. "Not when I'm sober, that is."

"Do you want to go out on a date?"

"What?"

"Go on a date? Us?"

Her eyebrows shot up. So did his. He hadn't planned to ask her out, when he was about twenty seconds from convincing her to let him up to her place for s.e.x.

"Okay." Her answer was casual, but her tone, the look in her eye, was anything but.

"Okay." He found himself mimicking her as they held each other's gaze.

"What's your last name?" she finally asked softly.

"Aderly." It was his mother's maiden name and his middle name. G.o.d help him if she tried to look up his name. What she'd find. Certainly not his face connected to any of the Tristan Aderly's. But it was as close to the truth as he could get. "What's yours?"

Her laugh was louder than it had been. As if the irony of their embrace, their date, and figuring out their names was funny to her. "McKinley. Kylie McKinley."

He put his hand out as if to casually shake hers. She put her hand into his. "It's nice to have met you, Kylie McKinley."

"You too, Tristan Aderly."