Knox came to our house at nine because he had said he would.
Reid was on the couch with a controller and three teammates on speaker. I sat at the island in a hoodie that was not Knox’s and did not look at the door when he walked in. I looked at him like the bore from the yard. My cunt was still tender from twelve hours in his bed. I crossed my ankles and tasted metal.
“What’s up,” Reid said.
“Needed a charger.” Knox’s voice was the patio voice. He opened the junk drawer like he lived here, which, on paper, he did when he wanted. Plastic rattled. He did not look at me.
The teammates signed off. Reid stretched, tossed the controller, and went upstairs to shower the game off. The water started. Pipes. A door.
Knox did not stay on his side of the island.
He stepped between my knees, hook
