Page 131 of Kings Have No Mercy
Korine’s always been the kind of girl that stands out without even trying. In high school, she was one of the prettiest girls. Never with a stitch of make up on. Damn sure with no heels or frilly fixings other girls dabbled in.
Korine, the tomboy with the pixie-cut and faded t-shirts, was beautiful all on her own.
A decade later, that’s far from changed.
Every last detail about her is the same. Golden brown skin blessed with a kiss from the sun itself. The earthy shade of her eyes and the fullness of her mouth. High cheek bones and a soft, diamond-shaped face.
Her hair’s currently a frizzy mess of chin-length curls, yet standing opposite her, I want nothing more than to dig my fingers into the tight tendrils and seal my lips over hers—
I clear my throat and grip my belt buckle. “Kori,” I say hoarsely, like old times. “How the hell are you? It’s been how long?”
She blinks out of her shock, no other emotion on her beautiful, bare face. She’s dressed down, in a hoodie and some jeans that swallow up the slim, athletic figure of hers that I remember. Nothing really has changed.
Kori’s still a damn tomboy at her core.
“Hey, Blake,” she says softly. “I… I wasn’t expecting to see you… right now.”
“What are you doing in Pulsboro?! You come back to town and you don’t hit me up?”
Her head bows to stare at the sneakers she wears. “It’s been a crazy couple weeks. We’re still getting settled.”
“You’ve moved back to town?!”
I should taper my reaction. Drain some of the enthusiasm from my voice and demand my heart stop beating so excitedly in my chest.
But I can’t help it—it’s second-nature to have these reactions around Korine. After a decade spent apart, being around her for even a few seconds, feels like old times again.
A familiarity I’ve missed. A sense of home that can be dangerous but addictive.
“Yeah, I have,” she answers after a tense pause. “Webought a house here.”
The spinning cogs and wheels in my brain come to an abrupt, lurching halt. I freeze up again digesting her words, realizing their meanings. The excitement disappears from my mood and my skin warms despite the November chill.
It’s in this moment that I metaphorically step back and reassess the situation—a diamond-encrusted gold ring glints from the fourth finger of Korine’s left hand. Inside her car, dangling from the backseat overhead handle is a men’s suit wrapped up in a layer of plastic. I look into her eyes and suddenly I get it.
I understand what’s going on.
Korine’s married.
Of courseshe would be. Girls like Korine don’t stay on the market for long…
“Who is he?” I husk out, my voice gravelly, sounding almost primitive. I try to be the opposite—the usual levelheaded, mild-mannered Blake Cash most know me as.Mason’sthe hot head. Not me.
But damn if I don’t become one in this moment. I don’t even know the guy and yet I already want to bash his face in. A deep-rooted, irrational hatred scorches through me at the thought another man married Korine.
My Kori.
“No one you’d know,” she answers vaguely. “We moved here for a promotion.”
“Kids?”
She shakes her head to the side. “You should get going, Blake. Don’t stop on my account.”
“Your car broke down?” I ignore her comment and walk around to stand side by side in front of her engine. Peering down at the rusting guts of the car, I cast her a glance. “I’m surprised you didn’t fix it on the spot. You’ve always been a pro at this.”
“No tools.”
I raise a brow. “You? No tools? You practically carried ‘em wherever you went back in high school! Did you ever open up your own shop like you dreamed about?”