The Girl That Would Be Lost (The Battered Souls World) by Brooklyn Cross

Author:Brooklyn Cross [Cross, Brooklyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-01-06T00:00:00+00:00

JAKE

I stretched, reaching for Kat, but her side of the bed was cold. My eyes snapped open to stare at the empty spot next to me for a moment as I ran through what had happened last night to make sure I wasn’t having another alcohol-induced moment of memory loss or some incredibly realistic dream. Looking around the small bedroom full of cream and grey everything, which would’ve looked plain except for the splashes of sunflower yellow scattered about, I spotted the sweater Kat had been wearing when she’d answered the door. Not a dream.

Slipping from the bed, I bent and picked up the sweater, bringing it to my nose to take a deep breath of the scent I wanted to commit to memory. It was stupid, but even though I was undeniably standing in a strange house after waking up in a strange bed, I still hadn’t believed it was all real until this second.

Wanting to find and hold the real thing, I tossed the sweater on a chair and pulled on my boxers. They somehow were more or less still clean even after everything. Poking my head out the door, I could hear the shower running—I was tempted to sneak in and join Kat, but when I gripped the knob of the bathroom door to give it a turn, it was locked. I rapped my knuckle on the door instead.

“Kat, you okay?”

I could hear the shower curtain move, and the sound of the water changed like she’d stepped out of the stream.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s just a habit to lock the door. I’ll be out in a minute—I put the coffee on if you want some.”

God, I loved her sexy, sexy voice. It sent shivers down my spine, and looking down at myself, it was more than apparent that I was already raring for more of last night’s action. I decided it would be safer to put my jeans on before venturing any further to create at least some kind of barrier against temptation. Amazingly, they were still clean, too. Go me.

The scent of the coffee drew me down the hall to the pot sitting on the counter. Kat had already set out two cups, a bowl of sugar cubes, and a carton of creamer. Even as a kid, she had always been considerate, always worrying about what everyone else would like or think, and it seemed that her nature hadn’t changed. Pouring some coffee, I dropped in a cube and a splash of creamer before leaning against the counter to look around the small home.

There wasn’t a personal item to be found. No matter what corner my eyes searched, I couldn’t see a single photo, or even a knickknack, that showed this space was hers. I couldn’t help thinking about the scars on her body.

She’d said the big one on her stomach was from a car accident, but I’d always been able to tell when she was lying or holding back. There was more to the story, and

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