Alex remained where she was. “You and Junior must have missed each other while you were serving your six years in the air force.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you think we’re queer for each other?”
“No,” she said with diminishing patience. “I just meant that you’re good friends who, up till that point, had spent a lot of time together.”
He slammed the door closed and slung down his outerwear. “By then we were used to being apart.”
“You spent four years of college together,” she pointed out.
“No, we didn’t. We were attending Texas Tech at the same time, but since he was married—”
“Married?”
“Another surprise?” he asked tauntingly. “Didn’t you know? Junior got married just a few weeks after we graduated from high school.”
No, Alex hadn’t known that. She hadn’t realized that Junior’s first marriage had come on the heels of high school graduation, and consequently, so soon after Celina’s murder. The timing seemed strange.
“For a long while, then, you and Junior didn’t see much of each other.”
“That’s right,” was Reede’s clipped response.
“Did my mother’s death have anything to do with that?”
“Maybe. We didn’t—couldn’t talk about it.”
“Why?”
“It was too damned hard. Why the hell do you think?”
“Why was it hard to be around Junior and talk about Celina’s death?”
“Because we’d always been a trio. One of us was suddenly missing. It didn’t feel right to be together.”
Alex weighed the advisability of pressing him on this, but decided to take the plunge. “You were a trio, yes, but if it was ever odd man out, the odd man was Junior, not Celina. Right? You and she were an inseparable duo before you became an inseparable trio.”
“You keep the hell out of my life,” he ground out. “You don’t know a damn thing about it, about me.”
“There’s no need for you to get mad, Reede.”
“Oh, no? Why shouldn’t I get mad? You want to resurrect the past, everything from my first real kiss to some fucking football trophy that has about as much value as a pile of horse shit, but I’m not supposed to get mad.”
“Most people enjoy reminiscing.”
“I don’t. I want to leave my past in the past.”
“Because it’s hurtful?”
“Some of it.”
“Is it hurtful to remember the first time you kissed my mother for real?”
He strode toward the sofa and bridged her hips with his hands, keeping his arms stiff. His voice changed from a ranting pitch to pure silk. “That kiss sure as hell intrigues you, doesn’t it, Counselor?”
He overwhelmed her. She could say nothing.
“Well, if you’re so interested in how I kiss, maybe you should experience it firsthand.”
He pushed his hands inside her coat and linked them together at the small of her back. Giving a swift yank, he pulled her to her feet. She caught herself against his chest, gasping soundlessly before he bent his head down low and covered her lips with his.