Recovery Read Online Free PDF Page B

music.
    “Tatum. Trace’s sister.” She pauses her manhunt, looking back in my direction. She starts to speak, but then smiles, her eyes shifting directly behind me. I hear Trace’s deep voice as he approaches the table. “My baby sister.” He strides right beside me, leaning to give Harlow a kiss on the forehead before taking the seat next to her. As he sets his beer on the table, I take a brief moment to absorb how truly handsome this man is. Dark black hair styled to look messy, but not. Dark perfectly arched eyebrows with a matching set of dark lashes, outlining his crystal clear blue eyes—the same eyes currently regarding my best friend in a way that I prefer not to think about. Ever.
    Taking her hand into his, he brings it to his lips, placing a small, sweet kiss on her knuckles before turning to face me. “Tatum. A big pain in my ass right now. I love her, I do. But she’s absolutely out of control right now. She won’t talk to me, she won’t talk to anyone. Ever since our mom died, she’s on a mission to ruin her life…and her liver.” He focuses his gaze on the dance floor, brows furrowed together in obvious frustration as he continues speaking.
    “I’m surprised she agreed to come, but in all honesty, it would have been more of a surprise if she declined a party with free alcohol.” He lets out a long breath and grabs the beer bottle in front of him. I remember Harlow telling me Trace was bringing his sister as his plus one since her attendance was obviously mandatory. With his downtrodden expression, I suspect his invitation was mainly for his own peace of mind.
    Looking to Harlow for further explanation, I get only a slight shrug of her shoulders. She takes a long gulp of her Pinot Grigio before once again looking toward the crowd. Lucky ass.
    I glance down at my water and silently curse its lack of taste. And alcohol.
    “Which one is she?” I ask.
    “See the long, dark haired beauty, in the middle there?” She lifts her hand, pointing her index finger towards the middle of the floor.
    I raise my eyes from the glass in front of me and narrow them, perusing from person to person. They eventually land on one girl in particular who seems to stand out from the crowd. Mainly because she’s the youngest person dancing. “The one in the royal blue, skin tight, minidress?” She finally turns so I can see her face and she’s absolutely stunning. She looks almost identical to her brother. Same light, pale blue eyes. Same dark black hair. Same everything. “How old is she?”
    “Twenty-three going on twelve .” Harlow takes another sip of her wine. Trace chuckles under his breath and nods his head, sitting back and taking a long draw from his beer, clearly in agreement.
    “Really?” I wipe the condensation from my glass and look back over at Tatum, watching her move from person to person, dancing suggestively. Until, that is, she makes eye contact with my girls, who are seated in a booth with Nancy and John. For the first time since watching her, I see a genuine smile. She walks over to introduce herself from what I can tell. Leaning over, she whispers something in Rylie’s ear who responds with a beaming smile and a nod of her head. She crawls her way out of the booth and once on her feet, makes her way to take hold of Tatum’s outstretched hand.
    Rylie waves for Kyndall and Nycole to join them and Kyndall jumps right up, always one for a good time. Nycole, however, seems more hesitant, but after some coaxing from her sisters, she stands up and joins them. They all walk with Tatum, hand in hand, to the dance floor and after forming their own little circle, they begin to dance. Tatum claps and cheers them on, speaking only to them and shooing off any and every inebriated male that dare try to interfere.
    It’s official. I like this girl.
    Something about her, I don’t know…seems innocent. Childlike. Yet, even with the distance between us, I sense an overwhelming amount of sadness. Her