The noisy commotion of a skyscraper blowing up echoed through the room in surround sound, as Bruce Willis found himself trapped in the crosshairs of danger. Seconds later the movie cut to a commercial break. “Damn it. I hate when that happens,” Shane complained, dropping his long, muscular legs from the coffee table as he bit the chicken from the last meaty hot wing. “Some bastard down at the broadcast studio did that just to piss you off,” Jerrod said, snagging his bottled water on the floor at his side. Shane wiped his mouth on a paper towel, his bold green eyes full of fun as he grinned at Jerrod. “Probably.” “Why don’t you just stream the movie? Then Bruce can kick ass without interruption.” “Quinn.” Shane shook his head. “Always so practical.” He chuckled, glancing at Abby while she sat hovered over the tiny kitchen table in her gray hoodie and snug jeans, drawing with frantic, jerky sweeps of pencil to paper.
