Copyright © 2023 by I. A.

Dice

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events,

locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or
used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Editor: Dave Holwill

eBook Cover: Dez Purington at Pretty in Ink Creations

The artwork for the Hayes Brothers series, has been sketched by an
amazing artist - Danny O’Connor DOC Art. He captured every FMC in the
series perfectly and I absolutely love every piece he kindly created to bring
the girls to live.
You can follow his work here:
Facebook: Danny O’Connor (DOC)
Instagram: @artbydoc
Website: www.docart.bigcartel.com

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Art by @artbydoc

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 Trigger Warning

Please note this book contains themes and situations that may be
triggering to some readers. For a list of triggers, please visit my website.

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ONE
Cody
THERE IS ONLY ONE THING I absolutely hate—packing.
Packing a suitcase is mildly annoying, but boxing up my entire life?
Well, that’s another flavor of fucking torture.
It took me three days to vacate my room at Nico’s.
Three days.
I had no idea how many of my things hid around his mansion. Turns
out the seventeen boxes I filled clearing the bedroom I called mine for the
past four years were only half of the shit I accumulated. The rest, scattered
around the obscenely large house, filled another van.
Add furniture into the equation, and transporting everything from
Nico’s to my condo took three trips last night. Good job I have six brothers
unafraid of heavy lifting.
It’s also a godsend that Nico’s fiancée and my younger sister are
exceptionally organized. They didn’t just help me pack but labeled the
boxes so unpacking would be easier.
While I considered moving into the same condominium as my brother
Conor and his girl—Vivienne—I couldn’t get on board with no ocean view.
I coughed up a bit more cash, trading hypothetical two-bedrooms in
Conor’s building for a one-bedroom, third-floor with an unobscured view of
the ocean. My place, like Conor’s, is brand new, brought to life by the
construction company headed by my older brother, Logan.
It’s a simple but functional design—Logan’s go-to style. The kitchen is
to the right, separated from the main entrance by a coat closet. Straight
ahead is the combined dining and living area. The master bedroom,
complete with spacious bathroom and walk-in closet, is to my left.
The panoramic living room windows look out onto the patio, framing
my favorite sight in the whole wide world: the ocean. Nothing beats this
when the sun’s edging over the horizon, painting the calm blue waves in
dawn pinks and purples.
Not only did I get a hefty discount, but I also spent the last few months
working on this place outside college hours. Every fixture, power socket,
and cabinet was installed by yours truly, so if anything falls off the wall, I’ll
know exactly who to blame.
I rake both hands through my hair, gathering it into a bun as I inspect
the airy living area. I groan inwardly at the prospect of spending the entire
day making this place livable—free of clutter, mess, and trip hazards.
My wristwatch tells me it’s half eight in the morning. I should be
asleep still. Why the fuck am I up already?
Probably because my brain buzzes with the list of tasks I should get
done today. Wasting precious daylight hours in bed isn’t an option this fine
Friday morning.
Well, not the bed, technically. The couch. My bed hasn’t arrived yet.
Glancing at the three-high box-stacks by the crisp white walls, I let out
a long, defeated breath. I should’ve accepted Vee, Mia, and Rose’s offer to
help unpack this mayhem because I lied.
There are two things I hate, and right now, unpacking is a fate worse
than packing.
Only the massive vivarium housing my pet albino python, Ghost,
stands where it should be. It takes up the living area’s entire left wall, where
a dining table would go had I bought one.
Instead of a traditional dining setup, I asked my architect brother to
tweak the blueprints and incorporate a kitchen island with a breakfast bar
into the design.
It’s not like I’ll host dinner parties here.
Pulling my phone out, I scroll to B for Bug, then tap the screen twice—
once to dial, once to activate the loudspeaker.
“Up already?” Mia sing-songs, her good mood almost infectious.
“How was the first night in the new place?”
“Uncomfortable,” I admit, shooting a glare at the couch. “If the bed
doesn’t show up today, I’m crashing in your guest bedroom.”
“I don’t want to sound rude, but I did suggest you stay with us.”
That’s her subtle way of saying I told you so.
“Yeah, I know, Bug. You were right. Happy?”
“Not really. I miss you already. Have you changed your mind about
letting me and Rose lend a helping hand?”
“God, yes.” Without a second thought, I slump onto the nearest box. I
should’ve checked Mia’s neat writing on the side before sitting my ass
down. The crunch of glass doesn’t bode well. “When can you get here?”
 “Good news, we’re already on our way. Won’t be long.”
“I love you.” Relief rattles through me as a lead weight lifts off my
shoulders.
I’m a touch dramatic, but you should fucking see this place... it’s the
stuff of nightmares.
“Hey! What about me?!” Rose’s theatrically wounded tone hits my
ears. “Who the hell stayed up with you until stupid o’clock unpacking your
clothes?”
That she did. The walk-in closet is my only box-free room. My t-shirts
are neatly folded, accessories organized in display drawers, and my jeans,
jackets, and shirts hang in tidy color-coded rows because Rose is a stickler
for the tiniest details.
“I love you too, sis.”
“Yeah, you do,” she trills, her voice painting a picture of the grin
undoubtedly stretching her lips.
A knock on the door has my eyebrows meeting in the middle. “Are
you guys here already?”
“No, that’s probably Conor and Vee.”
“Have you called in the whole family?”
“Pretty much. You need all the hands you can get. Start with the box
labeled coffee, okay?” Mia pleads.
“Is that an indirect order to get off my ass and get you a coffee, Bug?”
“Make that two,” Rose chimes in. “Will be there soon. Bye.”
In true Rose fashion, she hangs up the call before I say another word.
I’ve grown fond of her over the past five months. She’s easygoing, down-
to-earth, and fits our quirky family dynamic like she’s always been a part of
it.
Every part of her character mirrors one of us. She’s as moody as Nico,
but still carefree like Logan and me. She’s effortlessly funny, like Theo and
Conor, though with a slice of Colt’s smartassery. To top it off, there’s a hint
of Shawn’s rational thinking to balance out her obvious carelessness.
She’s an explosive mixture, all bundled into a package that’s
unmistakably Hayes. Well, not entirely. Her looks are more centered than
her character. While she does resemble us all, she looks closest to Nico:
black hair, black eyes, a golden complexion. I think she connects with him
the most, too. Probably because she grew to besties status with Mia within a
month, which means she spends a lot of time around Nico.
 “Come in!” I shout when another knock shakes the door.
Conor and his Little Bee enter the condo dressed in sweats, ready to
work.
“I see you’ve made progress,” Conor muses, gaze drifting over boxes
that remain exactly where he left them last night.
“Rose was here until two in the morning helping me unpack my
clothes. I was too tired to do much else after.”
“Good thing we’re here. Dibs on the bathroom,” Vee says, then stops
mid-step, horror flooding her face. She falls into a momentary daze,
murmuring under her nose. ‘What if there are hundreds of condoms? Or
toys...’
“No toys, Little Bee. I prefer my vaginas real not rubber. Though, I
might have some condoms. Need any?”
She snaps out of the trance—something the whole family has grown
used to. Vee has ADHD and speaks to herself whenever her thoughts get
too busy to stay inside her head.
“I’m on the pill, thanks.”
“That’s more information than I needed, Vee.”
She pulls a face, big eyes sweeping across the boxes, searching for one
labeled bathroom.
“Coffee first,” I say, carefully shaking the box I sat on, listening for a
telltale rattle. “I might’ve broken the cups with my ass.”
Conor fetches his car keys, using one to slice through the tape. Within
minutes, the coffee maker is plugged in, ready to go. It’s not as fancy as
Nico’s, but I’ve ordered an identical machine. It’s only a matter of time
before I’m drinking the best coffee one can brew at home. Until it arrives
from Italy, I have to make do with what I have.
By the time my sister arrives with Mia in tow, the breakfast bar is lined
with five steaming cups, filling the condo with a rich, bittersweet aroma.
It’s two weeks before graduation so we’re all off college, and Vivienne
doesn’t start her new job as Nico’s administrative assistant until Monday.
Turns out, Conor’s Little Bee has an exceptional knack for numbers.
She completes complex calculations in her head faster than most people
could type the numbers into a calculator. Not even Conor knew that until
Nico was almost pulling his hair out last week, searching for a mistake his
assistant made in a client’s account.
 He had about thirty pages of stock transaction data strewn across the
breakfast bar, tirelessly cross-checking figures until I’m sure he was seeing
double. It took Vee five minutes to find the blunder among the sea of data.
Five fucking minutes.
Needless to say, Nico immediately offered her an entry-level position,
with a promise he’d sponsor any courses she’ll need if she ever decides to
climb the career ladder.
So yeah, she’s between jobs and can spend the day helping her
boyfriend unpack my shit.
Perfect timing.
“When’s the rest of the furniture getting here?” Conor asks while the
girls lock themselves in the bathroom.
I seriously doubt it needs all three of them to line the shelves with my
toiletries, but I keep my mouth shut.
Who am I to interrupt their gossip time?
“Soon, I hope. The driver called at eight, saying delivery should be by
eleven.”
“Alright. We should clear some space then.” He grabs his coffee,
taking a slow, measured sip, inquisitive gaze scanning the room. “You know
what you desperately need?”
“Beer?”
He laughs, nodding. “Yeah, but gentlemen don’t drink before noon, so
put a pin in that. I meant your flat screen. That’s what we’re starting with.
You want it mounted on the wall?”
“Not like I have a choice. I threw the stand away last year,” I sift
through the boxes, hunting for the one labeled tools.
Once I have it and Conor locates the TV, we measure the wall, drill it,
and secure the bracket. Half an hour later, the girls move on to the kitchen
stuff—most of which they bought last week using my card—and Conor
flicks through the channels till he finds ESPN so the practice run for
Spanish GP can serve as background noise.
An hour whizzes by. We’ve unpacked just five of over thirty boxes.
Rose brews another pot of coffee as a knock reverberates through the
condo.
Colt stands in the hallway, cradling the largest case of beer available.
I’m surprised he’s here this early. I didn’t expect him to show up until at
least late afternoon, when we’d have done most of the work, reducing his
job to fuck all save for delegating the remaining task.
“A bit early for that, isn’t it?” I point at the Coronas he’s protectively
clutching.
“Think of this as a pre-housewarming party and live a little.” He points
his thumb over his shoulder at the boxes, furniture, and mattress leaning
against the wall behind him. “Looks like my timing couldn’t be better. The
rest of your stuff’s here.”
Narrowing my eyes, I throw a skeptical look at the white bookshelf
and a mattress that can’t be the King-size I ordered.
“I don’t think that’s mine...” I say, glancing down the hallway where
two men carry a three-seater, navy-blue couch.
And then all hell breaks loose. Figuratively, of course, but it feels like
the Cerberus was let off his leash and charges right at me, all three wide
mouths baring their long fangs.
My breath falters as a familiar figure rounds the corner, a large green
plant in hand, a black designer purse slung over her shoulder to complement
her tiny black dress and red-soled heels. I can’t actually see the red soles,
but that’s all she ever wears.
“No fucking way,” I mutter, prompting Colt to check what got my
panties in a twist. “This isn’t happening.”
A stifled snort flies past his lips. “Oh-oh,” he hums, amusement
palpable. “Just your luck, huh?”
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth start cracking when none other than
Blair Fitzpatrick—the instigator of Mia’s long years of bullying—locks
eyes with me.
Her smile slips, and those striking, dark, stormy blues of hers narrow,
roving up and down my body, her nose scrunched in disgust. Just like my
breathing, her steps slow.
A shadow crosses her face, but as fast as it appears, it’s gone. She lifts
her chin a notch, seemingly unfazed that fate, karma, heaven, and hell are
shitting all over us right now.
Looks like I lied again...
There are three things I hate, and Blair Fitzpatrick takes the top
fucking spot.
I’d rather be sentenced to a never-ending Promethean cycle of packing
and unpacking than live across the hall from her.
 Grabbing my smirking brother by the arm, I yank him inside the condo
hard enough that he stumbles over his feet and swears at me, catching both
his balance and the case slipping from his grip just in time.
Ignoring his calm the fuck down, I slam the door shut, ticking like a
bomb about to go off.
“Guess who’s moving in across the hall as we speak?” Colt summons
everyone’s attention. “Cody’s favorite person.” He wiggles his eyebrows,
the sarcasm almost dripping from his voice.
“Blair?” Conor immediately supplies, well-versed in my favorite
people. “No way.”
“Yes way.”
“Shut up,” I snap, grabbing my phone. “I’ve got a bone to pick with
Logan. You’d think he’d give me a heads-up.”
“Logan doesn’t deal with sales, Cody,” Colt says. “What will calling
him do? You already bought this place, bro. It’s done.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as reality settles in.
Fuck. My. Life.

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TWO
Blair
“WHAT ARE THE CHANCES?” I snap at Brandon, who’s chuckling at
my oh-so-amusing misery on the other end of the line.
“Actually, pretty high if you think about it. His brother built that place,
Blair, and you knew Cody was moving out of Nico’s, right? I did tell you.
I’m sure I did.”
“No, you didn’t.” I pat a mover on the shoulder, before showing him
where to leave the boxes. “Even if I knew, I would’ve expected he’d buy a
mansion like Nico’s, not a condo.”
“The triplets are loaded, but not that loaded. Nico’s house is worth
like, I don’t know... twenty-five million or something.”
I slump onto the sofa, using my hands to shield my eyes from the
space quickly filling with furniture and boxes.
The instruction to carry everything back outside and reload the van sits
unspoken on the tip of my tongue.
“He’ll be growling at me any chance he gets,” I whine. “I don’t want
to live here.”
“Babe, you’re overreacting. Cody’s cool.”
“Cody hates me.”
I don’t know what’s worse. Staying here with the man who hates me
more than I hate myself, or running straight back to my money-obsessed
father.
Home is worse, I decide, swallowing hard. Cody can bark, growl, and
glare all he wants, but I can bark, growl, and glare right back. There’s
balance. Equal distribution of power. Something entirely absent in any
dealings with my father.
“You have a point,” Brandon drawls in amusement. “But you know he
won’t attack unprovoked. That’s more your style.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, his words striking a nerve.
He’s one hundred percent correct, but I’ve been working on myself for
a long time now... alone.
Which—according to my therapist—is why I hadn’t made substantial
progress until I started sessions with her. Now, with her help, I’m emerging
out of the darkness, gradually finding ways to feel in control without
projecting my hurt onto others.
“I recall you saying I’m not such a bitch these days.”
“Two points to you, babe. Still, attacking unprovoked is much more
your style than Cody’s.” He pauses, then chuckles when I groan. “What?
You’re backing down on your call it as you see it request?”
“No, not at all. It’s just... I wanted to be on good terms with my
neighbors, you know? I wanted to bake cookies, introduce myself,
exchange numbers and keys for emergencies like they do in the movies.”
“You can still do that. Suck it up. Take the initiative. Say hi, say sorry,
say I hope we can leave the past where it belongs and just be civil. I happen
to know Cody likes cookies.”
“I’m fresh out of cyanide.”
Brandon bursts out laughing in my ear. “You’ll be fine. If Cody could
give me another shot, you’ll get one too.”
That won’t happen, but I don’t bother voicing my thoughts. Brandon
only got a second chance from the triplets because of Mia. She forgave him
for putting up a price on her virginity. Forgave him for being a relentless,
clueless-in-his-pursuit asshole with an ego the size of the Grand Canyon.
She forgave him because her petite frame hides more strength than it should
ever be expected to hold.
Brandon made one bad call. One mistake fueled by how much he
wanted her without realizing he was in love.
Still is in love.
Pure intentions, bad decisions.
With Mia’s forgiveness, the triplets followed, reluctantly giving
Brandon a chance to prove his worth.
I don’t deserve the same treatment. Brandon’s one mistake pales
compared to the years of bullying Mia endured at my hands. It doesn’t
come close on the forgivability scale.
A second chance won’t happen, but I’ve made my peace with that. Not
everyone deserves a second chance.
I most certainly don’t, even if my therapist has a different take on the
matter.
“Either talk to Cody and clear the air, or if you’re afraid he’ll lash out,
stay out of his way,” Brandon continues. “I guarantee he’ll return the
favor.”
 That he will.
Like Brandon said, Cody’s not the type to attack unprovoked. It’s been
almost a year since that dreadful night when Jake cornered Mia. A year I
spent on the sidelines, wondering how to rebuild my life and reputation
while the majority—rightly so—blamed me for Jake’s actions that night.
I may not have played a direct part in that, but I hurt the girl time and
time again over the years, using her as a means to gain something I never
had.
As one of the primary sources of humiliation and pain for Mia—the
girl who became the topic on everyone’s lips overnight and the girl the
Hayes triplets regard as their little sister—I paid the price for years of
bullying.
Again, rightly so.
The social pariah status was long overdue.
I wish it had happened years ago instead of people idolizing me and
fueling the destructive cycle. Maybe I would’ve taken a long, hard look at
myself sooner, but no one ever held me accountable.
They treated me like royalty. Like their queen, and the intoxicating
rush of control, validation, and having my voice heard was too enticing, too
important to consider the monster I’d become...
Until my senior year of high school, when a man more than three times
my age opened my eyes on his luxury yacht.
For a while, through the murkiness of my past and the nightmare he
put me through, I glimpsed clarity. I recognized my wrongs and chose a
different way to make myself seen and heard.
I replaced bullying with promiscuity, diving headfirst into a maelstrom
of meaningless sex.
Not the best way to recover.
My therapist labeled me self-destructive during our initial session last
year. She wasn’t wrong.
I swapped one addiction for another, but my resolve wasn’t strong
enough. I relapsed. I went back to bullying, humiliating Mia with fabricated
nudes... and then I went off the deep end when I set her hair on fire.
I clench my teeth, shoving the memories aside, but as always, they
claw their way back.
A lot has changed since Jake cornered Mia in the restroom last year. A
lot of people have changed, including me.
 My worshippers turned away, leaving me with nothing but
determination to escape the vicious cycle my life had become.
Knowing what Jake did to Mia was hard to stomach, but there’s a big
difference between knowing about it and having to watch it with my own
two eyes.
The video Jake recorded while assaulting Mia was leaked. Watching
her fear-stricken, tear-stained face, hearing the malicious delight in Jake’s
voice as he preyed on her...
It hit so close to home I couldn’t sleep for days.
No woman should ever go through that. No man should ever abuse the
power he holds.
After seeing the video, I understood there was no hope for me if I
couldn’t let go of the hurt ripping me apart.
That’s when I took that long, hard look at myself. I didn’t like what I
saw. I still don’t. Maybe I never will.
People blamed Brandon on par with Jake and me. After all, it was his
stupid prize Jake wanted to win. But no one blamed Brandon more than he
blamed himself. It took months before he composed himself enough to look
in the mirror without smashing it to pieces. Months before he crawled out
of the ditch he’d dug himself that night.
I’ve never seen a man fall from grace so fast. From the very top of the
college hierarchy to the very bottom. From a king-of-the-world attitude to a
complete wreck. Until then, he lived his lavish life in the fast lane without a
care, then crashed into a brick wall that appeared out of nowhere.
That’s what love and an ocean of blame do, I guess. Brandon hadn’t
realized what he wanted from Mia was more than physical. It was
emotional, deep... real. He didn’t realize he was in love with her until it was
too late.
He crumbled under the weight of regret, shame, and self-loathing.
Therapy and countless hours crying in my arms saved him. Once he
regained his footing, earning Mia’s forgiveness became his new mission.
Not an easy task when she’s dating the most ruthless man in town.
Maybe the entire county. The man Newport looks up to. The man everyone
respects.
But he managed to pull it off. With persistence and sheer fucking
stubbornness, Brandon earned himself a second chance. He got his friends
back and shed a portion of his pompous attitude along the way.
 A bittersweet victory. No matter what he does, he’ll never get to play
his cards right with Mia.
That girl is taken. Claimed by none other than my new neighbor’s
older brother—Nico Hayes.
And he is obsessed with his girl.
Come to think of it, all the Hayes brothers go a bit Looney Tunes when
they find the love of their life.
“I should start unpacking,” I tell Brandon, perfectly aware I’ve been
silent for at least a minute.
He’s used to my long pauses. I’ve been zoning out, lost in my
thoughts, for months.
The initial shock that rocked me when I saw Cody bought the condo
across the hall has gradually eased off.
That’s not to say I’m looking forward to enduring his hateful stares for
however long we’ll be neighbors.
A long time, I bet.
“Oh, and... it might be better if I skip your graduation party. I’ll have
enough of Cody’s attitude on a daily basis now.”
“No, you’re not missing the party,” Brandon says, and the bed creaks
on the other side of the line as if he snapped upright. “This is my last ever
college party, babe. I’ve planned a bunch of fun games. Don’t stand me up.
You’re coming. I’ve already ordered your favorite wine. Besides, it’s still
two weeks away. Maybe you’ll work shit out with Cody by then.”
A sweet, sarcastic chuckle falls from my lips. “And maybe hell will
freeze over.”
“You never know but, if nothing changes, dress to impress and fuck
the haters.”
Easy for him to say. He salvaged his reputation. Mine’s still trashed. I
may be on speaking terms with most people, but not the way I was. And no
matter how many friends I win back, I’m ostracized wherever the triplets
are present.
Brandon nagged me into crashing their Halloween party and I got
booted the moment Cody saw me talking to Justin. The most humiliating
night of my college career.
There’ve been many more humiliating and degrading situations in my
life, but none this public. None caused by my peers.
 I won’t be kicked out from the seniors’ last college hurrah, since
Brandon’s organizing it, but it doesn’t make things any easier...
My old friends, the girls on the cheerleading squad, barely
acknowledge me beyond a quick hey whenever we cross paths. I’ll likely be
glued to Brandon’s side, hanging out with him, Finn, and Justin—the two
guys who had Brandon’s back last year.
It’s a given the triplets will be there.
I don’t need their glaring on top of everything else I’m dealing with.
But I know Brandon. If I say no he’ll be here in a heartbeat and won’t
leave until I say yes. A little white lie is in order.
“Okay, we’ll talk more when I see you,” I say, driving the point home
with, “You better have ordered more than one bottle.”
“Three sound good?”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect,” he echoes with a drown-out sigh. “I’ll swing by soon.” With
that, he hangs up.
The movers are gone, and my new condo is filled with boxes waiting
to be unpacked. Not one person ready to help. Unlike across the hall, where
I’m sure half the Hayes family is helping Cody.
Must be nice.

OceanofPDF.com
THREE
Blair
LIFE HAS A CRUEL WAY OF STEALING HAPPINESS at the least
appropriate moment. Fridays used to be my favorite day of the week. I
loved hanging out with my girls, trailing from one boutique to another,
coffee in hand, chatting, laughing, and gossiping about boys.
Now, as I haul two shopping bags from my car, I feel like an impostor.
Gone is the easy air. Gone is the carefree vibe and joy I felt surrounded by
friends.
Maybe because they’re not my friends anymore. They’ve let me back
into their close-knit circle, but it feels like I’m on probation. Like my every
move and word is scrutinized, judged...
They’re on guard, always coming up with some excuse to stop me
joining them for drinks.
Last week Kelly-Ann excused herself from the group, then came back
saying drinks were canceled because her grandmother surprised them with a
visit. This week Mikaela got a call from her brother, Toby, begging her to
babysit his son.
It’s been happening for months. At first, I believed the stories, but one
evening Kelly-Ann’s excuse didn’t quite add up. So, after parting ways, I
drove past the cocktail bar we love most, and sure enough, there they were,
at a window table, laughing and drinking margaritas.
I couldn’t hold back the tears trailing down my cheeks the whole ride
back home. I almost skipped our shopping spree the following week, but... I
hate feeling so lonely.
This past year was the worst of my life. I locked myself in my father’s
mansion for weeks on end, drowning in tears, regret, and fear.
There is an upside: I grew as a person. I grew as a woman. But I’m
only human and I join the girls every Friday, craving any form of
interaction.
So what if I’m not sipping margaritas with them right now? At least I
wasn’t locked in my condo all day, like every evening since I moved here.
 It’s already been a week. Seven whole days of living across from Mr.
Hayes. After the conversation with Brandon, I spent the rest of the evening
unpacking and pondering how to navigate the Cody situation. The
following day, heart in my mouth, I said hey when we bumped into each
other in the hallway.
His shoulders tensed, jaw clamped shut, and my greeting flew over his
head, not a word in return.
I expected a rude comment out of his mouth, so the silent treatment
felt like a small victory. But after five more days of no reaction, no words,
not even a glance, I started feeling stupid.
All the more so because, every day, I left my condo as soon as I heard
his door open, hoping he might finally bark out hey if I was persistent
enough.
Wrong thinking.
I was forced to admit defeat and stopped accidentally crossing his path
yesterday.
The lock on my red Porsche—an eighteenth birthday gift from my dad
—clicks as I make my way toward the building, two bags swinging from
my wrist. My brows furrow when I spot a girl on her phone, propped
against the wall next to the main entrance.
I haven’t seen her around here before. I would’ve remembered the
blonde pixie cut and tiny, pierced nose. Her large silver hoop earrings sway
as she shakes her head, rubbing a hand down her patchwork jeans.
I’m about ten steps from the door when her face crumbles and she
closes her eyes as though holding back tears.
“Cody, please let me in, baby. I just want to talk, okay?”
To say I freeze mid-step doesn’t paint the picture. I come to such an
abrupt, screeching halt I almost give myself whiplash.
My inner gossip girl takes over. Slowing my pace, I creep just enough
steps closer to overhear Cody’s response.
Biding my time, I set down my shopping bags and fumble through my
purse for my keys. You can’t get in without a six-digit code and a key
unless someone inside buzzes you in.
“Go home, Ana.” I barely hear Cody’s stern voice coming through her
phone’s speaker. “You can’t keep doing this shit. How did you find out
where I live?”
“I followed you,” she admits like it’s so obvious.
 Like it’s so normal.
Instead of shame heating her cheeks, she looks proud. “You promised
we’d talk,” she adds as I locate the keys and slide one into the lock.
Her eyes flick open at the sound, sparkling as her gaze idles between
me, the key, and my finger hovering over the keypad.
“Oh, hey,” she greets, a bright smile stretching her lips. “I’m visiting
my boyfriend. Could you let me in, please?”
“Jesus, Ana, what the—” Cody snaps but she cuts him off, finger
jammed against the volume down switch.
“It’s okay, baby, don’t worry. I’ll be up in a minute.” She ends the call,
pulling a concerned face. “He’s not well,” she sighs. “Can’t get to the door.
I think he caught the flu.”
I’ve been playing different roles my whole life, and her acting skills
wouldn’t fool anyone. Cody obviously doesn’t want this girl here, and the
fact she followed him home raises all kinds of red flags.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. I can’t let you in,” I say, dropping
my hand from the keypad.
I think she’ll bulldoze her way in if I open the door.
She beams, showing off her teeth as she extends her hand. “I’m Ana
Johnson. Cody’s girlfriend. Do you know him? Cody Hayes. He moved in a
few days ago.”
“I do know Cody,” I admit, less and less comfortable around her. “If he
says it’s okay to let you in, I will.”
“It’s okay, honestly. He’s just not well, and—” A movement inside the
building stops her talking.
We both peer through the glass door at Cody crossing the entryway, his
shoulders drawn back, eyes narrowed, fingers flexing as he clenches and
unclenches his big hands. He’s been doing that since I can remember—a
telltale sign of nerves.
The heavy door swings open, and Cody blocks the path, snatching my
shopping bags off the ground.
Without so much as a cursory glance my way, he hands them over,
stepping aside to let me through, then zeroes in on Ana.
“I’m taking you home. We’ll talk on the way.”
The last thing I see before he drags her toward his Mustang is the
elated, dreamy look on Ana as she stares at Cody’s fingers cinching her
arm.
 She’s not far off melting into a puddle at his feet.
I can easily relate. There’s no denying that Cody is handsome. He’s a
Hayes. They’re all hot, but Cody is just... more.
Broad shoulders, the expanse of his muscular back, the way he always
wears his long, dark hair in a bun, short beard trimmed. And when he’s in
his white sleeveless tank top and gray cargo joggers for the gym like I’ve
seen him the past week... yes please.
When Conor, Colt, and Cody were younger, they wore their hair and
clothes exactly the same, making it nearly impossible to tell them apart. But
as they entered middle school, they began to differentiate themselves. By
high school, their sense of fashion evolved, and there’s no mistaking one for
another anymore.
And no overlooking Cody every time I see him in the hallway. It’s not
a secret I’ve had a crush on him since high school. Half of the school lusted
after the triplets.
My innocent crush turned not so innocent when I moved to college. I
hadn’t seen Cody for a year, since he graduated earlier, and when I caught a
glimpse of him after all that time, my insides somersaulted backward.
Cody was always good-looking. Always a catch, as the girls called all
the Hayes. On top of his looks, he was funny. Clever. Careless in an
adorable, boyish way. But in that one year he changed a whole lot.
He was no longer a boy.
He was a man. Big, toned, ripped, his jaw chiseled, intricate tattoos
running from his wrist all the way to his neck.
My crush intensified, swelling out of all proportion, then died quickly
when I saw him with Mia. I didn’t stand a chance. The triplets were so
protective of her, and Cody took his big brother role one step further than
Colt or Conor.
Once my mom died, life became that much harder, and my crush was
forgotten.
Until—apparently—now.

OceanofPDF.com
FOUR
Cody
ANA MIGHT JUST TOP THE LIST of my worst mistakes, and I’ve
made a shitload, so that’s saying something.
We met at The Ramshack, a rundown bar not far from the pier, when
Conor was busy chasing after his soon-to-be fiancée, Vivienne. During the
first hour or so, Ana was into Colt, batting her eyelashes and trailing her
fingers down his chest.
I was stuck with Ana’s friend, Gracie—not my type in the slightest.
She drove me insane with how forward she was, licking my ear and
grinding into my lap.
Girls like her are much more Colt’s type. He likes when they give him
attitude. When he can tame them... and Ana sure wasn’t that. She oozed
obedience—my type—so it seemed we both ended up with the wrong side
of the stick.
The evening was doomed from the start with Conor’s head in the
clouds and my foul mood, but after a nose-powdering break, the girls
switched places.
One loaded look between Colt and me was enough to say we preferred
it that way. Ana took Gracie’s spot on my lap, her personality exactly what I
enjoy. Snappy, confident, but moldable like clay. I don’t mind a sharp
tongue in an effortlessly submissive girl, but the brat mentality oozing from
Gracie’s pores was an immediate turn-off.
Not for Colt though. He loves when they give him shit.
Once the switch happened, Ana and I spent the evening dancing,
drinking, talking, and making out like a pair of hormonal teenagers. She
was amazing. Easygoing, funny, pliant. She checked every box on my
mental list, and for the first time, I tried Colt’s approach: keep one longer
than one night.
And that was a mistake despite precautions.
I laid my cards out right away. Honesty is key. I learned a long time
ago that certain questions have to be asked and certain information has to be
divulged so both parties can make an informed decision whether to go
ahead with the night.
Taking the new approach with Ana, the last thing I needed was to
accidentally give her false hope. I told her exactly how I wanted our no-
strings deal to go down.
Zero romantic dinners. Zero late-night strolls down the beach. Zero
conversations. Zero expectations. Zero phone calls. Zero texts. Nothing.
Just sex.
Ana was fun but not the kind of girl I’d consider dating—no
ambitions, clueless with kids, no passion, no knowledge besides the basics.
Kind with a big heart, but that’s not enough for me.
She agreed, and added a rule of her own: no sex in bed. It boded well,
but I still made her confirm she understood we were both agreeing to a no-
strings and no-feelings deal. Just good fucking whenever the mood took us.
Things were running smoothly for about a month before she caught
feelings. I sat her down, reminded her of the rules we set in place, explained
that a relationship was out of the question, and we went our separate ways.
She took it like a champ. Kept at a distance for a while, but two weeks
ago, my brothers and I ventured into The Ramshack again to see Vee’s
friend, Abby, perform with a band she joined recently. She plays electric
guitar, and as an amateur guitarist myself, I was curious.
Ana was there, hanging on some guy’s arm. I mentally cheered that
she’d moved on. She seemed perfectly fine. Drunker and writhing more
expressively than usual around the guy on the dancefloor, but overall fine.
She gave me no reason to worry and even stopped by our table for a drink.
Not a trace of those feelings she caught, as far as I could tell.
It all went to shit when we were leaving the club. Me with a long-
legged surfer girl, Ana by herself. God knows what happened to the guy she
was with. He was MIA, unable to stop Ana making a scene. A jealous hissy
fit. She screamed at me for being a heartless jerk who promises the moon
and stars then takes them away. Needless to say, she scared off the surfer
girl.
And it only went downhill from there.
The next day, Ana arrived at Nico’s doorstep, apologetic, tearful. She
blamed her behavior on too many drinks.
We all do stupid things when drunk so I believed her. Until she texted
me later that night, saying she saw how I looked at her. Whining that she
missed me...
No matter how many times I explained or pleaded, she wasn’t getting
the message. She kept showing up at Nico’s unannounced, but I was
moving out soon, so didn’t worry much.
I should’ve known she’d figure out my new address.
Now she’s veering into stalker territory and I’m seriously debating
calling Shawn for advice.
The thing is, Ana isn’t throwing herself at me. She’s not causing
trouble. She’s just... annoying, so I’m trying not to be an asshole. I keep
telling her she should move on, hoping it’ll stick.
If push comes to shove, I’ll ask my Chief-of-Police brother for help.
“You can’t keep doing this,” I tell her, pulling out of the parking lot,
barely keeping my temper in check.
It’s not just Ana’s stalking tendencies and selective hearing that got me
on edge tonight. It’s Blair. She’s been grating my nerves since she moved
in, leaving her condo whenever I leave mine, muttering hey, like we’re best
fucking friends.
Every time I see her, my muscles seize. My spine turns rigid, skin
clammy, itchy, and my lung capacity halves every second until I can’t draw
a single breath.
The intensity is staggering. Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s
been growing, and growing, and gaining momentum, making me feel so
raw that her voice, sweet coconut scent, and presence cause physical pain.
“Baby—”
“Enough, Ana. I’m not your baby and I’m tired of repeating myself. I
know you’re sensible, but right now you’re acting batshit crazy.”
She pouts, fidgeting her fingers, each short, labored breath bringing
her closer to a full-blown sob fest. The thing is, Ana’s not upset. She’s
channeling her efforts to manufacture crocodile tears: acting upset.
I fell into that trap one too many times.
She knows I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress. My savior complex
makes it impossible to ignore a distressed woman.
“Don’t even start.” I flip the indicator as I stop at traffic lights. “You’ll
get yourself in trouble, you know that?”
“How? I didn’t do anything wrong. You should be flattered, Cody. At
least I have the courage to act on my feelings.”
 “You should also have the decency to understand I don’t have the same
feelings. How many times do I have to say we’re done?”
She looks out the window, pinching her lips like she wants to add
something but can’t find the right words.
It wouldn’t matter if she could. Nothing she’ll say will change a damn
thing. I know she’s having a rough time. Her brother took his life a few
weeks ago and she’s mourning, struggling to accept he’s gone. It’s the only
reason I give her chance after chance to get her act together.
She’s a little lost, I get that, but it doesn’t mean I should indulge her
imaginary feelings and ignore the stalking. She’s not my responsibility.
Still, whenever I think about calling Shawn, I remind myself that drastic
measures should be my last resort.
There’s still time for cops.
“Can’t we start over?” she finally suggests. “As friends.”
We’ve been through this already. It was her fallback the third or fourth
time she showed up at Nico’s house. Seeing how vulnerable she was, I
agreed.
Our friendship was a whole ten minutes old when she threw herself at
me, shoving her hand in my pants to grab my dick.
Nico, Mia, and Colt were in the room with us...
Not fucking cool.
“Too late for that.” I take another turn, speeding down her
neighborhood. “No friendship. No relationship. No sex. Nothing, Ana. Stop
coming over.”
“But I love you! We were so good together! Why are you fighting this
so hard? I’m not asking for a ring, Cody. We can take things slow!”
Am I too soft?
I think so. Any other guy in my predicament—and I know because I
consulted Colt, Conor, and Logan—would’ve taken out a restraining order
by now.
The fact she followed me home, lurked outside the building and called
me back every time I hung up is enough grounds to worry. She hasn’t
shown signs of being unstable enough to do something reckless, but I can’t
completely rule it out given how fucking tone-deaf she is to everything I
say.
I park by the curb in the sketchier part of town where Ana lives with
her mother and two younger sisters. Four women under one roof might be
why their house looks the least neglected out of the lineup. Their lawn isn’t
as overgrown as their neighbors’, and no broken bottles or discarded trash
litter the narrow, paved pathway to the front door.
“Goodnight, Ana. Don’t show up again, or you’ll be walking home.
We’re done, understand?”
I might as well be talking to a brick wall. She stares at me with hooded
eyes as her tongue peeks out, moistening her lips. She’s turned on. I’ve seen
that look before.
I spent the last few minutes rejecting her, and she’s ready to vault over
the middle console, pull my dick out and ride me outside her house while
her sister peeks through the curtains from the second-story window.
“Don’t even think about it. Get your ass home,” I warn.
Her sultry gaze slides from my lips down my chest until the burning
intensity focuses on my groin. The corner of her mouth quirks as her eyes
jerk back to mine. “You’re so full of shit, baby. Your dick is hard. Doesn’t
look like you’re not interested. I don’t know why you’re fighting me, but
I’ll find out.”
She doesn’t wait for me to speak. I’m glad because it’s fucking
pointless. She hauls herself out of the car, closes the door, then taps a
goodbye against the window.
The second she steps back, I floor it, peeling out of there and tearing
through Newport at too many miles an hour toward Tortugo. A few drinks
will help me take my mind off Ana’s accurate observation.
My dick is hard.
Though Ana is not the reason.

OceanofPDF.com
FIVE
Blair
CODY'S PLAYING GUITAR AGAIN.
The sound is distant, but if I sit with my ear glued to the door, I can
make out the melody. It sounds like Hozier’s “Movement” today. Cody
doesn’t sing, and with two doors and a hallway between us, deciphering the
title is not always easy.
Still, I try. I’m growing attached to the soothing strum of his guitar.
He’s played every day since he moved in, and when he didn’t last night,
after taking Ana home, I was so disappointed I couldn’t sleep.
He didn’t mention Ana when I stepped out at the same time he did this
morning. This time it wasn’t planned. I was pushing out a box full of
clothes I decided to donate after the endless boredom drove me to
reorganize my wardrobe.
I said hi.
I promised myself I wouldn’t, but when he glanced at me over his
shoulder, the word bypassed my brain and sprung out without permission.
He didn’t reply. Obviously.
He’s been giving me the silent treatment for a year now, unless he has
a reason to scream like the time he kicked me out of his Halloween party.
He didn’t say hi back. He didn’t say fuck off or stop talking to me or do
you need help...? but he did grab the box I was struggling with, hoping to
push it all the way down the corridor, into the elevator, then outside, and
somehow load it into my car.
Without a word or a backward glance, holding my box, Cody marched
away. I followed, my heart beating a wild rhythm. I half expected him to
toss the box—and me—down the stairs, but no.
Cody isn’t spiteful.
He holds grudges, hates me, and makes it known, but he’s not spiteful.
He wouldn’t hurt me for the sake of it.
Not wanting to jinx this tiny progress, I quietly asked if he could load
the box into my car, pointing out my Porsche to save him asking. I opened
the trunk, and once he deposited the box inside, he walked away, without so
much as a nod.
Progress is progress.
Helping me is a gesture louder than hi, so I took it as a good omen. I
also stood watching his biceps and triceps shifting and pulsing as he yanked
the door to his Mustang open.
Now, with a heavy sigh, cradling a cup of hot tea in both hands, I slide
down my door until my butt hits the cool marble floor. Eyes closed, I listen
to the melody.
He’s good. I’ve imagined what he looks like with that guitar in hand a
thousand times. I never knew he played until I moved here, but during the
past week, I learned many things about Cody Hayes.
He plays guitar and he’s damn good at it.
He hums along to music when he’s got earphones in.
Metallica is his favorite band judging by how many of their songs he
plays.
Oh, and let’s not forget the obvious—he has a stalker.
Not me. Though I admit, I ponder timing my condo exits to run into
him again, but my intentions are not to earn a night.
As hot as Cody is, there’s too much foul history and hatred between us
to hope he’d ever look at me like anything but a waste of space. What I
want is a chance to apologize. Really apologize, not just throw him a quick
sorry. Forgiveness would be best, but it’s a stretch. I can’t expect people to
forgive me when I can’t even forgive myself.
I’ll take civil from Cody, as Brandon described it. If we can be civil,
maybe somewhere down the line I’ll have a chance to apologize to Mia too.
So far, all attempts have been futile.
Even with that goal in mind, I am not stalking Cody. Ana is.
She was here again today. Or maybe she still is. When I came home an
hour ago from my therapy session, she stood by the door, scrolling through
her phone, large shades concealing half her face. She didn’t ask me to let
her in, so I guess she decided to ambush Cody when he leaves. Which I’m
sure he will.
It’s Saturday. He usually hangs out with his brothers, but they don’t
meet until seven or eight in the evening, so Ana has a good six-hour wait
ahead.
 The notes Cody plays right now grow angrier with every strum, but it
takes nothing away from the melody. If anything, it gives it a raw, gritty
edge that sends shivers down my spine.
My fingers twitch as I spin a pencil between them. I’ve been sitting on
the floor, back against the door, sketchpad in hand every day, but the pages
are blank. I’d love to sketch him with his guitar, engrossed in the music, but
I can’t seem to start.
I shouldn’t be thinking about Cody at all. I shouldn’t imagine how he
looks right now. I shouldn’t listen to him play.
He’s not said one word to me in over seven months—since the
Halloween party—but now we live across the hallway and I see him daily,
the stupid crush has resurfaced.
I know I’m just trying to break the loneliness somehow, and I know
Cody’s the last person I should lust after but it’s hard not to think about
someone you see every day...
A loud knock on the door almost has me spilling tea all over myself. I
know that knock. It’s so distinct there is no mistaking who stands on the
other side.
KNOCK knock-knock-knock-knock KNOCK-KNOCK.
My muscles pull taut when, a second later, he knocks again, an angry
boom. Before I scramble to my feet, a tight ball of nerves settles deep in my
stomach.
He knocks again, measured annoyance reverberating through each
thump of his fist as if I’m purposely making him wait.
I cast a quick glance in the mirrored coat closet doors, making sure I
look decent. I purposely leave the scrunchie holding my hair up intact—a
tiny blade in his back. Mom always wore her hair up and he hates that I
remind him of her so much.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, stepping out of his way as he strolls inside,
loosening his tie as if it’s choking him.
Stopping in the middle of the living room, he assesses the space,
delaying the moment when his gaze will inevitably land on me. He has no
problem using me, but looking at me when I’m not playing a role is a hard
pill to swallow. Even standing ten feet away, I notice his breathing hiccup
when our eyes lock.
It doesn’t last long.
 After a fleeting glance, he returns to the safety of scrutinizing my new
condo. “You’re not dressed,” he clips, two angry creases lining his
forehead. “And this place is a fucking mess, Blair.”
Other than my sketchpad on the breakfast bar and a single Victoria’s
Secret bag hanging over the back of the stool, nothing is out of order. He
could eat off the floor it’s so clean.
“I didn’t have time to put the sketchbook away. I was—”
“Excuses,” he snaps, his eyes quickly appraising my body as he
pinches the bridge of his nose in clear exasperation. “What is this?” He
points at a wooden stand housing a few plants I bought to give this place a
less clinical vibe.
This is my father’s idea of small talk—belittling me and finding faults
in things I enjoy to reinforce the sky-high wall between us. Not that it needs
reinforcing.
We barely speak unless I’m required to play a role in his schemes.
Outside that, he usually contacts me through his assistant.
During the past year, I’ve seen him a dozen times at the many banquets
and business meetings he organizes, but only twice outside the “work”
environment, even though we lived in the same house the whole time.
I saw him at my mother’s funeral, then again when he handed me the
key to this condo. A subtle way of saying I can’t stand having you under my
roof any longer.
I share the sentiment. Spending my days alone in his house made me
feel lonelier than I already was. Here, the space is smaller, no echo from my
solitary footsteps in the grand entryway, no deafening silence.
I’m still on my own, but the sounds filtering in from outside keep the
loneliness at bay.
Dad met a woman not long ago—something I learned from Brandon.
Our fathers do business together, and apparently, Dad introduced his new
girlfriend to them three weeks before handing me the key to this place.
It must’ve been increasingly inconvenient, avoiding his mansion to
keep me away from her, so I was evicted.
“They’re plants,” I say, crossing my hands over my chest, my tone
emotionless. It’s my only line of defense.
His eyes snap to me again, and I shrink in on myself under his
belittling stare. “Why aren’t you ready?”
“Ready for what?”
 “Lunch with Mr. Anderson!”
Lunch means it’s starting all over again. My father’s voice booms in
my ears, drowning out the melody Cody’s playing. An invisible hand grips
my throat, tightening the hold. This is why I hate seeing him. Because in
nine out of ten cases, it means a few weeks of crying myself to sleep.
Lunch is the first meeting. Casual but professional so Dad can test the
water. Three hours of polite conversation tinged with weighted questions to
figure out Mr. Anderson’s weaknesses and the most effective bait.
And then, if he considers it the best strategy, he uses me to reel in the
catch. Bait and hook. Keep Mr. Anderson coming back to discuss business
until he’s in my father’s grasp, dancing on his strings like a lifeless puppet.
“Are you listening to me?” Dad barks, and my stomach tightens,
coiling around my spine. “I told you yesterday that I’d pick you up at one
o’clock sharp.”
He didn’t tell me. I’ve not spoken to him all week but he’d never admit
he forgot to mention the meeting or instruct his assistant to do so. It doesn’t
matter who’s at fault.
He’s right, I’m wrong, and end of story.
I play along.
It’s easier that way. Less painful.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be ready in five minutes, I promise.”
“Three. Not a minute longer. Red dress, high heels...” He leaves the
remaining demands that I know off by heart hanging in the air unspoken.
His hands are clean if he doesn’t voice them. He can pretend it was my
initiative to wear a slutty, revealing dress, even though Dad was the one
who bought all my red dresses. He can pretend I purposely chose one that
doesn’t accommodate a bra.
That it’s my idea to flaunt my body in Mr. Anderson’s face so Dad can
gauge his reaction.
He can pretend I’m a slut, happy to tease older men until they sign
contracts, making my father richer and richer and richer...
As if the millions he makes aren’t enough.
That’s all we’ve been doing in the Fitzpatrick household for years—
pretending everything is fine. Normal.
Nothing about our family has been fine or normal since my mom was
diagnosed with schizophrenia when I was five.
 She started having random episodes even earlier. My earliest clear
memory is from when I was about four. Mom and I were sitting in the
living room watching a Disney movie late into the evening. Dad wasn’t
home; it was just us two there when she started talking to herself. Her hands
shook as she looked at things I couldn’t see, and when I tried to get her
attention she yelled at the wall.
I remember how scared I was the louder she screamed. No matter how
hard I tried, I couldn’t get her to look at me. I couldn’t understand what she
was yelling. Words jumbled together, her face paled, eyes turned bleak and
fearful. She sprang to her feet, frantically pacing the room until she
collapsed to her knees by the coffee table, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Why did you kill your daddy?! You killed him!” she accused.
She said I stabbed him in the neck. Kept yelling about blood. Kept
pointing at the floor as if Dad lay there bleeding out.
I begged her to stop. I cried and promised that I didn’t do anything,
that Dad wasn’t home, that she was wrong...
She wasn’t listening.
Scared, I ran to my room and hid under the covers until Dad found me
hours later. Mom had stopped screaming by then but never came looking
for me.
Dad didn’t believe me when I told him what happened. He said I made
it all up because I watched too many cartoons.
He witnessed one of Mom’s breakdowns firsthand not long after.
From then on, the episodes were more and more frequent. Once she
was diagnosed, after months of psychiatric evaluations, the real battle
began: testing different medications to find a combination that worked,
changing them because of side effects, hallucinations, delusions, screams,
tears...
I was alone with her for days on end. Dad quickly withdrew from us.
He still came home every night, but slept in a separate bedroom from Mom,
and fled before we woke up in the morning.
There were weeks when I didn’t see him at all. Days I spent crying
under the bed, hungry and scared of the one person I should feel safe with.
I was just a little girl. I didn’t understand that my mother had no
control over her delusions, that she didn’t mean to scream or accuse me of
doing awful things. She was sick, Dad was absent, and I felt utterly
powerless for years.
 My home became hell, but it wasn’t always bad.
There were good moments when the doctors found the right meds to
keep Mom relatively sane. She was functioning better. The delusions
subsided if she remembered to take them on time... until my father realized
the potential of her disease.
“Fucking move, Blair. You’re running out of time!” He barks the order,
shoving me toward my bedroom.
One foot after the next, I move. I pull out one of the many red dresses
he bought me for the events I attend on his arm—the only color I’m
allowed to wear and the one I despise most.
The dress is tiny: two delicate silver chains acting as shoulder straps
and a bit of fabric circling my ribs. It just about covers my ass, so there’s
that. It’s ludicrously, inappropriately short. Backless. Deep cleavage.
Most women at my father’s “work” events wear beautiful cocktail
dresses, whether long or short. They’re elegant, exquisite, and I... I’m
dressed like an expensive hooker. The dress is a gold label, and the soles on
my heels are red.
Cheap whores don’t wear Louboutins.
Not even the escorts my father’s associates bring with them tip the
scales as far to the expensive side as I do.
Shitty consolation, but I grab what I find.
“Wear bling,” Dad’s voice booms. “Lots of bling. This is an important
meeting, Blair. You need to do good.”
All these meetings are important. He always tells me I need to do
good, or he’ll cut me off. The last time I misbehaved, slapping an old man’s
hand away when he squeezed my butt hard enough to leave a bruise, Dad
took away my car.
I was sixteen. Untouchable. Illegal.
But inconvenient facts didn’t matter to my father, the great Gideon
Fitzpatrick. Consent was a meaningless word while he paraded me around,
using my young body to taunt sleazy businessmen, melt their perverted
brains, and close lucrative deals while they salivated at my every move.
I rebelled the first few times. I cried, begged, and threatened him with
the police, but he quickly found a way to cease my tantrums—as he called
them—by confiscating Mom’s meds whenever I caused any trouble.
Watching her succumb to the hallucinations was worse than feeling the
heated gazes of much older men roving my body.
 I gave up fighting pretty quickly.
Either play along or be played.
Dad prefers option three, one not available to me: play them. Play
everyone. That’s what he does best: manipulates people until they chase the
carrot on the stick using any means available, and while that’s not always
me, it happens often.
Though not nearly as often as before I turned eighteen. It’s been a
while since the last event. A month at least. Enough that I started hoping,
yet again, that maybe I’m too old to appease the degenerates he feeds off.
Apparently not.
“Ready,” I say, joining him in the living room, the tight dress rolling
up, showing off too much skin. I tug it down every few steps, or else my ass
will be on display.
Which is kind of the point.
“Hair down,” Dad clips, looking me over like a piece of meat. “And do
your makeup darker. You have one minute.”
Obeying the order, I retreat into my bathroom, do a quick smokey eye,
and fan my hair out so I don’t remind him of Mom as much as I do with my
hair up.
“Red lips!” Dad yells, his voice shaking the door.
He must’ve forgotten I no longer live in his mansion. I still can’t
believe he let me move out. I begged him for my own place since I started
college, but the answer was always a resounding no until three weeks ago
when he gave me the key to this place.
I find my red lipstick, coat my lips, and grip the sink with both hands,
hanging my head low. Time for a quick pep talk.
I can do this. I’ve done it many times. This is the last stretch. Just one
more year before it stops.
Once I’m independent, once I can access my trust fund, I’ll take my
life into my own hands. No more relying on Dad. Even if I don’t get my
dream job, I’d rather do anything else than play the lead role in Dad’s
puppet show.
I could find a job now. Work as a cleaner or at a retail store. I could
sleep in a cheap motel until I save enough for rent. It’s plausible. Doable.
The problem is that the friends I’m slowly earning back will turn on
me if I’m broke. I won’t fit in their circle once I can’t afford pointless
shopping sprees or late-night cocktail bar gossip sessions—something I
hope they’ll soon invite me to join. Though if I’m driving anything less
than my Porsche I can’t see that happening.
No matter how much I hate meeting my father’s expectations, I’m
stuck for another year. I came this far already... throwing away the long
struggle to keep my head above water wouldn’t make sense now that I
almost see the finish line in the distance. One more year in exchange for a
condo, stuffed bank account, and a trust fund isn’t that high a price.
Survival of the fittest.
Exhaling all the air from my lungs, I glance at my reflection. “You’ve
got this,” I whisper, pushing away from the sink.

OceanofPDF.com
SIX
Cody
MY FINGER HOVERS OVER Shawn, my patience hanging by a thin,
flimsy thread.
Ana’s relentless.
After dropping her home last night, I thought she’d give me a few days
off. Wrong thinking. She came back this morning and spent the day calling
me over and over and over until she wore me down... I drove her home
again.
She’s harmless, I know she is, but she’s driving me fucking insane.
Before I slide my finger across the screen to talk restraining orders with my
eldest brother, my phone rings.
It’s a Hayes, just not the one I need.
“What’s up?” I ask Theo, checking the fridge for leftovers.
“Hey, bro. Listen... you busy tonight?”
My back straightens on cue, his tone unmistakable. He needs a favor,
and judging by the hesitancy, he’s not happy about asking. I can picture him
in his kitchen, one hand bracing against the counter, the other squeezing the
life out of his cell phone.
Only one thing gets Theo this bent out of shape: his son.
My heartrate picks up. I’ve been waiting months for this phone call,
but just in case I’m misinterpreting, I keep the happiness out of my voice.
“Not busy. Why?”
With a deep, exasperated sigh, he spits the words at me. “You think
you could watch River for a few hours?”
I close my eyes briefly, smiling like the cat that got the birdy. Finally.
“You want me to take him?” I chuckle, slamming the fridge door. “I guess
everyone else is either busy or dead?”
“Well, yeah. Kind of. Shawn just called. Josh is coming down with
chicken pox, so there’s no way I’m leaving River there. Colt’s not
answering. Nico and Mia are in Europe, and—”
“I get it. No need to list everyone who can’t, bro. You know I’ll stay
with him. Bring him over.”
 Ever since River was born, an invisible wall grew between me and
Theo. I racked my brain many times, wondering what triggered the
distance, and the only explanation I came up with is that Theo doesn’t trust
me with his son.
It’s not very plausible. I’m great with kids: responsible, caring, and
fun. Ask Logan. I’m the first point of contact whenever Noah needs
babysitting.
Theo never let me babysit, no matter how many times I offered. He
tenses like a fucking guitar string whenever I steal River from Thalia at
Mom’s get-togethers.
I don’t understand his problem, and I think it might be time to air the
laundry. Though not right now. If I piss him off, he won’t bring my nephew
over.
Besides, there’s one more possibility I can test tonight—he might think
I won’t handle River’s tantrums; he’s a screamer. While that does scare me,
considering he can go for an hour without a break, I want to spend time
with him.
What kind of a brother would I be if I said no to Theo while I
sometimes ask Logan to bring Noah over for a playdate just because I miss
the kid?
“You sure?” Theo checks in a careful tone. I hear a note of relief there,
mixed with uncertainty.
“I’m sure. We’ll be fine, bro. You think Mia woke Nico whenever
Logan brought Noah for a sleepover?” I rant, hoping to calm him down as I
pace to the bedroom. “Nope, she put him in my room if she needed help or
a power nap.”
Noah loves me most, no doubt about it. I’m the favorite uncle by a
landslide. We’ve got the same dynamic as Logan and Shawn’s kid, Josh.
Everyone else ceases to exist when Josh spots Logan, or Noah spots me.
Mia used that to her advantage, sneaking into my room around seven in the
morning after being up with Noah for a few hours.
He never liked Nico much—can’t blame the kid; not many people do.
Instead of waking him, Mia woke me. She started by casually lying beside
me and accidentally falling asleep while Noah crawled over my face.
By the third or fourth time, she walked in, got under the comforter,
muttered your turn, and we fell into a routine. It’s a good thing Nico trusts
me, or I’d have stopped breathing thirty seconds after the first time he
found his girl asleep in my bed.
“Okay, thanks, Cody. We’ll drop him off in an hour.”
“Sure. Just hold on a sec,” I say, checking in a box under the bed for
toys. “Bring a few toys, alright? I don’t have anything age appropriate
here.”
Though if River is anything like Noah, he’ll be happy playing with my
car keys or wooden spoons.
I cut the call, falling face-first onto my bed. I love my nephews
equally, and I’m excited to spend the evening with River, but... I’d be lying
if I said I’m not one bit concerned.
River isn’t as mellow as Noah. Not as easily entertained from what
I’ve seen thus far. He’s six months old, almost over the big crying sprees,
but still has his moments. I bet my entire portfolio he’ll be ugly crying as
soon as Theo and Thalia close the door behind them.
He’s not half as easygoing as Noah was at his age. That kid ate,
played, then slept. No tummy aches, no crying. No fussing. Low
maintenance, just like Logan. At least, according to Mom.
River, on the other hand, is everything but low maintenance. I’m about
to find out just how good I really am with kids.
I grab a quick shower, finish the lasagna from last night, and then my
sister-in-law arrives, pushing River in his stroller.
I take it as a good sign that River doesn’t start crying when we’re alone
ten minutes later. He grins his two-tooth grin, banging a tiny fist on some
colorful sound-making toy before moving to another five minutes later.
“This is going great,” I tell him, then wrinkle my nose at the foul
smell. “Oh, come on, man. Our first time together, and this is how we’re
starting? Your mommy was just here.”
He giggles at the faces I’m pulling as I grab the things I need out of the
bag Thalia packed. It’s not like I’ve never changed a diaper before. I have.
Plenty of times.
That doesn’t mean I enjoy it.
“Next time, don’t wait until Mommy leaves, alright? She’s better at
this than I am.” I clip his onesie back in place, and he immediately drags his
foot up to his mouth. “Don’t chew your toes. That’s not cool. You hungry?”
Since I’m not getting an answer, I haul him into my arms, grabbing the
gooey baby food Thalia brought. Twenty minutes of airplanes and... puff,
our fun uncle–nephew time ends abruptly with sudden tears.
Five, ten, twenty minutes. My keys, wooden spoons, plastic cars, and
anything that passes for a toy litter the living room rug, but none catch
River’s attention.
Disappointment fills my stomach. Failing isn’t something I take
lightly, but sometimes the only thing left is admitting defeat.
I’m about to wave the white flag and call Theo when someone knocks
on the door. It’s probably him and Thalia. I wouldn’t be surprised if they
stood outside this whole time, spying.
Shit. I won’t get to babysit the kid ever again.
I fling the door open, my long hair only half in the bun, after River
ripped a few strands out. It hurt but kept him entertained, so I let him.
It’s not Theo, Thalia, or any other member of the Hayes family
standing at my door. It’s not even Ana whom I’d welcome with open arms
if I was given a choice between her and my neighbor straight from hell.
My eyes slide down Blair’s frame, taking in her oversized tee,
boyfriend jeans, and bare feet with a cherry-colored pedicure to match her
manicure.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cover so much skin. She always
strolled the school corridors in inappropriate dresses, showcasing her
spectacular body.
Yes, spectacular.
I’m cynical, not blind.
The few pounds she gained since getting kicked off the cheerleading
squad did wonders on her former stick-person figure.
She’s got curves.
Sensual, seductive curves. A waistline slim enough that I’d circle it
with both hands, ass juicier than a peach. Perky breasts top out the brain-
melting hourglass figure.
Legs to her fucking armpits.
Not that she’s flaunting any of that, but I have every inch of her body
committed to memory. At least those inches she proudly showed off. There
are a few inches I haven’t seen. Inches I was dying to see when she showed
up at college on her first day as a freshman.
Her long, brown hair frames her face, highlighting that pouty mouth,
button nose, and full cheeks. I can hate her all I want, but there’s no
denying the facts. Blair’s always been my type of gorgeous with a head-
turning combination of dark hair and blue eyes. Always a looker. Always
commanding attention.
And now, wearing cute jeans and a plain white tee, she’s fucking
stunning. Too bad the beautiful exterior’s only skin deep. She’s rotten to her
very core.
Also... too bad my dick doesn’t care about her personality.
I’m rock fucking hard. Again.
“Sounds like you need help,” Blair says, breaking the tense silence as
she peeks under my arm at River.
He sits on the rug, cute face wet and pink. I raise a questioning brow
instead of slamming the door in her face.
“Your help?” I give a derisive snort. “That’s the last fucking thing I’ll
ever need.”
Her demeanor dims, hurt veiling her features. “He’ll cry himself sick,
Cody. He’s been going for twenty minutes.”
“No shit. I was here the whole time.” My head’s about to pop, which
might be why I’m dumbfounded enough to still be talking to Blair. “I’ve got
four nephews, so I’ve seen it all. I’m not fucking new to this.”
“I’m not saying you’re new,” Blair retorts. “I’m just offering help.”
“I’d rather crash Theo’s date.”
Folding her arms over her chest, she lifts her chin, shepherding the
hurt until it’s almost hidden. “Would the crown fall off your head if you’d
stop acting so hostile? I want to make things right, but you’re not even
giving me a chance to apologize—”
“I don’t give a shit about your apologies. They don’t mean a thing
when they’re not fucking honest, and you don’t know what honesty is.
Leave me the fuck alone.”
Regret strikes me square in the jaw when her defensive shell cracks,
exposing her hurt she tried to hide.
I hate her. I can’t stand her, but acting like an asshole puts me on her
level, and no way I’ll meet her there.
River starts awkwardly crawling toward us, his motor skills
exceptionally well developed. Noah didn’t start moving about until he was
ten months, lazy as his dad, but River has been attempting to crawl for a
month already.
“Listen...” I say, exhaling a long breath while hauling River into my
arms. “He’s dry, fed, and keeps tossing the water bottle away. He’s just
fussy like his dad. He’ll be fine.”
“Or he’s tired,” she points out.
“No. I put him in bed three times. He crawls right out. Put some
earplugs in. Theo’s picking him up in two hours.” I’m about to slam the
door but stop when I realize bouncing did the trick. River’s quiet. A
triumphant smile stretches my lips. “See? He’s fine.”
Not waiting for another word from Blair, I shut the door. My smile
dissipates the instant River’s mouth curls down, and three, two, one... the
concerto resumes.
“You have to be fucking kidding, little man,” I groan, watching his big,
brown, teary eyes glued to the door. “You’re killing me here. We were
doing so well.”
Testing what I already know, I grab the handle. Blair’s still in the
hallway, facing my condo, arms crossed.
The triumphant smile that took real estate across my face a moment
ago now adorns her lips because... what do you know? With a tiny hiccup,
River falls silent, staring at Blair like she’s a fucking godsend. She’s not. I
bet she’s got ties with the devil.
“You like girls better, huh?” I run a gentle hand across his cheeks,
wiping the tears. “You sure take after Daddy. Grandma said he only liked
girls when he was your age. Nothing wrong with that, but choose them
wisely. Some will break you ten different ways.”
I step aside, gritting my teeth as I gesture for Blair to enter. This is not
fucking happening right now. Theo’s lucky I love his kid, and can’t bear to
see him cry.
He’s also lucky I love his wife and understand she needs time off, or
else I’d be bursting into the restaurant and dumping River on their table.
I look at Blair when she outstretches her hand toward him.
“Hey there,” she coos softly, making the little traitor show his two new
bottom teeth.
“Noah was never this loud,” I admit, handing River over before
closing the door. “He slept a lot until he turned one.”
“Noah is Logan’s son, right?”
“First-born,” I confirm. “Eli’s on the way. Any day now.”
Her eyes remain on River as she boops his nose with her finger.
Swallowing the bitter taste coating my tongue at letting in the girl who did
nothing but hurt Mia her whole life, I temporarily put my hatred on hold.
 It’s been almost a year since Mia was assaulted. She dealt with the
trauma. Made peace with the past, forgave her enemies, and used the bad
things that happened to toughen up.
I don’t share her worldview that everyone deserves a second chance.
An apology and admission of guilt is not enough to wipe a slate clean.
I blamed myself last year. I’ve worked through it since, but the
memories sometimes steal my breath. If I’d gone after Mia right away, if I
didn’t let her out of my sight, if I paid more attention... everything would be
different.
That evening changed a lot of people’s lives.
Blair’s included. At least she keeps swearing it was an eye-opener. I’m
not buying her remorse, and I’m not buying those meaningless sorrys she’s
spewed for months. Granted, she hasn’t done anything hurtful since then,
but it doesn’t mean I’ll forget her sins.
“You want something to drink?” I ask when she sits, bouncing River
on her knee.
“Tea if you’ve got any.”
I nod, grateful for a five-minute escape.
My whole body is crawling now she’s close. I don’t want her here, but
kicking her out equals upsetting my nephew, and I love him more than I
hate her.
Taking my sweet time with the tea, I glance over my shoulder
whenever River coos or giggles. He’s grinning at Blair, eyes big, round, and
sparkling.
Kids are amazing. Carefree, innocent. They don’t judge or overthink.
They take the world as they see it and trust their gut when it comes to
people, the survival instinct helping them along.
It’s painful to think that, one day, River will grow up. He’ll lose his
innocence. He’ll see the world for the fucking shitshow it is.
I steal glances at Blair, too, racking my brain. She’s a year younger
than me, but I’ve known her since she was five. We went to the same
schools, and Blair’s pompous, spotlight-loving personality made her less
easily overlooked than Mia.
While I didn’t notice Mia until high school, I sure noticed Blair. Spoilt,
arrogant, rich bitch. The mean girl, always on top of the food chain,
surrounded by worshippers, both boys and girls.
 That’s not the same girl who’s sitting on my couch, playing peek-a-boo
with River, whose ecstatic screams pierce my eardrums. This girl is
different, somehow.
I can’t put my finger on what changed. I don’t think it’s her smile. I’ve
seen that a thousand times.
Maybe it’s her clothes. She’s not one false move away from her dress
accidentally rolling up to flash half the student body. At some point, the
guys made daily bets: what color thong is Blair wearing today?
Black, usually. Sometimes red. Never white.
“You got kids in your family?” I ask, setting the cup on a tall side table
far from River’s reach.
My tone’s frosty enough to freeze an ocean, but I ask because I can’t
deal with awkward silence.
“Not yet. Soon, though. My cousin is due in October.”
“Boy or girl?” Kids seem the safest topic, given the situation.
I don’t want us to talk, but it’s not as challenging as I imagined since
she seems the polar opposite of the Blair I’m used to.
“A girl. You don’t have any nieces yet, right?”
“Not for the lack of Logan’s praying. I’m pretty sure he’s ready to sell
his soul for a daughter.” Maybe you can hook him up? I’m sure you and the
devil are besties.
Blair shifts her arm, circling River’s back so he’s safe in her lap, then
covers her eyes with the other hand, playing peek-a-boo again. “Are they
planning another baby soon?”
“Not that soon. Cassidy barely had time to breathe between Eli and
Noah. We had a good chat with Logan about giving her a break before
knocking her up again.”
“I bet she could use a year off.”
Every sentence Blair speaks lacks her usual superior confidence. Her
voice quakes at the edges—something I’ve never heard—and I can see her
trembling, as if she’s trying to hide that she’s afraid to be in the room with
me.
“That’s the problem,” I say, purposely losing the disdain from my tone.
It works only because I face this unsure-of-herself girl and not Blair the
bitch. “She’s as baby-crazed as Logan but doesn’t want to be pregnant at
their wedding. Once that’s out of the way, I expect another pregnancy
announcement by the end of the year.”
 Just like that, the topic changes from kids to the upcoming wedding,
and somehow, the conversation flows without a hitch, question after
question for over an hour. A few times, she looks ready to start apologizing
or explaining the past, but she pinches her lips, gently shaking her head as if
she doesn’t think the moment’s right.
It isn’t. Not just because River’s here, but mainly because I don’t give
a shit about her excuses. Nothing she could say would change what I think
of her.
Nothing.
At some point, River crawls further over her until his head rests
against her shoulder and he nods off.
“I think you’ll be fine for a while,” she whispers, gently stroking his
back. “Where do you want him?”
“Stroller,” I say, wheeling it closer. “He moves in his sleep too much to
leave him on the couch. He’d end up face-planting the carpet.”
“Better safe than sorry.” She gently transfers River from her arms to
the stroller, then covers him with a fluffy blanket. “Feel free to knock on
my door if he wakes up.”
I won’t.
Blair initiated every interaction between us since we moved into the
building, and that won’t change. Still, I suddenly find myself out of rude
comments, and when my lips part, I sound far from hateful.
“I bet you’ll hear him first.”
“I bet I will.”
I hold the door open, watching her cross the corridor. “Blair?”
She turns, worrying her bottom lip, probably expecting something
nasty because, save for tonight, that’s all I’ve been to her for a long time.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Those blue eyes give a tiny spark, and an uncertain smile twists her
lips. Her whole face lights up, her features prettier than ever before.
I don’t like what it does to me, that smile.
I’d much prefer my dick turning hard since there’s not much I can do
to control that brainless organ. But my dick’s been up the entire time she sat
in my condo, and now, on top of that inconvenience, I feel like someone
took a baseball bat to the back of my head.
“Thank you for letting me help.”
OceanofPDF.com
SEVEN
Cody
THE NEIGHBORHOOD IS ONE OF THE FANCIER ONES, not far
from Nico’s house. I’ve been here a few times, but it’s been a while.
Brandon Price is only throwing the graduation party because, just before he
took Mia to Europe, Nico categorically declined my, Conor, and Colt’s
pleas to throw the party in his garden.
I drive past the line of cars adorning the curbs and enter the driveway
of Brandon’s villa.
Well, his parents’ villa, Brandon’s not moving out until he returns from
his around-the-world trip next year.
Large, modern villas, ostentatious cars, and immaculate lawns as far as
the eye can see—feels familiar.
People crowd the place like they did Nico’s driveway whenever we
threw a party. It looked different while we were hosting and purposely
overlooking the mayhem. Now, seeing the thick crowd flocking toward the
back garden, I’m surprised Nico ever let us throw any parties.
In our defense, at least we didn’t let people roam the house. There’s no
such rule here.
I step onto the gravel, lifting my head when someone calls my name.
Justin hangs out the top floor window with Finn, red cups in hand.
“Where are the other two?” Justin hollers.
“Colt’s on his way, and Conor’s getting here later,” I say, fetching a
case of Corona from the trunk.
I’m not a fan of the beer Brandon imports for his bangers, so I came
prepared.
“Cody!” Mikaela yells, waving me over from the front lawn where
she’s loitering with her friends.
She took the cheerleading captain position last year after Blair got
removed by a majority vote.
“You look like you’ve had one too many already,” I say, heading over.
“You need coffee.”
 “You’re such a buzzkill sometimes, babe. Loosen up. It’s your last
college party ever!”
“Which is why I want to remember it, not spend the evening napping
on the pool lounger.”
She sticks her tongue out because that’s precisely what happened to
her at Halloween. She fell asleep before ten o’clock.
“Do me a favor tonight,” I say, tossing my arm over her shoulders to
tug her closer. “Don’t take any pills, okay?”
She pouts, playfully pushing me away. “What did I say? Buzzkill!
Seriously, Cody, why so tense? You should loosen up a bit, babe. Wanna
hand?” She wags her eyebrows, a cheeky smile lighting up her face.
I smack her ass hard enough to sting. “Behave. Toby would have my
balls if he heard that.”
“Why yours? I’m coming on to you here.”
“He’d find a way to lay the blame on me, don’t you worry.”
Mikaela is Nico’s best friend’s little sister, and after Toby picked her
unconscious ass up from one too many frat parties, he asked me, Conor, and
Colt to watch her.
It’s not easy. She’s an unattainable wild cookie. Nothing like Mia.
Looking after Mia was a breeze compared to this. Thankfully, our role ends
tonight but Mikaela’s got another year before she graduates.
I bet Toby’s already scouting another babysitter. Ever since he became
a father, he’s extended the role to Mikaela as well as his actual kid, even
though she’s not one anymore.
“You know where to find me if you change your mind,” she chirps,
kissing my cheek.
I leave it without a comment. It’s all a harmless joke, anyway. Mikaela
has her eyes on a different prize, but she enjoys the banter and I’d be lying
if I said I didn’t.
Leaving her there, surrounded by a veil of friends, I walk up to the
wide-open front door, pretending I can’t see the freshman pushing his hand
under a girl’s skirt a foot to my left. I wouldn’t ignore it if she showed any
signs of distress, but she’s not opposing. Quite the opposite. Her fingers are
tightly clasped around the bulge in his jeans.
Nothing new. Scenes like this are the bread and butter of college
parties. At least all those I’ve ever been to.
 More people fill the entryway, kitchen, and living room, the place
bursting at the seams. Kelly-Ann dances on a table, a guy I don’t recognize
grinding behind her, groping her boobs. She takes a swig straight from a
bottle of vodka, a loud cheer ripping through the crowd when the guy spins
her around and shoves his tongue down her throat.
That girl is all about the show. She may look hammered after a few
sips but she’s got a real high alcohol tolerance.
I make my way further into the house, greeting the throng of familiar
faces. Brandon’s sprawled on a large, snow-white sofa in the secondary
living area that overlooks a massive pool in the garden.
Two babes hang on his arms, one grinding against his side. I don’t
know either, but they look young enough to have freshly graduated high
school.
I cast a quick glance around, searching for Blair, still unsure whether I
want her here or not. I’ve not heard her leave her condo today, but that
doesn’t mean she didn’t. It’s not like I press my ear to the door all day,
tracking her every move.
“Cody!” Brandon booms, grinning as he pushes the chicks aside. “Shit,
man. I half thought you weren’t going to show.” He glances at the case of
beer I’m holding, two wrinkles denting his big forehead. “You brought
beer? There’s plenty of that here, man. Corona included. I know you don’t
drink the imported stuff I like.” He summons his minions with a flick of his
wrists before grabbing the case.
A second later, I’ve got an ice-cold bottle in hand, and Brandon’s
pulling me into an armchair, his face twisted into an uncertain look.
“Listen, we gotta talk about Blair. I know she lives across the hall from
you.” He falls silent as if waiting for permission to continue his monologue.
I expected this conversation, so I urge him on.
“I know I’ve got no right to ask a favor, but...” He rakes his fingers
through his gelled-up hair, “...can you leave her be? She’s dealing with
enough shit. She doesn’t need you or your brothers making things worse.”
I watch him, my teeth clashing behind my lips. Blair and Brandon
grew thick as thieves this past year. I always thought they were just fuck
buddies. Rumors have been flying around since she was a freshman that
Blair was in love with him, dreaming of a relationship, and he’s kept her
close, enjoying easy pussy.
 Convenient—that’s what everyone called their weird relationship. It
made sense, but since last year, or rather—since Brandon started earning his
place back in our circle—I saw their relationship in a brighter light. The
way he defends her paints a different picture than casual sex.
At some point, I noticed the protectiveness, the worry in his eyes
whenever I caught him looking at her. It reminded me a lot of what my
brothers look like whenever they watch Mia.
It’s safe to assume I sport the same look.
While I don’t rule out the sex-only relationship between Blair and
Brandon, since neither dismissed the rumors, I think there’s more there.
They’re friends. Very close friends. Whether sex is on the table, I don’t
know, but there’s definitely mutual respect.
The fact he’s talking to me about her now proves the point. He’ll be
traveling the world in less than a month, but he’s making sure Blair’s
covered.
He knows that of all the Hayes, I hate her most. He also knows I’ve
not fully forgiven him for what happened to Mia, yet he boldly risks pissing
me off to make sure I keep my hostility toward Blair on a leash.
I did a pretty damn good job of that while she played with my nephew
last weekend. I even said hey when we were both leaving the building on
Wednesday. I don’t see how tonight or any other day should be different.
I’m the bigger person, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make people aware
of that.
Squeezing his neck, Brandon continues, sensing he won’t be getting
any words from me on the subject of Blair Fitzpatrick. “You must’ve said
something if she decided not to show up today. She promised she’d be
here.” He stares in contemplation at the floor before peering up at me. “I
want her here.”
“It’s your party. I don’t decide who you invite.”
“Promise you won’t storm out if she comes.”
A scoff leaves my lips. “Stop acting stupid, Brandon. I’m not a fucking
drama queen.”
He pushes all air from his lungs, his shoulders slumping in relief.
“Alright, good. You think you could keep an eye on this place while I get
her?”
I scan the thickening, drunken crowd. “Can I kick out anyone who gets
on my nerves?”
 “Anyone but Blair,” he confirms, rising to his feet. “I shouldn’t be
long.”
He pats my shoulder and walks away, leaving me in charge of
babysitting his guests. Thankfully Colt arrives ten minutes later with our
little sister, her excitement palpable as she stamps a kiss on my cheek
before beelining for the garden.
“Alright, alright!” Justin booms, entering the living room. “We’ll play
a game. Remember our very first college party?” he asks Colt and me as he
plops down on the couch. “That game was fun.”
“You mean the R-rated seven minutes in heaven?” Colt scoffs. “I think
we’re a bit too old to play that now, man.”
Justin’s smile fades, then returns brighter when Finn slams a glass
salad bowl on the table.
“We’re playing. With or without you.” He takes his watch off, settling
it in the bowl.
Justin does the same, and within minutes, at least thirty watches are
added. We were fresh out of high school last time we played this. While a
quick fuck with a random girl in the closet sounded fun back then, it doesn’t
now.
I know most girls from college now. There’s a lot I wouldn’t mind
getting hot and bothered with, but just as many I’d never touch.
“I’m out,” I say, closing my palm over my watch so Justin can’t snatch
it off. “You have fun, though.”
When I’m in the mood for sex, I choose the girl instead of leaving it to
fate. Besides, I’m definitely not in the mood after my earlier encounter with
Ana. One stalker is quite enough.
She stopped by again like she has done every day since she found out
where I live. I stopped answering her calls and texts, leaving her standing
outside all week. But today was different... she got inside the building and
knocked on my door.
Massaging my temples, I push the memory of our conversation aside. I
yelled...
I fucking hate yelling at women, but Ana left me no choice.
Needing a distraction, I head to the kitchen for two more Coronas. By
the time I’m back, Conor’s there with his girl, and Colt’s missing his watch.
“Come on, Cody.” He points at the bowl. “This is our last night of
stupidity. Come Monday, we’re no longer students. Life starts. What have
you got to lose?”
My lips part, but words don’t come because he’s right. I have nothing
to lose, and it’s not like I never fucked a girl I barely know. Maybe a quick
deed will help me work out the frustration seizing my muscles.
With a deep, defeated sigh, I pass him one beer, then flick my watch
off, adding it to the pile.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Finn yells, handing Vivienne the
bowl. “Mix it up a bit, will you?”
She grins, elbowing Conor. “Give me your watch.”
He cocks an eyebrow, but like a good boy, he obeys, only placing his
on top after she’s mixed the others.
“I pick first,” she announces, snatching Conor’s TAG Hauer off the
pile with a cheeky smile. “Now what?”
Finn cackles beside us. “Now you have seven minutes to fuck in
Brandon’s coat closet.”
At this point, I think she’ll back out, but to my surprise, she grabs
Conor’s hand and follows Justin to the closet by the main entrance.
“Someone time them!” Colt shouts.
“Okay!” Finn calls over the music pumping in the garden and the
excited chatter around us. “Girls, if you wanna play, step out of the crowd.”
At least twenty rush forward. Some sober, some tipsy, some barely
holding their weight—those won’t be allowed to play. No way anyone’s
touching a girl too drunk to know what she’s consenting to.
Not after what happened to Mia last year.
The whole campus saw the video, and not a single girl has been
inappropriately touched since. Too bad it took Mia getting hurt for some of
those fuckers to stop thinking with their dicks.
“What’s going on?” Brandon asks, arriving with Blair.
My whole body immediately stiffens.
Now this girl... this girl I’ve known my whole life. I have no idea who
the girl playing peek-a-boo with my nephew was, but it wasn’t the Blair I
know. It was an act, a façade now entirely ripped away. She’s back to her
usual slutty, bitchy self.
It’s a relief if I’m honest. The uncertain, cute-tee-and-jeans-wearing
Blair has been horning into my thoughts way too often this past week.
Technically, she’s showing less than she usually does at these kind of
parties. Her boobs normally spill from the flimsy confinement of a deep
cleavage dress, but tonight, there’s none of that. Her dress is a long-sleeved
turtleneck, so her boobs aren’t on display. Technically.
In practice, the gold, shimmering scrap is so damn short her sky-high
legs are bare, the hem an inch over her butt. It’s so damn tight I can count
her fucking ribs.
How a girl so thin—even though she gained weight lately—can sport
that chest is a mystery. Her boobs aren’t big. Quite small, actually, but so
perky and perfectly round I could spend hours lost between them, I swear.
She sits opposite me, beside Brandon, and once our eyes lock, I’m
fucking glowing.
My skin’s itching.
My mind’s reeling.
God, I fucking hate this girl.
But my dick doesn’t. It never did.
A twinge of self-consciousness passes through her, evident by the little
shudder in her shoulders. Something like hurt clouds her face before she
marshals it, nonchalantly turning her head the other way.
Good job riling me up at the start.
I wish this was my party so I could show her the door like I did on
Halloween.
Brandon’s burning gaze idles between us as he swallows hard, torn
between loyalty and ass-kissing.
My fingers tighten around the neck of my beer. Like I said, I’m the
bigger person, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make everyone aware, so
instead of storming out like Brandon predicted, and like I’m dying to, I
meet his unblinking gaze.
“You want in?” I motion toward the bowl.
Relief shines in his eyes before a smile widens his face. “Seven
minutes? Fuck yes!”
“Couple number one is already getting lucky in the closet,” Colt says,
draining half his beer. “About done now, too, so get this moving along,
Finn.”
“Alright!” Finn jumps to his feet, studying the waiting girls.
“Remember the rules! No whining, no quitting, no swaps. You get who you
pick! If you’re not willing to take the risk, step back.” He stares down the
guys next, with the same conviction in his eyes. “Same goes for all of you.
Anyone who breaks the rules gets a bottle of Patrón and won’t leave until
it’s empty.”
“Oh, shut up already,” Mikaela chuckles, stepping out of the line. “I’m
drawing first.” She closes her eyes, tilts her head back, and rummages
through the watches, pulling out a silver one on a blue suede strap.
A guy steps in—Mick Harris—his smile brighter than a camera flash
as he takes Mikaela’s hand, leading her out of the room. Good job Toby
can’t see this, or he’d fuck up every person in the vicinity.
I’m supposed to keep the girl safe, but who she lets between her legs is
none of my goddamn business, so I stay put.
Conor returns with his Little Bee a moment later, a satisfied gleam in
her eyes, his dick hard in his pants. I bet a hundred they’ll be out the door
within thirty minutes since he obviously got her off and saved his load for
later.
The bowl empties slowly. Finn approaches another girl once the last
couple returns, and I’m hoping my watch is next so I can be done before the
closet becomes a biohazard.
“You want another beer?” I ask Colt, setting my empty bottle aside.
“I’ll go grab a smoke, too. You coming?”
“I don’t think so,” he says, motioning his chin at Anastasia, who holds
his watch between two fingers.
They had a casual thing going until she fell in love with some doctor
around Christmas time. The grin splitting her pretty face as she beckons
Colt with her long, manicured finger says it didn’t last.
“At least you know what you’re getting yourself into,” I say, squeezing
his shoulder.
“It’s been a while. Maybe she learned something new.”
“One can hope.”
I rise to my feet in sync with him, but we go our separate ways as I
navigate outside, where most of the party is happening. Six stands behind
his console on a makeshift stage by the pool playing an original song he
recorded with Mia last month.
At least two hundred people dance, make out, and drink in smaller and
larger groups. Some seniors lurk in the shadows, either getting high, ogling
the topless girls playing volleyball in the pool, or both. Taking a moment to
enjoy this last night of irresponsibility, I pull a cigarette packet from my
back pocket, light one, and lean against the wall, watching the crowd.
 Nothing will be the same come Monday. My best years are over and
the real work begins.
The real life.
While part of me can’t believe I’m no longer a student, a bigger part is
glad it’s over. Maybe I’d have a different outlook on life if I hadn’t watched
my brothers starting families these last few years. The happiness and bliss
they all share.
Maybe I wouldn’t feel like I’m missing out.
“Hey, hey,” Rose chirps, materializing out of nowhere to lean against
the wall beside me. “Having fun?”
“Can’t complain. You? How many of those have you had?” I point at
the red solo cup she’s clutching with both hands.
“Just three, Dad. Tastes like water.”
I mess up her hair. “You know I’m the last one to nag. Just checking if
I should haul your ass back to my place later and leave a bucket by the
bed.”
“Is that an invitation?” She elbows my ribs. “I wouldn’t mind crashing
at your place tonight. I was staying with Conor and Vee, but they need more
than seven minutes. I didn’t pack my earplugs, and I bet they’ll be at it as
soon as we step through the door.”
“Yeah, better if you stay with me. I’ll tell Conor before his balls turn
blue.”
She chuckles, tiptoeing to kiss my cheek. “Thank you. If I’m not too
hungover, I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Deal. Go have fun. Let me know when you’re ready to head back.”
With a tight nod, she crosses the lawn, joining her friends, and I go
back inside, grabbing three bottles of Corona while passing through the
kitchen.

OceanofPDF.com
EIGHT
Blair
“I DON'T WANT TO PLAY,” I tell Brandon when he sets the bowl in
my lap for the third time, pleading. “Take it away.”
“Oh, come on, loosen up. Everyone’s playing, babe.”
“Everyone but me.” I squeeze my wine glass, tipping back the last of
it.
“What’s wrong, Blair?” Mikaela asks, arms folded, eyes drilling into
mine. “You’re too good for a bit of fun? Better than all of us? Don’t be such
a buzzkill. Grab a watch, and we’ll go dancing when you’re done.”
Peer pressure at its finest.
I shouldn’t give in, but neither Kelly-Ann, Mikaela, nor a single other
girl said a word to me since I arrived. That’s how influential the triplets are.
Their mere presence reverts me to the public enemy chair. Besides Brandon,
Justin, and maybe Finn, no one will risk speaking to me. They’re too
worried they’d get on the wrong side of the Hayes brothers.
It’s scary how much power a surname holds. How much respect it
evokes.
“Deal or no deal?” Kelly-Ann clips expectantly, arms akimbo, brown
irises burning into my blue ones.
It’s stupid, but I consider playing. Life is so fucking lonely without
friends. I still have a year in college... I don’t want to spend it alone.
They’re throwing me a bone, readmitting me to their group if I play like
everyone else. If only for one night.
This past year was torture, even though Brandon kept me company.
Now he’s not just graduating, he’s leaving Newport to travel, and I’ll be
lonelier than ever.
“Forget it,” Mikaela huffs. “She won’t do it.”
She starts backing away, and the girls follow, leaving me at a table full
of guys who only tolerate me because of Brandon.
My guts threaten mutiny.
My throat constricts.
 Alone reverberates inside my head, summoning the bitter guilt that’s
plagued me for months. I only got a small taste of loneliness, but it was
enough to break me...
Mia spent her whole life without friends until the triplets found her. All
because of me and... Jake.
Loneliness is the least I deserve, but I can’t stand it.
Sucking in a harsh breath when Mikaela shoves the bowl into Finn’s
chest, I cave. “Give it here.” The words are out. Too late to reconsider
despite the heavy weight settling in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll play.”
A chorus of ohs and ahs fills the air as the girls turn around, applying
their brakes when Finn holds the bowl out with a knowing grin.
“Eyes closed,” he reminds.
Pinching my lips together, I do as instructed and dip my hand into the
bowl, swirling the watches until my fingers brush a leather strap with three
rows of tiny holes along the whole length.
I close my fingers, pull it out, then open my palm. It’s a nice watch.
Looks brand new. No scratches on the face, the strap stiff and smooth.
“Fuck,” Brandon snaps beside me.
I turn, but instead of looking at Brandon, my eyes move further,
higher, and find Cody in the doorway, glaring at the watch I’m holding, his
jaw ticking dangerously.
Oh no... no, no, no. My heart pounds in my chest. A cold slither travels
down my spine, and blood whooshes in my ears.
This is not happening...
It’s bad enough I caved under pressure. What the hell was I thinking?
No matter how fine I tell myself I am, I don’t have the balls to let someone
feel me up in the closet.
But I didn’t think about the reality of participating. I focused solely on
winning my friends back.
“Fuck indeed,” Colt agrees, a humorless chuckle falling from his lips.
He sits in a wing chair, his hair messy after seven minutes in the closet with
Anastasia.
“Whose watch is it?” someone shouts from the crowd.
“Cody’s,” Finn supplies. Uncertainty paints his face, but since no one
is exempt, he plucks the courage to remind Cody of the rules. “Big boy
pants, man. No swapping, no whining. Hate-fucks are awesome.”
 The image of Cody’s big hands holding my hips as he thrusts into me
from behind, pinning me against the wall, is the last thing I need, but my
mind floods with more, fashioning a short, looped erotic clip.
His calloused fingers cuffing my wrists.
His warm breath in my ear.
That mountain of a body pressing against me. The sound it would
make, slapping into mine after pulling back... Looks like there is someone
I’d allow to grope me in the closet.
Slowly, Cody pushes away from the doorframe, his face unreadable.
“Conor,” he says, not gracing him with a look as he hands Colt a beer.
Conor jumps to his feet, disappearing out of view, his steps measured
like a man on a mission. Apparently, he understood exactly what Cody
wants. The triplets have this nonverbal way of communicating I’ve always
found fascinating.
I know why Cody hates me. I do. I hate myself more, but the disdain in
his eyes as they lock with mine, cuts me deeper than I care to admit.
Regardless of the consequences, he won’t lock himself in the closet
with me. He’d rather fuck the ugliest girl on the planet than poke me with a
six foot pole, and that... it hurts.
My high school crush has been regaining momentum. It’s been
growing faster since he allowed me inside his condo last week. He even
visibly relaxed after half an hour of conversation.
I took it as a victory, a huge step away from the hatred. Now it feels
like I took ten steps back.
The room is so quiet... no one speaks, and if not for the music pumping
outside, you’d hear a pin drop as everyone’s eyes flicker between Cody and
me.
“Not happening,” he seethes, holding his hand out, captivating me with
a venomous stare. “My watch.”
I pass it over, careful not to brush his palm with my fingers, or I’m
sure I’ll burst into flames. Humiliation warms my cheeks, spreading lower.
Inhaling a calming breath, I recenter myself, activating defensive
mode, as I tilt my chin up. “Not even if you were the last man on earth.”
Loud boos fill the room, broken up by excited howling.
“Looks like you two are getting shitfaced tonight,” Justin hollers as
Conor slams a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses on the table. “You
don’t leave until this is empty.”
 My palms grow damp. I’m not a big drinker. I enjoy wine, but nothing
stronger, and the bottle of Patrón between us is the biggest I’ve ever seen.
“How much is in there?” I whisper to Brandon, my stomach churning.
Bile leaps in my throat even though I haven’t had a single shot yet.
I should’ve eaten something before coming over.
“Too much for you to handle half,” he says, running a hand down my
back. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you in bed when you pass out. You’re staying
with me tonight.”
That’s not much consolation. I never got black-out drunk and don’t
want to start now.
“Justin, make sure they’re drinking, and...” Finn glances around the
room, extending the bowl of watches toward the girls. “Who’s next?”
A blonde I don’t recognize steps up, but I don’t pay attention to her
watch-picking. My eyes are on Justin, who pours us the first shots.
“Lemons?” I ask, straightening my spine. “Salt?”
“Coming up,” Kelly-Ann chirps, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Girl,
you’re getting trashed! This’ll be fun!”
I very much doubt that, but Mikaela sitting beside me makes me feel
better, until she glances at Cody, every seductive trick she knows in full use.
She’s into him.
Everyone’s into him, Colt, and Conor. Since the latter now has a
girlfriend, most girls infatuated with him turned their attention to Colt and
Cody. They could snap their fingers and a harem of willing girls would
materialize at their feet.
“Had I known we’d be playing this game, I would’ve memorized your
watch, babe.”
Conor lets out a short laugh. “Your brother would cut off his dick if it
got anywhere near you, Mikaela.”
“I think he’d rather it was Cody’s dick than say... Brandon or Justin’s.”
“Wouldn’t touch you if you begged,” Brandon fires back. “You’re too
catty for me, sweetheart.”
“Take Rose home with you,” Cody tells Colt, ignoring the ongoing
exchange. “I told her she could stay with me tonight.”
“She’s staying with us,” Vivienne says, sitting in Conor’s lap, his
fingers doodling over her thigh.
That’s another thing all Hayes have in common apart from good looks
—their love language. They’re incredibly clingy with their girls, always
touching, kissing, hugging...
“Better she doesn’t hear you fucking in the next room,” Colt chuckles,
messing up Vivienne’s hair before Conor immediately corrects it. “I’ll take
Rose, but not before you’re done here, Cody. I have a feeling you’ll need to
be carried out.”
“And whose fucking fault is that?” Cody snaps, grabbing a lemon slice
from Kelly-Ann before she’s even set the plate on the table. “Let’s get this
shitshow on the road.”
With that, he tips his head back, swallowing the tequila, and I follow
his lead. I don’t know what would happen if we refused to drink. We won’t,
so there’s little point in wondering. Cody will drink because his word is
sacred, and I because bailing would give my friends more ammunition.
Justin pours another round, then another, but the bottle remains
stubbornly full.
We’ve barely put a dent in, and I’m already tipsy. The shot glasses are
big, Justin pours to the brim, and the tempo doesn’t help. It’s only been
fifteen minutes.
Instead of hitting the mellow, blissful tipsy, I hit the other kind: tense,
wary, scary, but the girls stay close. Their audible support is the most I’ve
had from them in months, so I cling to them, downing shot after shot.
If a bottle of Patrón is what it takes to truly earn my friends back, then
a bottle of Patrón it is.
Once it’s Justin’s turn to fuck someone in the closet, Cody takes over
as our bartender.
My eyes snap to him when after filling his shot to the brim, he pours
me half as much. Without using any words, he tells me to keep my mouth
shut. At least, I think that’s what his stern look means.
I give him a small thankful nod, a warm feeling spreading through my
veins.
He’s being kind.
Toward me.
It might not be much, but knowing he’s willingly cheating, lowering
my doses, is another huge step forward. While no one pays us attention, I
mouth thank you, slapping the tequila at the back of my throat.
We keep going. Shot after shot at a steady pace. Brandon makes me
wash down the alcohol with water and stuffs me with absorbent snacks, but
by the tenth shot, I’m past my limit.
 I feel sick. Dizzy. The room is spinning, and I see double when my
eyes land on Cody. He’s not as drunk even though he drank almost twice as
much. No wonder. He’s twice my size at least, that huge tank-like body of
his soaking up the alcohol much better than mine.
I used to think Nico was the broadest, largest Hayes and, while Nico is
taller, Cody’s gym routine ensures his biceps put Nico’s to shame. They’re
huge. Just like his boots...
A warm flush heats my cheeks, followed by a tiny giggle tearing from
my chest. If I have more tequila, I’ll pass out, puke, or land in ER with
alcohol poisoning.
Or... I’ll make a pass at Cody.
My tiny giggle has his eyes snapping to my mouth, and that warm
flush spreads through me, giving me a fever.
“Come on, girl!” Kelly-Ann squeezes my shoulders, snapping me out
of my lustful fog. “You can do it! You’re halfway through. Just a bit more.”
The room kaleidoscopes as she shakes me from left to right. “I don’t
think—”
“No way,” she clips, morphing from friendly to judgmental. “You had
a choice. Fuck Cody or drink tequila. You chose tequila, so suck it up.”
“He chose,” I hiccup. “I didn’t choose anything.”
Cody’s gaze remains burning into my eyes once Kelly-Ann stops
rocking me, and the blurriness clears. There’s something in his stare that
electrifies my entire body. The abyss of his black pupils melts me from the
inside out. I’m not far off crawling to him under the table.
At this point, I’d let Cody hate-fuck me whichever way he pleased.
Closet, bed, table, I don’t care, as long as it means no more drinking. I’m
about to tell him, but when I blink, he’s gone. He probably went out for a
smoke.
My head pounds, my stomach so full of Patrón I feel it sloshing back
up to my throat, the vile taste coating my tongue.
I squint, searching for Finn and the bowl of watches. He’s in the
corner, chatting with Justin.
“Can I pick again?” I ask Brandon, as he comes back from his seven
minutes. “I can’t drink anymore. I’ll pass out.”
“You want to play? You’re drunk, babe. You’re not thinking straight.”
“I won’t be thinking at all if I keep drinking,” I say, doing my utmost
not to slur. “Please, let me play. I promise I’m fine. Not that drunk.”
 “Yeah, she’s a-okay, babe,” Mikaela purrs in Brandon’s ear. “I’ve seen
her drunk, and this isn’t it. Let her play. She’ll be better off getting an
orgasm than alcohol poisoning.”
Kelly-Ann nods in agreement, but Brandon doesn’t look entirely
convinced. It takes a few more lines of encouragement from the girls for
him to check with me again, his gaze unfocused. I think he’s as drunk as I
am.
That’s good. Works in my favor.
“You’re sure?” He trades a glance with Justin when I nod, and one
short, nonverbal conversation later, Finn approaches, holding the bowl out.
I grab the first watch and haul myself up as Alan Turner steps out of
the crowd. I think he’s grinning, but the black spots dancing before my eyes
make it hard to tell.
The alcohol rushes straight to my head, every step making me feel
twice as drunk.
A warm hand clasps my upper arm, the hold firm but gentle as Alan
leads me to the closet. My feet—no longer in heels—drag across the floor. I
step in something wet, then something sharp, the pain only registering for a
fleeting second before everything goes dark.

OceanofPDF.com
NINE
Cody
I SHOULD’VE FUCKED HER.
I wanted to fuck her. Why wouldn’t I? She’s pretty. Gorgeous,
spellbinding, and... Finn had a point. Hate-fucks are great, but I wouldn’t be
able to look in the mirror tomorrow if I touched Blair.
I wouldn’t be able to look Mia in the eye. Remember the girl who
made you cry a thousand times, Bug? I fucked her.
Yeah, not happening, even though getting my dick wet would’ve been
so much better than throwing up behind the house every time I head out for
a cigarette.
No, I’m not that drunk. I’m just being smart about this, emptying my
stomach every three to four shots means I won’t get shitfaced before the
end of the bottle.
It’s something Shawn told me years ago—whenever he had too much
to drink at a party, he shoved two fingers down his throat when he got
home, ejected the alcohol, and woke up fresh as a daisy the next morning.
I think I’d rather suffer a hangover than keep on retching into the
bushes with cramping stomach muscles though.
Fuck this. I’m done.
I’m going home.
College is over. If this is how my last night of recklessness is supposed
to go, I say to hell with that.
Back in high school, I never turned down a challenge. We all do stupid
shit as teenagers. It was fun back then, but I feel nothing more than a fool
right now.
So what if I refuse to drink more?
The guys will holler for a while, then get over themselves by
tomorrow. Even if they don’t? Who fucking cares?
I won’t see most of those people again after tonight.
With the resolution to flip them a bird, I head inside, pausing in the
living room doorway. Colt’s not there. Neither is my drinking buddy but
Kelly-Ann’s giggling in Brandon’s lap, and Mikaela’s about to start
stripping. I should deal with her, but...
One thing at a time. I have myself to deal with first.
“Is she done?” I ask Brandon, motioning my chin to where Blair sat a
moment ago.
If she bailed first, I’m off the hook. I can head home without telling
my friends to fuck themselves.
“She decided to play,” he explains with a drunken chuckle.
It takes three heartbeats for his words to sink, then they hit like a
bucket of ice-cold water and I’m suddenly sober.
“What?!”
“She picked another watch,” Finn explains like he thinks I didn’t
understand. “She’s in the closet with Alan.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? She’s wasted. What did we say
about touching drunk women?”
“She talked sense. She’s just tipsy, man. She knew what she was
agreeing to. Leave her be. She didn’t want to drink anymore, so either this
or—”
“Or what?!” I boom, getting in his face, my heart racing as the
memory of Mia—not drunk, but drugged—stabs my mind. “Or fucking
what, Finn?”
“Hey, chill out. What the fuck is your problem?”
To be perfectly honest, I don’t know the answer to that question, but a
biblical kind of wrath sweeps me head to toe as I glance around the room at
the many familiar, drunken faces.
This is ridiculous.
What the hell was I thinking?
Am I overreacting or do they need some sense knocking into their
heads?
I get that this is the last hurrah for all seniors. The last college party
ever, time to be stupid, but there’s a line you shouldn’t cross.
Sometime in the past couple of years, I changed. Grew up, and now,
standing in Brandon’s living room, watching people I’ve considered friends
for years, I realize I won’t miss ninety-five percent of them.
I blame my brothers for this sudden maturity.
I’m three months shy of twenty-two. It’s still okay to be reckless, but I
no longer think in those categories.
 I think about the hangover tomorrow and whether I’ll have the strength
to play with my nephews when we go to Mom’s for the monthly get-
together. I think about Cassidy and how she might go into labor any minute,
so it’d be nice to be fucking helpful. I already called dibs on babysitting
Noah while they’re at the hospital.
What if her water breaks tonight? She’s two weeks from her due date,
so it might happen. How the fuck will I help if I’m drunk off my ass?
“Fuck you,” I tell Finn, stomping away.
Blair pops into my head when I spot a freshman manning the coat
closet door, his gaze focused on his phone’s stopwatch. It tells me Alan’s
been in there with Blair less than two minutes.
I shouldn’t give a shit. I should walk straight past the gathering, but I
won’t let the fucker take advantage of Blair when she’s got two glasses of
wine and ten shots of Patrón inside her. Leaving her goes against my basic
instincts.
I hate her with every fiber in me, I swear, but I won’t let that asshole
prey on her.
“Move,” I bark at the kid.
He looks up, scrambling away with a sheepish look. Either he knows
I’m unpredictable or sees it in my eyes. My muscles bunch, a biblical kind
of wrath searing through my veins.
A few sharp gasps fill the air when, rather than coaxing Alan to open
the door, I kick it open.
My temper goes from zero to death row at warp speed. Alan has his
dick out already, one hand clasped tightly around the base as he flinches
away from me, terror in his eyes.
Blair’s on the floor, gold dress bunched to her waist, eyes closed, chest
rising steadily, black panties on display.
She’s unconscious and that motherfucker...
My bones shake. I’m practically fucking levitating with anger. I’ve not
felt this unhinged since I pulled Asher off Mia two years ago. A jigsaw of
reality and memory sends a shockwave through my mind.
“You piece of shit!” I seethe, steering out the first punch.
My elbow falls back, then shoots forth, my clenched fist landing neatly
on target. His nose breaks.
“Cody! What the fuck are you doing?!” Colt booms.
I don’t listen.
 I don’t stop, ramming my fist into Alan’s jaw, clutching the prick’s t-
shirt in my other hand. “She’s fucking unconscious!” I bellow, hauling him
up when he starts slipping from my grasp. “You want to fuck her when she
doesn’t even know what’s happening around her?!”
Another whack to his head, powerful enough to give him a contusion.
“Did you touch her?!” I demand, holding him against the wall, my
fingers squeezing his throat. “Did you fucking touch her?”
He’ll be hospitalized if he did.
“Cody, calm down,” he sputters blood, trying to cough. “I wasn’t
going to fuck her, man, I swear, I—”
“Your dick’s hanging out, man!”
Colt enters the closet and yanks me back hard by the bicep, murder on
his mind as he shoves me out.
I don’t say a word. We could argue all day over which of us has a
shorter fuse, but we’d never reach a consensus. The wrath dancing in his
eyes isn’t for me. It’s aimed at Alan, Finn, Justin, Brandon, and every other
person who watched him lock an unconscious girl in the closet to fuck her.
Colt doesn’t wait for explanations. He unpacks a punch that
undoubtedly loosens a few of Alan’s teeth. “Be fucking glad you’re getting
a kicking instead of handcuffs.”
“Stop! Just stop!” Alan yelps, shielding himself behind his hands. “I
was jerking off! Fuck, man! Come on, you know I’d never touch her this
drunk! She couldn’t drink any more. She needed an out!”
“You can give a girl an out and keep your dick in your pants,” Rose
snaps, stopping at my side. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ve got her
purse.”
I cock an eyebrow, surprised that Rose is helping Blair. After learning
about Mia’s bullying, she conducted her own investigation on campus and
discovered more than she bargained for.
Blair became Rose’s enemy number one, so her assistance is a shock.
Not as much as my own actions, though.
Without thinking, I elbow Colt out of the way, tug Blair’s skirt until it
covers her ass, then haul her into my arms.
I’ve never touched her. Not once since I’ve known her, but now that I
have her safely tucked against me, something shifts inside my chest.
She’s... delicate. Fragile. Weighs nothing at all. A feather in my arms.
Her skin is soft, warm, and smells like coconuts.
 I always considered her tougher. That godawful attitude, sharp, rude
tongue, and sophisticated exterior making her seem more resilient, but now
that I hold her, she feels breakable. So vulnerable I automatically curve her
into me further. Shield her from everyone’s gaze.
“Come on, I’ll drive.” Colt nudges my shoulder. “I only had one beer.”
I step out of the closet, cradling Blair, her pale cheek nuzzled into my
pec. Filling my lungs to the brim, I glance at Rose. “Grab my hoodie, sis.”
She runs to the living room, returning with my hoodie and Brandon in
tow.
“What are you doing?” He’s swaying as he glares at me. “She’s staying
here.”
“No way in hell,” Rose clips, shoving a finger in his chest. “You’re
disgraceful. You should be fucking ashamed.”
“Rose.” Colt takes her arm. “Save your tongue. He won’t remember it
tomorrow.”
“I’m not that drunk,” Brandon opposes, taking hasty steps toward me.
“Blair’s staying here.”
“Take one more step, and you’ll end up like that,” Colt warns, nodding
to Alan in the closet, covered in blood, dick tucked back in his jeans.
“Seriously, man. Don’t fucking test me.”
I don’t wait for another challenge. Turning around, I take Blair outside,
then deposit her into the back seat of Colt’s Mustang. It’s a two-door car, so
it takes effort to arrange us in the back. I mold her small, unconscious frame
into my side, draping my hoodie around her.
“This is not happening,” I mutter when Rose gets in and buckles up.
“It’s all your fault,” I snap as Colt grabs the wheel.
“How is it my fault?” he says.
“Who told me to put my watch in? You did.”
Colt shakes his head, reversing around the people lingering in the
driveway. “How was I supposed to know Blair would pick your watch?”
“Oh fuck off and stay there. It’s your fault.”
Rose laughs first, then Colt, and in the end, I join in.
What a fucking mess.

OceanofPDF.com
TEN
Blair
A LOUD BANG PULLS ME OUT OF SLEEP, cutting through my
groggy mind and falling like a hammer against my skull. Instantly, my head
pounds as if it were a real hammer blow.
The acrid, vile taste of tequila is enough to draw the bile up my throat.
I wince, my mind foggy, my body so heavy it feels like I’m trailing an
anchor.
And I’m not even up yet.
Images flash through my mind, a montage of disjointed memories.
Brandon’s smirking face, Kelly-Ann, or maybe Mikaela, shaking me from
left to right, Cody pouring Patrón. I remember downing it with ease at first,
and then... nothing. A black hole.
Another knock pierces my thoughts, and I panic.
How did I get home?
Did I come back alone?
Did I do something stupid?
I can’t remember, and the dull ache along my temples isn’t helping me
focus. Neither are the shivers shaking my body under the covers, my skin
clammy like I’m dying of the flu. I take a deep breath and slowly open my
eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming through the window.
With the third thunderous knock, I tear myself off the pillow, standing
on unsteady legs, the quick motion sending a sharp pang of pain through
my skull. My stomach churns so hard I think I’ll hurl all over the place.
“I’m coming,” I rasp, my voice distant, the room spinning harder with
every step. “I’m coming,” I try again, but even I can barely hear it.
“It’s open,” I hear Cody say in the hallway. “Go right in. She’s
probably still asleep.”
I groan. I’d rather be left to wallow in my misery alone.
“Shit,” Brandon yelps. “You scared the hell out of me, man. Listen,
I...” He trails off, his words heavy with guilt. “Finn told me what happened
last night. I can’t remember a thing. Thanks for getting her home safely.
How is she?”
 “She was okay when I put her in bed.”
My heart lurches, swelling enough to break a rib, as mortification and
relief wash over me. Cody brought me home.
He took care of me.
I study my shivering hands, frowning when I notice I’m wearing a
hoodie. Cody’s hoodie. It’s soft, warm, and many sizes too big as it falls to
my mid-thighs.
“I shouldn’t have drunk that much,” Brandon mutters.
“No, you shouldn’t have, and you shouldn’t have let Alan lock her in
that fucking closet.”
A flashback hits me. I remember Alan smiling, his watch... his hand
around my waist...
Feeling nauseous, I wrench the door open, staring at Cody across the
hall. He looks like I feel—pale, dark circles under his eyes, and clearly still
feeling the effects of last night’s Patrón.
“I guess she’s up now,” he says, arms folded over his chest. The way
he looks at me sends my pulse racing. “You good?”
The tension between us resumes, more potent than last night. It’s
evolved into a palpable energy, a whip of raw, bright red electric current
coiling us tighter and tighter together.
I shake my head, prompting another jarring ache in my skull. “What
happened?”
“I’ll tell you inside,” Brandon says. “Come on, babe, I’ll make you
breakfast. You look like shit.”
“Knock if you need the other side of the story,” Cody clips. Then he
flicks his eyes to Brandon. “Don’t fucking lie to her.”
It’s not just how he says it—full of warning and threat—but how he
roves my frame, his gaze burning into me like the thrill of a stolen kiss. It’s
a hard-to-read look. It could be anything from concern to anger to desire. I
can’t tell which, but I can hope.
His dark eyes linger where the hem of his hoodie meets my thighs and
a flush creeps up my neck.
Does he want it back?
I tug at the collar to check there’s anything underneath. Thankfully,
there is. The dress is bunched at my waist, but still there. I shove my hands
under the hoodie to readjust the fabric, but Cody cuffs my wrist, kindling a
smoldering fire within me.
 “Don’t,” he says, his voice low and body tense. “Keep it.”
Does he likes how it looks on me, or does he recall dressing me in it
last night? Just as I’m starting to float, an unpleasant realization surfaces,
like a sharp, stinging slap across my cheek.
He doesn’t want the hoodie back because I wore it. Because it touched
me... He’d bin it the moment I’d hand it back.
Another wave of regret, guilt, and hurt twists my stomach, the shame
only amplified by my hangover. This is what Mia must’ve felt when Jake
and I called her cootie Mia. Dirty. Humiliated. Unwanted.
Karma’s finally caught up with me.
I pinch my lips, swallowing the tears. I deserve to feel unwanted,
humiliated, dirty... I deserve much, much worse, but it hurts so much.
Brandon shoulders past me, heading straight for my kitchen. He’s out
of sight, but Cody’s not. I can’t make my vocal cords work. My eyes won’t
meet his burning gaze. All I can do is retreat and close the door...

***

“Better?” Brandon asks after I emerge from the bathroom, showered

and dressed.
He moves around the kitchen with ease, perfectly content playing cook
as he flips eggs and bacon on the stove and pours me a glass of cold orange
juice.
Even when I don’t deserve it, he’s always there for me. Apart from a
very dark time last year when he was too busy. Too busy to hold me when I
cried.
“Tell me what happened last night. I can’t remember anything after the
fifth, maybe sixth shot.”
He dishes out breakfast, and the aroma of sizzling bacon and fried eggs
roils my stomach as I sit at the kitchen island, my hands resting on the cool
marble.
“You don’t?” He pauses the task, narrowing his eyes before finally
adding shit in a whisper tinged with concern.
“Tell me about Alan,” I say, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
“Did he—”
“No,” he interrupts. “I swear, okay? He didn’t touch you.” His
expression turns serious. “I’m sorry, babe. I shouldn’t have let you play, but
you sounded fine, you know? You made sense. You didn’t slur much.”
Relief comes first, quickly replaced by shame and regret. “It’s okay.
It’s not your fault. I should’ve stayed home like I planned all along.” I down
a few vitamin and pain pills, hoping they’ll alleviate the pounding
headache. “So Alan took me to the closet but didn’t touch me?”
Brandon nods. “I spoke to him today. He said you slumped to the floor
as soon as he closed the door... Cody kicked it down a minute later.”
“What? Why?”
“He went for a cigarette before you asked to play, and you weren’t at
the table when he came back. I told him you were with Alan, and he got
pissed.” A small smirk curves his lips. “I’ve seen Cody lose it a few times,
and last night was easily top five. Alan’s got a broken nose and two black
eyes to prove it.”
“He hit him?” I gasp, covering my mouth with a trembling hand. “No
way.”
“He didn’t just hit him, Blair. He made a fucking punching bag out of
his face. Colt stopped him before it got too ugly.”
My head spins. Cody coming to my rescue doesn’t make sense. He
hates me. He could’ve left me there so I’d get exactly what I deserved, but...
he didn’t.
The idea of him caring, even in the slightest, is comforting and
unsettling in equal measure.
“He scooped you off the floor, and when I said you’re staying with me,
he was squared up to break my jaw too.”
I narrow my eyes as he mindlessly spears the food on his plate.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask, sensing something heavy hanging unspoken
in the air.
“Nothing, just...” He trails off, his gaze flickering from me to the
doorway. “Is there anything you want to tell me? You know I won’t judge.”
I don’t like the look on his face. “About what?”
He pushes his plate aside to lean forward. “You and Cody, what else
would I mean? I was drunk last night, but not fucking blind, Blair. I saw
how you squirmed whenever he looked at you. What’s the deal?”
My fork freezes midway to my mouth. “There is no deal. He’s barely
said three sentences to me since I moved in.” That’s not entirely true, but I
won’t tell Brandon about that night with River. It feels personal. A small
secret between us. “Even if I was squirming, it takes two to tango, and you
know damn well Cody wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole.”
“That’s just it... I was drunk, sure, but I know what I saw. Every time I
looked at Cody, his eyes were fixed on you. Every single time, Blair.”
The room feels suffocating as if the walls are closing in. My mind
races with the memory of Cody’s dark eyes tracing my every move and
dropping to my mouth time and time again. I thought I imagined it last
night, but if Brandon saw it...
No. It can’t be. And even if it was, we were both drunk.
It doesn’t mean anything.
Brandon carries on talking about what happened last night, mentioning
Colt and Rose, but my mind swirls around the same question: why?
Why did Cody care what happened to me? Why did he come to my
rescue? Why did he bring me home? Why did he give me his hoodie?
The only person who can give me the answers is right across the hall,
so when Brandon leaves two hours later, I pluck the courage to knock on his
door.
“What did he tell you?” Cody demands after opening the door, his eyes
scanning my face for something.
Annoyance, maybe.
He’s not moving. His towering frame barricades the entrance. “Let me
rephrase that. How pissed off are you with him?”
“Why would I be? It wasn’t his fault. I asked him to let me play
again.”
He furrows his brow. “No way you remember that.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true. Brandon doesn’t lie to me, Cody.” I
meet his eyes, my stomach somersaulting when Brandon’s words come
back.
He made a fucking punching bag out of his face.
“I have a question...” I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the next
words. “Why did you help me?”
His eyes narrow, scrutinizing my face for a second. “What do you
mean why? You’d rather I left you there?”
“No, of course not,” I stammer, feeling stupid. “I’m grateful, but I
don’t understand. You hate me, Cody.” I pause, waiting, but he doesn’t
speak, leaving the ball in my court. “I came to say thank you, so... thank
you.”
 Since he doesn’t say anything back I make to leave. The embarrassing
silence is all the invitation I need. But then he speaks again, his voice low
and measured. “There needs to be balance in the world. We can’t all be
vile.”
That stings. Hell, it hurts. The quick, purposeful once-over he gives me
speaks volumes: he doesn’t mean Alan. He means me. I’m vile.
And he’s not wrong.
I don’t know what to say and can’t understand why he helped me last
night. He hates me so much I can taste it in the air. I have no idea what to
say, so with a nod, I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm, his grip tight,
stopping me in place, the touch of his skin firing electric shocks through my
nerve endings.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says, his voice low, firm, and shaking with
anger. “Brandon should’ve never let you go with Alan.”
There’s so much conviction in his tone I almost let myself believe he
means every word.
“I should’ve stayed home in the first place, so yes, it is my fault.” I
gently shrug him off, despite craving him closer than I already have him. “I
don’t understand why you helped me.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You think hating you means I’d let
some fucker hurt you?”
I don’t see why he wouldn’t. An eye for an eye.
“I deserved it, so—”
His hand grips my jaw so fast I yelp when he backs me against the
opposite wall, towering above me. “Don’t ever say or even think you
deserve to be raped just because you were a bitch your whole life,” he
seethes, tone layered with a hint of darkness. “No one deserves that.”
He looks dangerous. Like he’s on the verge of lashing out, and I’m the
first thing within reach, but there’s a softness in his eyes telling me he’d
never hurt me.
My eyes prickle under the intensity of his gaze. With one look, he
dismantles my defense wall, and I’m coming apart at the seams. My heart
pounds and my mind unleashes its deepest locked-away fantasies, heading
straight for the gutter. How would it feel to be at his mercy? Naked in his
bed. Ready and begging for his touch. Would he be rough or gentle? Would
he take control or let me lead?
 I bite my lip, heat rising to my cheeks. He notices my reaction. His
eyes darken, sending a delicious shudder to my core. He loosens his hand
on my chin, and his thumb traces a slow path along my jawline, making me
melt under his touch.
“You’re letting it define you,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
“You’re letting your mistakes define you, B. Use them to guide you.”
I nod, trying to focus on his words, but all I can think about is how I
want him to keep touching me, to explore my body with those rough hands.
The chemistry crackles in the air, but he’d never cross that line, no matter
how palpable our desire.
A single tear rolls down my cheek, and his eyes follow the movement.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I—”
“You’ve apologized a million times already.” He throws my words
right back at me, his tone no longer soft or consoling but annoyed. “Stop
apologizing. Start noticing the lessons and learn.”
He lets me go. Pushing away from the wall, he leaves me alone,
breathless, and wanting more.
When I find enough strength to make it back into my condo, there’s a
message waiting on my phone. One I desperately didn’t want to receive.

Dad: Early dinner on Friday. New client. Be ready at four. Two braids,
no makeup, red Mugler dress.

And just like that, I know it won’t be like lunch with Mr. Anderson.
His calm demeanor, steady voice, and respectful distance were a far cry
from what I’ll face on Friday. Mr. Anderson was polite. Didn’t touch me.
He was perfectly content talking about art, politics, and every other subject
my father ensures I keep up to date with.
This time, I won’t be so lucky. After years of this, I can judge who I’ll
be conquering based on my father’s instructions. Whoever his newest client
(read: victim) is, he enjoys young women. Too young.
Illegal, hence two braids, no makeup, and the corset-styled red mini
dress. It’s modest at first sight, but the semi-sheer panels and deep scoop
neck make it very inappropriate, even for a woman with my cleavage. My
small boobs look twice the size and almost bounce out with every step.
With a deep sigh, I text him back, before he has a fit.
Me: of course.

OceanofPDF.com
ELEVEN
Cody
I CAN’T SHAKE SUNDAY OUT OF MY HEAD.
Almost a week of replaying the look that crossed Blair’s pretty face
when I pinned her against the wall. The surprise and twinge of arousal in
her deep blue eyes. The softness of her skin. How fucking sad she was and
how quickly that sadness melted away under my touch.
And damn... she looked so fucking good in my hoodie. So damn sexy
with her makeup smudged, hair disheveled, big eyes bright.
I shake off that thought. Girls always look super hot in their
boyfriend’s clothes. Nothing extraordi—
A sudden onset of migraine splits my head in two. Boyfriend? Fuck.
That’s not how I meant it. She just looked good in my hoodie. End of story.
Period. Comma. What-fucking-ever.
The black, soft fabric swished around her thighs, hiding enough skin it
could pass for a dress. A far more modest dress than the one she had on
underneath... yes. Good thinking. That’s why I couldn’t stand the thought of
Blair stripping off my hoodie. Because I’m a gentleman and didn’t want her
flashing her firm butt at Brandon.
God, I’m so full of shit.
I know I’m toeing a line I cannot cross. I imagine things that should
never enter my mind, but the more I fight the visuals, the more frequent
they become. All because of that night when she came over to help with
River. I saw a different side to Blair that night, and got a few more glimpses
during the graduation party.
The uncertainty as she watched me, realizing my watch was in her
small hand. The gratitude when instead of pouring her a full shot, I poured
half.
I can’t stop thinking about how she felt, curled in my arms, when I
carried her out of Brandon’s house. How my temper raged out of control
knowing Alan had her alone in the closet.
Someone’s hands on her body shouldn’t bother me, but the mere idea
of anyone touching her has me running around in fucking circles.
 Sweat trickles down my temples, stinging my eyes as I sprint up the
stairs, heart galloping in my chest. Every muscle in my body screams in
agony, protesting the grueling day of construction work. Last summer’s gig
under Logan’s watchful eye was a cakewalk compared to what I got myself
into now.
I thought managing a team would be easier since I’d have hands on
deck for heavy lifting while I delegate tasks.
Yeah... it doesn’t work like that.
Ninety percent of my team are newbies, clueless greenhorns with no
idea what they’re doing. Logan insists on making me work my way up the
ladder, just like he did.
And I get it.
I’ve had enough handed to me on a silver platter, and my career is
something I want to earn. But I never anticipated how challenging it’d be to
train my team while trying to manage everything else.
I have skilled workers specializing in plastering, tiling, and
bricklaying, but they’re not there to handle the grunt work. That’s the young
guys’ job and most of them are either college dropouts or fresh out of high
school.
As they grapple with the ins and outs of construction work, I hold their
hands at every turn. I work my ass off, teaching as I go. Three months of
hard work with Logan and three years of construction management classes
in college are finally paying off.
I may be young but I can teach these guys a thing or two.
Once they get the hang of things, it’ll get easier. But for now, I’m
drenched in sweat, covered in dirt, and every inch of my body aches. A bath
and a few cold beers have been calling my name for three hours now.
With that goal in mind, I climb the last flight of stairs to my condo. As
soon as I emerge in the corridor, I stride with purpose, key in hand.
And I’m gritting my teeth, pushing down the sudden prickle of
annoyance.
There she is again, like a bad smell that won’t dissipate. The queen of
all things wicked, standing in the way of my peace of mind. I constantly
remind myself that I hate her.
I do. I really do, but I’m also dying to touch her again.
Dying to see how she’d react.
That’s wrong for so many different reasons.
 We’ve exchanged a few casual heys in passing since the party, but
nothing more than that. Any interaction beyond hey would be a mistake.
Still, I wait for her to acknowledge me. An unyielding tightness grips
my throat, irritation mounting.
I’m losing sight of what’s right. I shouldn’t even talk to her, so why
does the lack of that fucking hey drive me up the wall?
Why isn’t she saying it? Have I done something to annoy her? is she
pissed off? Does she expect me to take the lead?
I can’t decipher her thoughts, and the uncertainty gnaws like a
woodworm on the papermill of my mind.
I won’t say hey first. No way.
I fucking won’t.
We’re not friends. We’re not even friendly. I hate her.
With that little reminder, I open my condo just as Blair’s keys jingle to
the ground. Turning to close the door, I find her kneeling on the carpeted
floor, shoulders sagged, a tiny shudder shaking her frame.
My own shoulders square back, tension knotting my guts.
I think she’s—
A whimper slips from her lips, confirming what I already know. The
thought of tears streaming down her face sets my nerves on edge. Her nails
are white as she grips the keys, trying not to drop them again, fighting to
keep herself composed, her hands trembling.
An icy shudder sweeps across my skin: goosebumps. My eyes narrow,
lips fall apart, but... words don’t come. What the hell would I say?
Are you okay?
She’s clearly not, and I don’t give a fuck why. I really don’t. Honest to
God. I don’t.
If that were true, though, I wouldn’t still be here, hand on the handle,
door ajar.
She finally finds the right key and gathers herself off the floor. The red
dress she wears is as inappropriate as Blair herself. Combing her long dark-
brown, almost auburn hair behind her ears, she inhales deeply, pushing the
key into the lock, her movements slow and deliberate.
“Show’s over,” she half whispers, half chokes, and the defeat coating
her words ices my blood. “Goodnight.”
Without a backward glance, she disappears inside and slams the door
shut, the bang knocking me out of my trance. I shut my own door, ignoring
a twinge of guilt.
Maybe I should’ve said something. Maybe I should’ve asked if she
needed help.
Or maybe you should see a shrink.
Maybe I should. Looks like I’m losing the plot here.
Let her cry. She deserves whatever caused her tears.
I fucking hate that girl.
Tossing my keys into a ball on the narrow side table—something I’ve
copied from Nico’s house—I shimmy out of my jacket, hanging it in the
coat closet.
The temperature outside hit eighty degrees today, so not jacket-
wearing weather, but the early morning rain had me jogging back to grab
one as I headed to the site.
I’m not usually one to take a bath, but my muscles burn so badly a
quick soak will do me good. I grab a beer, set up my laptop for the Formula
One pre-practice show, and get into a tub full of hot water.
Too bad that not even the bliss of cold beer sliding down my throat as
my muscles relax can stop my mind drifting to Blair’s tearful voice.

OceanofPDF.com
TWELVE
Cody
MUFFLED YELLS SEEP INTO my otherwise peaceful condo while I
spread out on the couch, watching the Singapore Grand Prix practice
session, my hair damp as I text back and forth with Mia.
Her favorite driver hit the wall at the third turn... she’s not pleased with
my comments.
I sit up, eyeing my door as if that’ll let me hear better, but I can’t make
out any more sounds.

Bug: That was unfair! Your guy pushed him off the track. If this was
the race, he’d get a five-second penalty.

Me: He left him enough room.

Another sound reaches my ears, and I sit up again. It’s hard to make
out, but someone’s definitely shouting. A man judging by the baritone. The
words are muffled, nothing but gibberish hitting my ears. It’s clear where
they’re coming from, though—Blair’s condo.
I mute the TV, trying to hear better.
“Get out! Get out now!” Blair wails loud enough to carry through the
walls.
And bang! Something heavy hits the ground. Glass shatters. Then
again, and again, and my heartrate soars.
I dash to the entryway as the noises intensify. Through the peephole, I
spot a man in a suit standing in Blair’s doorway.
“Enough!” he barks, the word laced with brutal disdain. “You’re acting
like a fucking child, and that won’t fly with me. You should know better by
now. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight. Wear what I gave you, and fucking
behave. Tonight was unacceptable.” He slams the door, marching down the
hallway, shoulders squared, fists clenched.
Without thinking, I yank my door open. The guy turns, his eyebrows
furrowing.
“What the hell’s going on?” I ask.
 He shoots me a scowl, his lips meshed into a hard line until his eyes
spark with recognition. He reins in his temper, face turning neutral faster
than I can blink. “This doesn’t concern you, Mr. Hayes.”
So he knows who I am. Of course he does. Fucking perfect. It’d be
great if I knew who he is. He looks young. Thirty, maybe thirty-five, and
vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him.
“I think it does concern me, considering I live next door.”
“My apologies for disturbing your night,” he drawls, weighing every
word like a British aristocrat but without the accent. “It was a genuine
misunderstanding. Please give my best to your brother.”
Which brother? dances on the tip of my tongue. I have six, and they
each have about six million friends. It’s not easy to guess who he means,
but a quick appraisal of his bespoke suit hints that this guy has more money
than common sense, which suggests he’s friends with Nico. That would
explain why he looks familiar. I must’ve seen him with my brother
somewhere.
Not waiting for anything else on my part, he bobs his head once in a
respectful gesture and stalks away, disappearing behind the corner.
I stand there, wondering whether I should check on Blair. There was
something in her voice... a sense of despair that’s hard to ignore no matter
how much I want not to give a shit.
Seems I’ll always give a shit if a woman’s hurting.
You’ll regret this, I think as I take four steps and stop before her door,
quietly knocking three times.
Nothing.
Complete, utter stillness. Not one sound from inside, even though I
know she’s there. Gritting my teeth, I knock again, my knuckles barely
tapping the wood.
Nothing.
She probably doesn’t want to talk, but at least I fucking tried not to be
an asshole. With a clear conscience, I turn back toward my condo when her
door creeps open.
Anger simmers in my chest as I take her in. The tears streaming down
her cheeks are like an invisible hand gripping my throat.
She’s bleeding. Crying. Choking. A helpless, barefoot mess dressed in
red. She’s not wearing a bra. The almost see-through fabric of her dress is
so thin I can make out the exact shape of her areolas. She covers herself up
as best she can using both arms, but all it does is add to her vulnerability.
Her complexion matches that hooker-styled dress, cheeks glowing
either from anger or the effort it took to smash half her glassware. A used-
to-be-white, now soaked, crimson rag is wrapped around her left hand.
Blood marks her cheek, neck, forehead...
More seeps from two small cuts on her knee, oozing onto the marble
floor littered with shards of glass.
She’s barefoot, for fuck’s sake. One false move and she’ll slash her
small foot wide open.
“This isn’t a good time.” She swats her tears away, lifting her chin a
little higher to come across composed.
It’s not working. She looks so fragile I think she’ll crumble to that
deadly floor if I look the other way.
I’ve never seen her like this. Bitchy attitude and superior aura stripped
away to reveal her raw form. I’ve known this girl for almost twenty years,
yet I’ve never seen her so human.
So fucking real.
She cries. She bleeds. She’s sad.
Not a trace of the confidence she usually projects. Instead, she’s like a
porcelain doll tipping over the edge of the shelf.
She needs someone to catch her before she shatters alongside all that
glass.
For the first time, I see her, not the spoilt, arrogant side she
meticulously nurtures around people. The one she blatantly showcased at
the graduation party.
Faint freckles pepper her small nose, not a trace of them across her
rosy cheeks. I didn’t know she had freckles. She hid them under a heap of
concealer for years. And why?
They’re fucking beautiful.
My heart pounds like a jackhammer. I want to wipe away her tears,
hold her close and make everything okay. The anger that burned my
stomach earlier is replaced with what feels dangerously close to
protectiveness.
Fresh tears brim in those deep, dark blue eyes staring at me, a whole
angry ocean of truths and secrets begging to be uncovered behind them.
She’s mindlessly chewing her swollen, raspberry-pink lip, and I’m glued to
the spot, my racing thoughts like F1 cars when the lights blink out.
Blair swats another tear away.
A Sisyphean task... more spill, trailing down her chin.
“Can you go?” she pleads, wrestling to keep it together, as she wipes
her nose with the back of her injured hand.
Her voice cracks, hitting me in the chest like a battering ram,
shattering my resolve to leave her here alone.
I should. This is none of my business. Whatever upset her, whatever
happened, whoever that asshole was... not my business.
If anything, I should be elated she’s a snotty, hurt mess, getting a taste
of what she did to Mia.
But elation is nowhere in sight. I’m filled with unease, my insides
tying in knots because... I can’t stand seeing a woman hurting this way.
“I’m watching the Spanish GP practice,” I blurt out, giving her a
seemingly innocent reason to come with me. Let’s watch TV, my hurt, sworn
enemy. I could ask if she wants to Netflix and chill and it’d be just as
fucking bad. “You like F1?”
Who the hell am I?
A tense, silent moment passes. She scrutinizes my face, waiting. I
don’t know what she’s waiting for. Laughter? Some trickery on my part?
Maybe. Probably...
“I like Spain,” she whispers, inhaling a shaky breath.
“That’ll do.”
I should head straight back to my condo alone, but—knowing damn
well it’s a bad idea—I step forward, cuff my fingers around her arm, and
take her with me.
I don’t know what’s happening, but touching her now feels different.
It’s charged with a different kind of energy.
The rag wrapped around her hand is soaked with blood, little red dots
splashing against my tiles, carpet, and hardwood floor as I drag her behind
me without a word.
She needs a proper dressing. I have no idea where her first aid kit is, so
it’s easier to take her back to my place.
Rationalizing won’t help you, man.
I’m aware. Hyperaware that I’ve been rationalizing around her since
day one, but so far, I’m failing miserably at hate.
 “Sit,” I say, pointing at the couch once I’ve closed the door behind us.
I grab a hoodie from my wardrobe, handing it over, knowing damn well it’s
the second one I’ve given her within two weeks. “You want a drink? I’ve
got wine, beer—”
“I could do with something stronger,” she admits quietly, pushing her
arms into the sleeves.
The only stronger alcohol I have is half a bottle of gin Vivienne left
here after our post-unpacking impromptu housewarming party.
I whip up a gin and tonic and grab the first aid box.
“You don’t have to do this,” Blair says when I hand her the glass,
taking a seat beside her.
“I know.” I wish I didn’t feel the compelling need to help, but there’s
no stopping as I perch a cushion on my knees, place her hand on it and
carefully unwrap the rag, dropping it onto the coffee table. “You’ve not
cleaned it,” I say, spotting a few shards glistening in the long cuts. “Drink.”
She does. As she takes the first sip, I grab tweezers and pluck the
glass, my stomach churning every time she hisses.
I hate her. I know I do, but I’m not the kind to get a kick out of
knowing she’s in pain.
“Crystal glass?” I ask, dabbing the excess blood so I can see what I’m
doing.
“Among other things.”
I pull out the last piece, the longest of the four spread on the coffee
table, then grab a washcloth, cleaning around the cuts as best I can. It
doesn’t look like she needs stitches, so the wound-closing strips I have
should work fine, as long as we stop the bleeding, otherwise they won’t
stick.
“Bottoms up, B,” I order, fetching a wooden spoon.
“Why?”
“You’ll need all the anesthetic you can get. Drink.”
Once she downs the last of her gin and tonic, cringing and shaking off
the alcohol kick, I give her the spoon.
“I need to put pressure on the cuts to stop the bleeding. It’ll hurt like a
motherfucker for a moment, so bite down hard.”
She sticks the handle in her mouth, sinking her white teeth into the
wood, and nods once, her eyes closing.
 A quiet whimper is the only sound she makes, but it’s enough to chill
the blood in my veins as I press a fresh gauze to the cuts, not daring to look
up in case more tears stream down her cheeks.
I count down from one hundred before peeking under the gauze to
check. “That should do it.”
She spits out the spoon, placing it on the coffee table, the handle
bearing her toothmarks and my mind goes straight to imagining those marks
on my shoulders.
“How do you know this?” she asks.
“What? First aid? Six brothers, four nephews, and...” I push a long
breath down my nose. “Mia. She has a clotting deficiency, so stopping the
bleeding is a priority whenever she cuts herself. You learn a lot when
you’ve got no other choice.”
Tucking a few loose strands of hair over her ear, she gently touches her
hand to mine as it wipes the dried blood from her other one. “Thank you.”
“I’m not done yet. I’ll get you another drink and you need a proper
dressing.”
Something in her eyes tells me she’ll argue, but it dissipates with a
resigned nod. I grab a bottle of Corona from the fridge, then make her a
double gin and tonic.
“Who’s your favorite?” Blair asks, eyes on the TV after she accepts the
glass.
“Ferrari, of course.” I unmute it, listening to the reporter say the first
session has just resumed after a half-hour break thanks to Mia’s driver
hitting the wall. “You know anything about the races?”
“I’ve watched a few with Brandon. He got into it when he found out
Mia’s dad is a team principal.”
“Don’t,” I warn. Fierce protectiveness detonates my every cell, forcing
my mind into high-alert mode. “Don’t talk about her.”
Blair immediately shrinks in on herself, her hand shaking in mine as I
close the longest cuts. “I’m sorry.”
The atmosphere shifts to uncomfortable. I want her gone as soon as
physically possible. She shouldn’t fucking be here.
I grab a bandage, wrap her hand, secure it in place, then clear the table,
strutting over to the sink.
The reporter on TV mentions another red flag, and this time my
favorite driver’s name falls from his lips. I turn to watch the replay,
chuckling when my phone pings on the breakfast bar, a message from Mia.

Bug: Karma. Works fast today, don’t you think?

Me: It would be a ten-second penalty in race conditions.

Bug: Why? He left him PLENTY of room.

I flick to the Hayes group chat. It’s no longer strictly for me and my
brothers. Rose joined, and after complaining about the sausage fest, we
added the girls, too, and then Colt created another chat titled exactly what
Rose complained about—Sausage Fest—so we could give each other shit
without the girls knowing.

Me: Who’s at fault?

Colt: Your guy.

Nico: Your guy or I’m not getting any tonight.

Mia: See? Told you.

Rose: I don’t know what this is about, but Mia’s right.

Me: You little traitor. Wait till you need a place to crash.

Rose: Shit. Fine, I’m Switzerland. Sorry, Mia.

Conor: Your guy, bro. He cut in and paid the price.

Me: Fine. Gangbang me, why don’t you?

A sea of laughing emojis follows, making me smirk, tossing the phone

aside before shoving the first aid box back in the cupboard. Blair hasn’t said
a word for five minutes. In fact, she’s made no sound at all, so I know she’s
still here. I would’ve heard her leave however stealthy she was.
“You want another—” I start out of sheer stupid politeness, then cut
myself off when I look over my shoulder.
 She’s asleep, her head resting where the back of the couch meets in the
corner, hair obscuring half of her face, the empty glass about ready to slip
from her grasp to the floor.
No fucking way.
No way she’s staying here.
I lean out to touch her, shake her by the shoulder to wake her, but I
stop short of her soft skin. She’s exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes,
ashen cheeks, and a pained expression betray she’s battling nightmares.
The lone lock of hair on her cheek dares me to brush it away. My
fingers linger in the air, and just as I’m about to pull back, I change my
mind. My heart batters my ribs when I gently guide the thick, silky tangle
behind her ear, my thumb grazing her soft, clammy skin.
I yank my hand back like she’s a live wire. The tips of my fingers
tingle as I blink at her sleeping face.
It’s nothing. I’m just not used to seeing her so... helpless.
Life would be easier if I were born a self-centered dick. It would be a
handy quality tonight. Instead of fighting an internal battle over waking her,
I’d just throw her out.
She probably wouldn’t be here because I wouldn’t have cared enough
to check who was shouting earlier.
But I’m not a self-centered asshole, and I don’t shake her awake. No, I
shoot myself in the foot, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and
draping it over her small frame. It’s just for a few minutes. She can sleep
while I cross the hall and open all the doors so I can easily carry her to bed.
Her doorhandle gives way, letting me into the kitchen where the lights
are on. Glass litters the floor, stained by drops of blood marking the route to
the sink. I can walk around it to get Blair into her bedroom, but... what if
she wakes up, tiptoes over for a glass of water, and steps on the broken
glass?
“I should’ve been an asshole,” I mutter as I grab the broom, sweeping
the floor. “I bet it’s so much easier not to give a shit,” I add when I’m on
my fucking knees with a wet rag, wiping the blood, then cleaning around
the sink before triple-checking I’ve not missed anything. I open the door to
her bedroom and go back to my place, ready to scoop Blair off the couch,
but...
I halt again.
 She changed positions, no longer half-sitting. She’s curled right into
the corner of the sofa, her head resting on the cushion, the blanket covering
everything south of her nose.
For a moment, I stare at her, weighing my options, my temper flaring
again. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t look so fucking vulnerable,
chipping away the hatred I’ve felt for years.
With a long, defeated huff, I head back to her place, lock up, and then
lock myself inside my condo with a girl who’s so toxic she’d put arsenic to
shame.
I stand in the living room, my feet refusing to move because... I can’t
go in my bedroom and leave her sleeping so close to the door.
If anyone breaks in, she’s alone.
I know she lives by herself, and I definitely know she can handle shit,
but I physically can’t leave her sleeping on the couch unattended. It goes
against my every instinct. No matter how insane she drives me, she’s under
my roof and under my care.
“You stupid prick,” I whisper, squeezing my neck.
I strip my mattress off the bed, drag it to the living room, then move
the coffee table to push the mattress flush with the couch, quiet as I can.
You’re going to heaven, for fucking sure.
I better be, or I’m going to be pissed.
For another ten minutes, I get ready for bed, silently walking back and
forth between my bedroom, the living room, and the bathroom. I doubt I’ll
get one minute of sleep with Blair under my roof, but it’s not like I have
better things to do.
With nothing left to keep me stalling, I crawl under the comforter,
crossing my hands under my head, and stare at the ceiling, mentally calling
myself every name under the sun.
How did I get into this situation? Why was I born with this fucked-up
moral compass? Why can’t I just kick her out?
I’ve got no answers, but the questions keep coming until my mind
finally drifts off.
It feels like five minutes later, my eyes pop open, a heavy weight
settling in my gut. A sense of unease washes over me, but I don’t
immediately realize why my insides roil like a stormy sky. The room is dark
and seemingly silent until a stifled sob pierces my ears. Sniffling breaths
follow quickly, each punctuated by a shake and the sound of a sleeve
wiping tears.
Blair’s back is to me, her body curled in a ball, one hand pressed to her
head, fingers tangling her long locks, digging into her scalp as if trying to
hold herself together.
I’ve not shut the blinds earlier. The glow of the streetlamps pours
inside, illuminating the living room enough to make out how she trembles
under the dusty-blue blanket.
She draws in a long, shaky breath, her other hand shifting. Even
though I can’t see her face, the soft sounds she makes paint a vivid picture:
she’s biting her fist to muffle her cries.
The effort she puts into staying quiet is fucking palpable, her body taut
with tension as she fights to hold back sobs that threaten to break free.
I don’t give my rational thoughts a moment. I don’t stop to remember
who this girl crying on my couch is or what she’s done over the years to the
girl I’ve considered family since the first day I spoke to her.
Regardless how much I hate Blair, I can’t lay here pretending I don’t
hear how much she’s hurting.
I sit up, lean over her, and coil one arm around her middle. She jumps
at my touch, her breathing hitching in surprise, cries temporarily halting
while I slide her off the couch and onto the mattress beside me.
She’s flat on her back for a moment, staring at me with wide, tear-
filled, fearful eyes, not one word out of her mouth.
I don’t speak, either. I doubt she’d tell me what nightmares plague her
mind, and I know words won’t ease her pain. She doesn’t need me to listen.
Lifting the comforter, I pull her closer, slipping an arm around her
before I tuck us in.
It’s not enough.
I guide her right hand over my chest, a surprisingly steady rhythm
under her fingertips.
Slowly, almost like she expects to be pushed away, she curves into me,
burrowing her face into my neck. She grasps a handful of my t-shirt before
fresh tears leave a damp trail on my skin.
I don’t know how I know this. Whether it’s from her shudders
changing tune from desperation to cautious relief, her muscles relaxing
despite the tears, or if I have some sixth sense about me, but I know she was
never held like this.
 No one ever offered her comfort just for the sake of it. Just to help her
cage her demons. No one gave her a shoulder to cry on without a hidden
agenda, always expecting something in return.
It’s obvious in the way she clings to me, full of caution and surprise,
like she can’t believe this is happening.
Me neither... for so many different reasons I don’t know which matters
most. She shouldn’t fit this well pressed against me. She shouldn’t make my
chest inflate as she relaxes, her body no longer wound up tight. She
shouldn’t fucking be here.
The thought has my arms unconsciously tightening around her frail
body. I don’t want her here. I can’t stand her ninety-nine percent of the
time, but the thought of letting her go drops something heavy in my chest.
Minutes go by before I realize my fingers are brushing her soft hair up
and down. The longer I do this, the more her body lets go of the tension it’s
been holding.
Her breaths even out. Her frantic grasp on my shirt turns into a gentle
hold as if she’s allowing herself to be vulnerable in my arms. Her tears slow
while my mind repeats the same questions.
How long has she been hurting like this?
Who hurt her?
How many times has she cried herself to sleep?
I don’t know. I’ll never know, but for now, I hold her a little tighter,
offering a safe haven from whatever plagues her mind, but it’s not until
dawn that she finally falls asleep.

OceanofPDF.com
THIRTEEN
Blair
THE FIRST THOUGHT THAT FILTERS through my sleep-hazed
mind isn’t my predicament. It’s how warm Cody feels with his big arms
cradling me close. I can’t remember the last time someone held me like this.
I’ve been hugged, but those were quick, fleeting moments. Casual,
friendly... nowhere near this intensity. His grip is almost possessive.
Protective. Like he’s drawn a circle around us, keeping out the rest of the
world.
I’ve never been this close to him, and despite the voice in my head
shouting that this is a terrible idea, I take a second to savor the moment. It’s
like I was custom-made to fit molded into his side, my nose brushing his
neck, my head on the pillow. He’s asleep, his chest rising and falling softly.
My fingers grasp his t-shirt above the calm thump-thump of his
heartbeat, almost lulling me back to sleep.
But my memories of last night settle in, reminding me why I’m here.
The surreal bliss disintegrates, tainted by my father’s words.
After Dad took over the conversation with his newest victim, I excused
myself from the table and sat at the bar for a while, letting them talk. Then,
feigning a migraine in front of Dad’s bodyguard, I left.
I didn’t think I needed permission. Dad never calls me back into action
once he’s talking business.
Unfortunately, Mr. Simons is not as easily outmaneuvered as my father
hoped. After the initial business chat, he told Dad he’d think about his
proposal, then went to find me, eager to finish our conversation.
The way my father said conversation painted the picture—he knew
Mr. Simons couldn’t care less about small talk.
I shut my eyes, blocking the humiliation.
My father, instead of protecting me from harm, wants me to spend
today on the yacht of an older man who he knows tried to slide his fingers
up my skirt during dessert. I feel sick at the thought.
Granted, Dad said he’ll join us, but that won’t help me.
 He won’t help me if Mr. Simons decides he’d like to show me the
lower level or his private suite. My father won’t disagree. He’ll pretend he
doesn’t realize Mr. Simons’ ill intentions.
A stiffness fills my chest, and I stop breathing, pushing down the
oncoming tears. There’s no point in crying. I have no choice in the matter,
and thinking about what lies ahead won’t help. I need to suck it up. Bide my
time. It’s just one more year.
I’ve been through worse than this. As long as I don’t fight, it won’t be
as bad as three years ago.
Cody’s wristwatch tells me I have less than two hours to prepare.
While I’d much rather stay here, safely cocooned in his big, warm arms, I
know my father will lose his mind if I’m not ready and waiting.
Moving one inch at a time so I don’t wake him, I sneak out of Cody’s
makeshift bed, and the second I pull myself away I miss the protective
bubble. The addictive illusion of safety... as if nothing could touch me as
long as he’s with me. As if nothing could hurt me again.
He looks so peaceful with his eyes closed. A stark contrast to the
disdain—aimed at me—that usually twists his features. I reach to touch
him, brush my fingers across his stubble, or map out the contour of his lips,
but I stop short, my fingers hovering inches from his skin.
He wouldn’t want this.
Despite his kindness, he still hates me, and that thought pushes me to
get moving. I’m too afraid to face him when he wakes up full of regret for
letting me stay. For comforting me while I cried.
Quietly, I grab my keys from the coffee table and leave, heading across
the hallway.
After a quick shower, I shimmy back into Cody’s hoodie and decide
that pretending nothing happened is not the route I want to take.
He deserves a thank you at the very least, so I whip up a quick batch of
madeleines and make breakfast. I know he hits the gym daily. His body is a
sight to behold, toned to perfection, so he must be on a healthy, protein-
packed diet.
With that in mind, I opt for avocado and cherry tomatoes on toast and a
strawberry and yogurt milkshake.
I fill a small tray, adding a few warm madeleines, and take it to Cody’s
condo, certain he’s still asleep.
 But he’s not. The second the door opens, I stand face to face with his
broad, muscular chest, damp hair, and sweatpants. He’s on the couch, cup of
coffee in hand, the makeshift bed nowhere in sight, and the living space
neat and tidy.
His eyes snap to me over the rim of his cup, one brow slowly arching
upward and knocking me out of the stunned silence. “Morning,” I say,
taking a few steps in before nudging the door shut. “I’m sorry I didn’t
knock. I thought you’d still be asleep.”
His gaze flicks over the breakfast tray, and my face, before he
examines his hoodie and my bare feet.
A blush creeps onto my cheeks, but I don’t backtrack. I head straight
for him and set the tray on the coffee table, aware of the silence ramping up
the tension in the air.
His quiet intensity makes me squeamish, his usually expressive face
now unreadable. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He doesn’t look
disappointed, but he doesn’t look pleased either.
“Thank you for last night,” I say, twining my fingers in front of me.
“And I’m sorry about this,” I add, tugging the hem of his hoodie. “I
shouldn’t—”
“How are you feeling?” he interrupts. His concerned tone a big
contrast to his emotionless expression.
“I’m fine.”
“Fine...” he repeats, testing the word.
I’m a far cry from fine. Not only because of the day I’m facing, not
only because my life is an absolute mess, but also because I spent the night
cuddled into Cody, which awakened emotions I have no right to feel.
Things were easier when he acted like I was invisible. At least then, I
didn’t know how safe he could make me feel.
“You want to talk?” he asks, his gaze unyielding as he stares me down.
“Believe me, with six brothers, there’s nothing I haven’t heard by now.”
I very much doubt that.
“Who was that man last night?” he continues, throwing me off track.
He doesn’t know my father? How is that possible? Nico is my dad’s
favorite person. The golden goose, as he calls him. He multiplies his money
at an ungodly pace, and he might just be the one person my father respects.
I would’ve bet my right arm Cody knew him.
 “I don’t want to talk, but thank you for offering.” Better he stays in the
blissful land of ignorance. “I’ll let myself out,” I add when he remains
silent.
And it hurts like a bitch when he doesn’t stop me.

***

Mr. Simons stands on the deck, wearing a crisp white shirt and navy
trousers. He greets us with a charming smile, kissing my hand lightly and
turning to my father with a curt nod.
His eyes are back on me in a heartbeat, tracing my moves, roving my
body, and latched onto my boobs with hungry intensity. A procession of ice-
cold centipedes creeps up my spine, their frosty feet leaving chills in their
wake, making me shudder, which Mr. Simons mistakes for a good sign, his
blown pupils finally tearing themselves away from my chest to lock onto
mine.
“Welcome aboard, Miss Fitzpatrick,” he purrs once my father stalks
toward the bar where a young man reaches for a tumbler. “It’s a pleasure to
have you here,” he adds in a smooth baritone, then turns as a woman in
nothing but a bikini approaches.
She looks much younger than him. Thirty, maybe not even that. Boobs,
lips, cheeks, ass... all fake.
Must be one of his mistresses.
“This is my lovely wife, Annabelle.” Mr. Simons gestures toward her
with a fond smile.
It’s good that I don’t have a drink yet, or I’d choke. I didn’t expect a
man like him to be married. She’s beautiful despite those fake lips. Blonde
hair cascades down her back in soft waves, her body sculpted into a fantasy,
skin beautifully kissed by the sun.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, trying not to let my relieved sigh
sound too obvious.
Surely, he won’t try anything with his wife around...
It’s not often that I actually get touched inappropriately. Most men are
perfectly content to stare and make innuendos. Some invite me for a drink
to show me off like a trophy, and some don’t pay me any heed at all.
But...
There is always a but. Always an exception to the rule.
 While most highly situated men my father uses to multiply his money
wouldn’t dare risk a scandal by feeling up a barely legal young woman,
some don’t have scruples. The richest, the billionaires... they consider
themselves above the law. Above socially acceptable behaviors, etiquette,
and manners.
Some try to cop a feel. Some try more than a hand on my knee or
fingers brushing my nape.
And by the look of Mr. Simons, and all I read about his sketchy, full of
sexual assault charges past, he is most certainly one of those men. Those
who think a stuffed wallet means they’re free to do whatever they want.
The saddest part is that it’s true. They can do as they please. With
influential friends and enough money for bribes, scum like Mr. Simons
walk free despite multiple rape accusations. Every time one made it to
court, the charges were dropped... probably because his entourage paid the
women a lot of hush money.
Thankfully, I’ve been a part of my father’s schemes for years, and I
developed a few tricks to keep myself relatively safe.
We spend a couple of hours on the deck, enjoying breakfast. No
inappropriate comments fly above the table. Nothing but polite
conversation, but things take a turn when I excuse myself to use the
restroom.
I don’t hear Mr. Simons until his hand clasps my wrist and he shoves
me against the wall of the narrow corridor.
Flashbacks creep up, flooding my mind with memories I buried long
ago, and my breathing falters.
“I thought you were never going to stand up, sweet cheeks,” he says,
dipping his head into my neck, inhaling deeply, one hand moving to grip
my waist, the other on my thigh. “You look spellbinding. I missed you last
night... Where did you go?”
“Headache,” I utter, clawing my way back from the abyss of dark
memories, fighting to tether myself in the here and now, or I won’t be able
to protect myself.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, and when I saw you today in this...”
He trails one hand down between the valley of my barely there breasts, his
voice low and husky as he whispers filth in my ear.
My skin crawls when his fat fingers slide up my thigh and he pushes
two digits under the hem of my dress, audibly groaning.
 “Fucking perfect,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see all of you.”
“Mr. Simons,” I whisper, gently pressing my hands against his chest,
blood whooshing in my ears. “Your wife could come down any moment.
My father is here. We can’t.”
It takes a few lingering heartbeats for his horny mind to assess the
risks before he grunts his disapproval, inching away enough to lick the shell
of my ear.
“You’re right,” he huffs, yet in the next breath he oozes care, however
artificial. “I wouldn’t put you in that predicament. Nothing to upset my
sweet little girl, but...” He leans back further, his lips hovering over mine,
eyes searing through me. “Just one touch.” His tongue peeps out,
moistening his lips as he slides one finger up and down my pussy. “Let
Daddy check how soft you are.”
I’m drier than the Sahara, but his eyes flare as if he’s found the
fountain of youth between my legs.
If he calls himself Daddy again, I’ll projectile vomit in his face, I
swear. Considering everything my father does, how he used, abused, and
neglected me my whole life, Daddy kink is the last thing I’d ever indulge
in. It reminds me of everything bad that I’ve suffered at my father’s hands.
Not a turn-on in the slightest when the word Daddy evokes memories
of his fists ramming into my mother’s stomach whenever she was
delusional.
Footsteps echo around us, approaching fast, the distinct click of heels
betraying it’s his wife. I think someone’s watching from above, saving me
before this scum forces me to kick him in the balls.
Gideon Fitzpatrick would not be pleased if that happened. He’d
confiscate my car, credit cards, and turn my life into a living hell for the
foreseeable future, but I’d rather take that than let Mr. Simons fuck me
against the wall of his luxurious yacht.
“Impeccable timing on that woman,” he rasps, licking my ear. “Next
time, sweetie, no one will interrupt us. I’m out of town for a few weeks, but
I’ll take you somewhere nice when I return. If you behave, we’ll go
shopping, and Daddy will treat you to a designer purse.”
I can barely swallow the vomit threatening to spill from my mouth as
he stamps a sloppy kiss on the corner of my lipstick-stained lips, then
quickly retreats in the opposite direction from the approaching footsteps.
 Dashing into the bathroom at the last moment, I lock myself in one of
the stalls, my insides reeling.
I’ve wondered how my father finds these wealthy, powerful
degenerates for years. Since he started using me as bait, I have worked
twenty-nine men. All held some position of power in society: lawyers,
bankers, detectives, politicians... rich, entitled, filthy perverts happy to feel
up a young girl. Happy to blatantly flirt while their wives stand nearby.
What is it about money that makes those men feel superior? By this
point, I’m fairly certain most of the daredevils grasping at me know my
dad’s game. They know he flaunts me in their faces, offering me like a
sacrificial lamb, and they happily participate, taking whatever they deem fit.
Most are content with fleeting touches: a cheek rub here, a thigh
squeeze there, an inappropriate comment thrown between the lines.
Eleven of the twenty-nine men I worked for my father had their hands
on my thigh or boobs. Four touched the most intimate parts of my body.
One stuck his dick inside me.
I was seventeen. Senior year in high school. A day much like today.
Beautiful weather, a yacht, and a sixty-three-year-old businessman from
Europe.
I don’t know what deal my father struck with him. But I do know he
sat on the deck while that scum gave me a tour. I was underage... I didn’t
expect how it ended. Not in my wildest dreams would I have thought the
sick fucker would touch me without permission. I mean, my dad was right
there... I felt safe, so I followed the man.
I’ve never felt safe in my dad’s presence since.
The old fuck pressed me against the wall of the huge, elegant
bathroom on the lower deck, covered my mouth with his hand, lifted my
skirt, and punched my V card, not caring about the tears trailing down my
face.
The longest three minutes of my life.
Once done, he adjusted his pants, threw me a towel, and strolled up the
stairs as if nothing had happened.
Dad found me a moment later.
It’s the only time in my life that he looked genuinely concerned.
Mostly because he didn’t realize I was a virgin, and the blood smeared over
my thighs flipped his stomach. He gave me space after that. Almost four
months without requesting my presence at those stupid banquets. He
arranged my therapy and showered me with gifts in between making all
kinds of threats, so I wouldn’t rat out him or the European businessman.
I never went to therapy, and Dad didn’t care enough to check. Instead
of working through the trauma, like I should’ve done, I tried to bury the
memory of that brute by sleeping around with college guys on my terms.
The one good thing that came out of that night was that I stopped
bullying Mia. I’d always done it searching for a voice, wanting to be heard
and seen because I was invisible in my own home. With a mother who was
either hallucinating or heavily medicated and a father who did his utmost to
avoid us, I was always on my own. Ignored, powerless... accused of horrid
things by my sick mother since I turned five.
Making fun of Mia gave me an audience. People saw me. Listened to
me... but when I was raped and stripped of control in the most brutal way, I
realized that I’d inflicted exactly the thing I’d been running from my whole
life on Mia.
Isolation. Humiliation. No power. No voice...
When my father summoned me to another meeting months later, I was
much smarter. Much stronger. No longer a naïve teenage girl. Whenever
anyone gets too close, or the situation looks like getting out of hand, I play
them like my father plays me.
Turns out most of those men are somewhat decent. They take what I’m
willing to give, but back off if I express concern.
Obviously, I have to be smart about it so they don’t storm out or cut
my father loose before he gets what he wants.
“Not here, Mr. [insert name here].”
“My father could walk out at any moment. This isn’t safe.”
“Your wife is one door away.”
Excuse after excuse. So far, they work. I’ve been touched. Three men
—four including Mr. Simons—have been bold enough to push their grubby
fingers under my skirt and over my pussy, but other than the European
pedophile, no one else raped me.
I’ve dealt with what happened. It didn’t leave any lasting damage on
my mind—probably because, half the time, I don’t even believe it
happened. After the therapy, I blocked it from my mind, but it took a long
time before I had a healthy sexual relationship.
Once I can’t hear any footsteps, I exit the stall, wash my hands, lips,
and every part of my body Mr. Simons touched, then head back on deck.
For the rest of the day, I stay in plain sight. I don’t drink any more, so I
won’t have to use the restroom and risk Mr. Simons following me again.
But when my father drops me off at home, I feel dirty.
Violated.
I head straight for the shower, scrubbing myself clean until my skin
turns pink.

OceanofPDF.com
FOURTEEN
Blair
UNDER STRICT INSTRUCTION from my father, I enter the high-end
suit store, feeling out of place.
The plush carpet cushions my steps as I walk further in, taking in the
grandeur. The walls are lined with rows of neatly displayed suits in different
shades and textures. Crystal chandeliers glitter from the ceiling,
illuminating pristine white walls and highlighting the luxurious fabrics.
A heady mix of fresh linen, leather, and cologne assaults my olfactory
nerves.
For the first time since my father “employed” me to flirt with people
he’s manipulating, I’m allowed to wear something other than red to a
banquet he’s planning.
No date has been set, but he barked over the phone this morning that I
should be prepared. Instead of red, I’m supposed to wear white. I didn’t
question it because he’s allowing me to choose the dress I’ll wear.
“Don’t get smart with me, Blair. You’re choosing the dress, but if it’s
not like the others I bought you, you’ll fucking regret it.”
So the style still stands—short, slutty, but I can pick the right size and
not sheer lace. That’s a win, so I eagerly got in my car and drove to the
mall.
Another thing I didn’t question was his order to come here and buy
him a crisp white tie. Heading straight for the correct rack, I stop, catching
sight of familiar, broad shoulders and dark hair in a bun.
He’s on the phone, flipping through the shirt rack. Three already hang
from his pinkie—black, powder blue, and cream. I’m rooted to the spot,
wondering what sick game karma is playing.
Is it not enough that we live across the hall from each other? Now I’m
bumping into him outside our limited, gated community?
Taking a deep breath, I step aside, hiding behind a tall rack of suits, my
stomach bottoming out. Knowing he’ll be heading toward the changing
rooms, I wait until he disappears before I scan the shelves for a white tie.
 My gaze lands on a pale yellow tie, and I immediately wonder how it
would look against Cody’s tanned skin.
There’s a shirt in the exact same color on the rack he was just at. God...
why am I doing this to myself?
It’s a stupid, stupid idea, but before I know it, my feet carry me toward
the changing rooms, yellow shirt in hand.
The dusty-gray curtain of the one occupied room is drawn shut, and I
hesitate. I shouldn’t do this. I really shouldn’t, but...
Inhaling and holding a sharp breath, I push the shirt through the tiny
gap, heart in my throat.
Every time we meet, every time I see him, my crush grows tenfold
while he remains unaffected. Not entirely, sure. The way he looks at me
sometimes is a dead giveaway that he finds me attractive, but he’s not as
affected as I am.
My body tingles, my mouth turns dry, and I’m a ball of nerves
whenever his dark eyes meet mine.
“Try this one,” I say, immediately regretting my decision to play
personal shopping assistant to the man who weakens my knees. “For
Logan’s wedding,” I add as a form of clarification because it’s been three
seconds of deafening silence, and I just stand here, gawking at the gray
curtain, one hand in Cody’s changing room.
I all but jump out of my skin when his warm, calloused hand wraps
around my wrist. A surprised gasp escapes me as he pulls me into the
cramped space.
He’s wearing a pair of charcoal slacks I’ve not seen him pick out, the
button and zipper undone, revealing his snow-white boxers. A cream shirt is
draped over his back, his muscular chest inches from my face, scent
assaulting my senses.
“Yellow?” he questions, still gripping my wrist.
I fight to maintain composure, but his proximity is almost unbearable.
I can feel his breath on my face, and my knees melt. “It’ll look good on
you.” He’s too close, and yet not close enough. “Trust me.”
“That’s wishful thinking,” he clips, but instead of telling me to leave,
he shrugs off the cream shirt, tossing it aside, unfazed by my presence.
My eyes can’t help but shamelessly rove the broad expanse of his chest
while he’s distracted by the yellow shirt. I should leave, give him privacy,
but I’m rooted to the spot, and my thoughts drift to what it would feel like
to run my fingers over his toned trapezoid muscles.
“You got somewhere to be?” he asks, a hint of amusement lacing his
tone.
I snap from my daydream as he flings the shirt on, covering my new
favorite view.
He studies himself in the mirror, ironing the fabric with big hands.
“You’re right. It looks good.” Our eyes clash in the mirror. “So? Are you in
a hurry?”
“Not really. I need to buy a dress, but that won’t take long.”
“You’re looking for a dress in a suit shop?” A small smile plays at the
corners of his mouth like he thinks I purposely followed him.
“No, I came in to buy a tie for my father.”
He narrows his eyes but doesn’t share his thoughts. “You don’t usually
shop alone. Where are your friends?”
“They’re busy.” I step closer, reaching up to adjust the collar of his
shirt, my fingers brushing his warm skin. “What do you think?” I ask,
undoing one button and smoothing out any creases, my hand pressing the
fabric against his chest. “I think it suits you. You could wear it for the
rehearsal dinner.”
He considers my words for a moment before speaking. “I’ll make you
a deal. Since you know what will look good on me, you’ll help me with
everything I need for the wedding weekend, and in return, I’ll judge which
dresses you look good in.”
My jaw almost hits the floor. He wants me to help? He’s willing to
spend time with me? It’s a small step toward forgiveness, but it feels like a
massive victory.
“Do you know what color dress your date’s wearing?” I ask.
Cody’s eyes meet mine in the mirror, a jolt of electricity idling
between us. The small space suddenly feels too intimate, and I step back,
walking into the gray fabric.
“No idea. I’ve not asked anyone yet. Why?”
“I thought you’d like your tie to match her dress.”
“So I’ll buy a tie when I find a date, and she chooses her dress. I need
a white shirt for the wedding, any tie will do.” He undoes the small buttons,
and I can’t help but watch as the fabric unfolds, revealing his bare chest.
 “Okay. Wait here,” I mumble, successfully tearing my eyes from his
muscles writhing as he moves, the wetness between my legs growing
increasingly uncomfortable.
Stumbling back, I leave, and five minutes later, I’m back with more
shirts, suits, and slacks. I watch Cody try on the different clothes, admiring
how perfectly they fit him.
“What do you need a dress for?” he asks, watching me in the mirror as
he shrugs on the third shirt.
“My father’s work do. He throws elegant banquets whenever he needs
to butter someone up.”
“So you need something elegant,” he muses. “I know just the place.
It’s in Huntington Beach, so we’ll take my car.”
“Thank you, but I don’t need help. I’ve got strict instructions on what
to buy.”
Damn it. Why is talking to him so effortless? My filter goes out the
window, everything I usually hide now exposed.
“Your date decides what you’ll wear?” he asks, his fingers fumbling
with the shirt’s buttons.
I step in to help. “My date?”
“I assume you’re going with someone since you said you’ve got
instructions on what to wear.”
“Oh... no date. I’m on my father’s arm.”
His eyebrows bunch together for a second. “Why? Where’s your
mother?”
Grief spreads across my skin like a rash. It’s been over a year, but I
doubt my heart will ever stop feeling like it’s snapping in two whenever I
think about her.
“She’s dead.”
Regret casts a shadow over Cody’s face for a moment of awkward
silence before, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s better this way. I’m sure she’s happier wherever
she is than she was here.” I try to keep my voice steady, but my eyes prick
with tears.
Swallowing hard and diverting the conversation, I help Cody shimmy
into a suit jacket. “Now this looks good,” I praise with a forced smile.
“That it does. I think I’ve got everything I need. We’ll grab a quick
coffee, before I return the favor.”
 A quick coffee? Here? At the mall where anyone could see us sitting
together? The idea of him willingly getting seen with me has the cogs in my
head pinwheeling.
What the hell is he playing at?
“Like I said, I don’t need help,” I mutter, bailing on spending more
time with him even though it almost kills me. “Thank you for offering.”
“Who’ll tell you if you look nice?”
“I’m not supposed to look nice. I’m supposed to look—” I stop myself
in time, worrying my bottom lip.
“What are you supposed to look like, Blair?” he asks softly, brushing a
strand of hair behind my ear.
My heart races at his touch, and I fight the urge to lean in. “It doesn’t
matter. I don’t want you to come with me, okay?”
His determined gaze hitches my defenses back up. I said too much
already. I need to leave before I give him too many clues. Cody’s smart.
Perceptive. I piqued his curiosity and he’s not the type to drop the subject.
He stands before me in his shirt, jacket, and boxers, and I know better
than to let my eyes wander. I was very, very careful not to glance at his cock
this whole time.
Ignoring his inquisitive stare, I take the opportunity to flee.
He won’t chase me without pants.

***

Five hours later, after buying the dress and spending three hours at the
psychiatric ward, I’m back home.
Cody’s car is parked in its usual spot, and knowing he’s home makes
me clutch the shopping bag with my whoreish white dress tighter, like he’ll
jump me, steal the bag, and check what I bought.
“Answer me!” I hear Ana scream as soon as I climb the last flight of
stairs.
Cody’s outside his condo, feet bare, back leaning against the wall, with
Ana on her tippy toes slamming her open hand against his chest, her face
bright red, hair in disarray.
“Is there someone else?! Are you cheating on me?!”
“I can’t cheat on you,” he huffs, squeezing the bridge of his nose.
“We’re not together. We were never together.”
 I’m frozen in my spot, unsure whether to go back down or hide in my
condo.
“Don’t say that. You don’t mean it!”
Condo, I decide, taking a step forward. I halt again when Cody’s eyes
snap to mine.
“Shit,” he breathes, his expression morphing to annoyance.
A cold shiver seizes my body, and I turn on my heel. He’s obviously
not happy I can hear their conversation. Maybe they need a few minutes of
privacy, and even though I have every right to go into my own home, I’m
retreating, so they can talk this out.
“Fuck... Baby, wait!” Cody calls after me, his tone loaded with
something I don’t understand. It sounds almost like he’s afraid. A bit
desperate. “Don’t leave. I can explain.”
I come to a complete stop, my eyes wide as saucers, I’m sure, and not
just because he called me baby. Not just because his rushed footsteps
approach but because my whole body tingles.
One word, but it’s enough to knock me off my damn feet. I turn to
Cody, stunned into silence by his determined gaze. My heart threatens to
burst when he grips me by the waist, dips his head, and presses his lips to
mine.
It’s a peck. Nothing more. Just one hard, unyielding peck, but the
softness of his mouth, and the warmth of his body against mine is enough to
send a delicious shiver surging through my entire structure.
I tremble in his arms. Emotions accelerate the hot blood in my veins,
overwhelming my senses as he pulls away, his deep brown eyes locking
onto mine with a sort of diffident, tentative amazement.
“Jesus...” he whispers, lifting both hands to my face.
Just as it dawns on me that this kiss is a show for Ana, Cody’s mouth
is on mine again.
And it’s not just a peck this time.
His fingers caress my cheeks as his lips claim mine before his hands
slide down to lift me off the floor, hauling me into his arms with the avidity
of a musician seizing the perfect melody. My legs have nowhere to go but
around his waist. His hand clasps the back of my neck and I can’t escape.
I don’t want to escape. Not now, not ever.
There’s so much power in his kiss. So much raw intensity in his touch
as he slams me against the wall, one hand supporting my butt, the other
tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to deepen the kiss, his whole body
pressing into me.
I whimper, surrendering to his inaudible demands.
His hard cock juts against me and I arch into him, craving the contact.
It’s as if a switch flipped inside his head, removing any resolve he had left.
His hand moves from my neck to my back, then the side of my face,
the kiss greedy, desperate... like he’s trying to consume me, like he’s
imprinting himself on me, and I lose my goddamn mind. I’m powerless to
resist.
A low hum starts inside me, growing louder with every flick of his
tongue, and when he sinks his teeth in my bottom lip, pulling gently with a
low groan, my body responds in kind, my hands fisting his hair as I kiss
him back with equal fervor. I swear I’m seconds away from coming apart.
Seconds from orgasm, and he’s done nothing more than kiss me.
But as quickly as it all started, it ends.
Ana’s teary voice breaks the moment, penetrating our bubble. “You’re
such an asshole.” She storms past us, whacking Cody’s back.
Her hastened footsteps retreat, and once she rounds the corner, my feet
hit the floor.
Cody steps back, running a shaking hand down his face. The silence is
deafening. I can’t bring myself to look up to him, knowing what I’ll see will
hurt.
Pushing a long breath down his nose, he grabs my bags off the floor,
handing them over. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he says. “I... I didn’t think.
It was an impulse. I ran out of ideas how—”
“It’s okay,” I cut in, calming myself as I push off the wall. “A favor for
a favor, right? You helped me with Alan, I helped you with Ana. Hopefully,
she got the message.” Forcing my feet to move, I trot away, head down,
hand in my purse, searching for keys. “Goodnight.”
“Blair...”
“Goodnight, Cody.”

OceanofPDF.com
FIFTEEN
Cody
SHE CLOSES THE DOOR BEHIND HER, and I stumble into my
condo.
What the fuck have I done?
The idea struck me like lightning, powerful and unshakable. I didn’t
plan on using Blair to send Ana a message, but I also didn’t know what else
could stop her obsessive stalking, short of calling Shawn for help.
And when Blair appeared just as Ana accused me of cheating, I took it
as a sign. Fate showing me the way. Maybe seeing me with someone else
will stop her fixation?
Deep down, Ana’s a good person. She’s just lost, struggling to find her
way. As much as I’d like to help, she takes every kind word the wrong way.
I’d rather hurt her feelings than mess with her future by filing a restraining
order.
What I didn’t expect was how quickly my dumb idea would backfire. I
thought I could stamp a quick kiss on Blair’s lips and get on with the show.
Baby, Ana was just leaving. Nothing happened, I swear. Please don’t go, I’ll
explain everything... blah, blah, blah.
I took an acting class out of boredom in high school, so I knew I could
pull this off, but the moment I kissed Blair, my entire body spasmed. One
taste of her sweet mouth and I couldn’t fight the urge to explore deeper.
The softness of her lips against mine, the smell of her perfume, the
surprised little gasp she let out, and her delicate fingers tangling in my hair,
reeling me in as if she needed me as much as I needed her...
Desire seared through me, and I snapped, sinking into her mouth like a
fucking savage. Consumed by primal desire burning within me. The need to
possess her, to feel her body beneath mine... Jesus fuck. My hands ached to
touch every inch of her body. I couldn’t get her close enough, so I hauled
her into my arms and pressed her against the wall, almost fucking afraid
she’d disappear.
The heat between us erupted like lava. I was drowning in her, my
hands mapping every curve and dip of her body.
 Visuals of the new Blair in those cute t-shirts and jeans, baking cookies
and cuddling into my chest raced to the forefront of my mind. Mix that with
my undeniable arousal, and hatred got lost in translation.
Thank fuck Ana was still there, snapping me out of the trance with a
whack to the back, or I probably would’ve tried to fuck Blair against that
wall.
Considering how eagerly her body responded to my touch when she
kissed me back, I don’t think she’d say no.
There’s always been this electricity between us, sparking just below
the surface. Hatred laced with lust, a potent combination I thought I buried
long ago.
Turns out it was just laying dormant, biding its time. I suppressed the
desire, and it reared its head when I let my guard down.
Fuck!
The feel of her in my arms, ready, melting, willing... yep, I’m going
straight to hell. No number of good deeds can save my ass.
My hands shake as I stand in my living room, glaring at the couch.
Part of me wants to barricade the door with it, along with all the other
movable furniture, so I can’t storm out and cross the hallway to Blair’s
apartment.
I don’t trust myself not to go after her right now.
The memory of her soft curves against me, her sweet mouth, that
breathy gasp hitting my ears... perfection. The pull between us is
undeniable. It’s a drug I can’t get enough of. I’m already addicted.
God, I’m so fucking screwed.
I open the door and stomp out of my condo, heading straight for hers,
my heart pummeling my chest.
My mind’s in a tumult. Knocking doesn’t occur to me until I’m already
inside, my feet carrying me straight to her bedroom.
I don’t know why that’s where I aim. Whether my intuition, the sounds
emanating from there, or something else guides me, but I’m suddenly right
there. And I stop.
Moving, breathing, thinking.
Her scent wafts in the air, a stimulating mix of vanilla, jasmine, and
arousal. Coupled with the eyeful I’m getting, it’s almost enough to bring me
to my knees.
 She lays on her unmade bed, the room dimly lit, the curtains drawn.
My eyes adjust to the soft glow of the lamp in the corner. The tiny summer
dress has slid off her shoulders, her small, perky breasts on display. Pink,
puckered nipples stand to attention, begging to be bitten.
Blair’s head is thrown back, her eyes shut tight, the hemline of her
dress bunched around her wasp waist. Her legs are bent at the knees, feet
digging into the crumpled sheets, a purple wand between her bare thighs.
The pulsating vibration echoes throughout the room, accompanying
her breathless moans and gasps. Her hips move, back bows off the bed, as
she firmly presses the wand against her pink, swollen clit with both hands.
She’s fucking magnetic.
The gold, tanned skin of her thighs quivers in anticipation. Knowing
that our kiss triggered this sends a rush of smugness through my veins. If I
needed confirmation that she thought the same as I did when we kissed, this
is it.
I don’t believe in God, but there must be something out there because
holy... she’s spectacular. I can’t decide if I want to join her or stare until she
comes.
My dick hardens in no seconds flat, straining against my pants,
begging to be released. I’d go wild if I got my hands on her right now. I’m
already losing touch with reality. Lust and want writhe inside every atom of
my body.
My balls pull tight when another breathless moan ricochets off the
walls. I could easily come in my pants just watching her thrash on the bed.
A veil of hair scattered across the pillow surrounds her flushed face,
and a few locks tangle in her earrings. She circles her hips, pressing the
wand closer like she just needs the right angle to set off the climax. Just a
little more friction.
Friction she can’t seem to find.
I’m rooted to the spot, my legs like lead weights. I don’t know if she
heard me come in. If she did, she hasn’t let it show. It’s not like I kept quiet.
Either she’s lost inside her fantasy, deep within the moment, or she’s aware
of my burning gaze, and putting on a show.
And if that’s true... should I fucking join her? God knows my cock is
more than ready.
But I can’t move. And I can’t peel my eyes off her.
 A whimper breaks free as her hips gyrate. She’s mindlessly pressing a
small button on the handle, increasing the intensity, pressing the wand
harder against her clit, eyes shut tight.
She moves it left, right, in small circles, desperate for that orgasm. I
can tell she’s close. She has been since I walked in, but it’s not fucking
happening.
Seconds pass before her desire turns to annoyance, then nervousness,
her moans of pleasure now turned to defeat.
Her skin heats, her back arches further off the mattress, toes curl, and
she pumps her hips harder, but no matter the effort, she’s stalled on edge,
her mind putting up a roadblock.
And then, as hard as she tried, she gives up, throwing the wand to
smash against the wall. Draping one arm over her face.
Slowly she tunes herself back in to reality, and as if she feels my
burning gaze, her eyes open, clashing with mine. She doesn’t speak, and
neither do I as we stare each other down, a silent declaration of want and
need. Her cheeks heat and she squirms, pressing her thighs together.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” I say, shattering the quiet, the words laden
with promise.
Her eyes never leave mine, burning with the intensity she had inside
her seconds ago before it abruptly went off.
Now it’s back twice as powerful. Twice as bright.
And when she answers me with a tiny nod, the dam bursts. Tangible
heat between us erupts as I surge forward, my knees hastily digging into the
mattress. I crawl over her, and she meets me halfway, our lips clashing in a
hot, urgent kiss.
It’s an all-consuming wildfire, tongues dancing, teeth nipping, breaths
mingling in an intoxicating mix of desires. She tastes like sugar and spice,
cherry candy and everything tempting.
Her fingers dig into my hair, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss as
we battle for dominance, her trying to crawl on top while I try to pin her
down. Our hands and legs tangle and suddenly, with a soft gasp, Blair’s on
the edge of the bed, then off it just as fast, pulling me with her as we fall off
in a web of sheets, never breaking the kiss.
I hover above her, our bodies pressed together, shared desperation
tearing through us. Fuck, it’s only been twenty minutes since I tasted her,
but it feels like an entire lifetime.
 “You taste like cherry candy,” I say, gripping her thigh to yank her
fully under me, my elbow by her head supports my weight even though I
want to sink and feel every inch of her.
“Did you watch?” she whispers, her cheeks glowing with alluring
embarrassment. “How long were you standing there?”
“Long enough to see you were doing a lousy job.” I move my hand to
her ankle, then brush my fingertips up her smooth skin to the inside of her
thigh.
A soft shudder shakes her, and the red of her cheeks fades to pink.
“The toy is new,” she admits, each word growing in confidence. “I’m not
sure how to use it properly... I don’t think it’s very good.”
“I think it’s just fine, but it’s not what you want today, is it?” I nose a
line on her jaw, my hand camping close enough to her pussy that I’m almost
brushing it with my fingers. Almost but not quite. Not yet. “Ready to cross
some lines with me, B?”
Our breaths mingle as she reaches to brush those delicate hands up my
arms, feeling every muscle, awe replacing embarrassment. “Are you?”
I grip her wrist, settling her small palm over my hard cock. “What do
you think?”
“Are you sure you want this?” She squeezes me gently, tearing a
guttural groan from my chest, and the fire in her eyes rekindles. With
measured strokes, her hand glides over my cock, making it jut against the
zipper. “You’ll regret it tomorrow.”
I pull us back onto the bed, Blair flat on her back while I hover over
her, and she immediately grabs hold of my cock again.
“My sister-in-law once told me it’s better to regret things you have
done than things you haven’t, and you...” I angle my hips, grinding into her
palm, “...I definitely want to do you.” I dip my head, gliding my lips up her
neck, marking every inch with open-mouthed kisses before speaking in her
ear. “You’re tense, B. Looks like you could use an orgasm or two to take the
edge off.”
“Since you’re so kindly volunteering...”
I grip her wrist again, moving her hand under my t-shirt, then take over
the teasing, touching her thigh, up, up, up until my fingers caress around her
pussy.
I love how warm she is. How her eyes hood over, and lips part in an
inaudible gasp. Long nails dig into my shoulder blades as she tries to pull
me down, hungry for my lips.
I give in a little, kissing and licking the seam of her mouth, a hot ball
of pure need swelling behind my ribs. She hooks her fingers in the belt
loops of my jeans, pulling me to where she needs me most.
“You want me to touch you?” I ask, not moving an inch. “Look at me.”
She obeys, pumping confidence into her gestures as she drags my hand
back to her thigh. “Yes, please.”
“You had anything to drink today?” This time, I move straight for the
prize, sliding my fingers between her pussy lips, locked in some alternate
dimension when I check how wet she is.
A soft moan falls from her parted mouth, and her head hits the pillow.
I’ve not pushed one digit inside her yet. Not touched her clit, but she’s back
on edge, humming beneath me.
“I asked you a question.”
“What?” Her skin heats once more, but it’s not shame this time. It’s
arousal. “Oh... n-no,” she mewls, gripping my t-shirt with both hands. “No,
I didn’t drink.”
“Good.” I locate the small button on the apex of her thighs, gently
rolling it under two fingers. “Birth control?”
“No, please stop talking.”
That earns her a gentle slap of her clit. We’re not done with the
questions yet. If she thinks this is a turn-off, she should see what a fucking
turn-off a teenage pregnancy scare is. I lived through it once in high school,
and I’m not doing it again.
“Condoms?” I ask, slowly playing her clit like I would a guitar.
“No, I don’t have any. Do you?”
“Not on me.”
“Just... pull out, okay?”
I cock an eyebrow. “Pull out?”
She bucks her hips, inching away from the mattress, looking for more
friction. “God, Cody... stop teasing. You should’ve sent me a survey before
you came over.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I whisper into her mouth. Rubbing her a bit faster.
“This is important, B. I’m not getting you off until you answer the
questions.”
She groans, rolling those aroused eyes at me. “What a waste.”
“A waste?”
 “You had the best opportunity to end that sentence differently, and you
blew it.” She grips my shoulders to yank me down. “Say it again.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“And take that dick like a good girl. That’s how it ends.”
A small smirk plays across my lips. “You’re not a good girl. You’re a
brat and I don’t like brats, so you need to lose that attitude.” I bite her
earlobe, then nose a line down her cheek. “I like the idea of you taking my
dick.”
“I’d be full of it now if you’d just. Stop. Talking.”
I slap her pussy again, harder this time, making her jerk, her eyes wide,
but she soaks my hand, so I know she loves it.
“Watch your mouth. We’re not cutting corners. I want consent.
Audible consent to fuck you.”
“You have it,” she sighs, her hips urging me to work her faster.
“Permission, consent, do what you want.”
“What I want is for you to understand I won’t be gentle.”
“I can handle a hate-fuck, Cody.”
“Good, because that’s exactly what it’ll be.” With a low groan, I sink
my fingers into her pussy, stroking her G spot hard and fast. “Now pretend
you’re a good girl and come for me.”
All the tension in her body ebbs away. She melts into the bed, giving
up control and dropping the fake, confident mask she’s been wearing for
years.
At least I think it’s fake.
I don’t pump my fingers long. Less than a minute is enough to tip Blair
into the abyss she’s been teetering on since I entered.
She vibrates beneath me. Her loud moans cease, the orgasm stealing
her voice. My hand is soaked she’s so wet. When the pressure increases,
realization dawns and I yank my fingers out, looking down just in time to
catch the sight.
“You didn’t tell me you’re a squirter,” I rasp, the words strained
because fucking hell... it’s the hottest thing I ever saw.
“I... I didn’t know I could do that... I’m so sorry.” She throws one hand
over her face, hiding away and trying to shut her legs, denying me access.
She never squirted before?
Well, shit, and here I was, thinking my ego couldn’t possibly get any
bigger, only for Blair to double its size.
 I triggered her squirting.
“Sorry?” I pry her arm off her flushed face. “What the fuck are you
sorry for? That’s hot, baby girl.” Pushing my hand back between her legs, I
groan at how wet she is. “Show me again.”
“It’s not gross? Are you sure?”
I push my fingers inside, stroking her G spot again. “I’m sure. Now
relax. I want another one.”
With a small nod, she grips my shoulders, gliding her hands higher
until she cinches my neck, tugging my hair as I work to bring her higher.
She just had an orgasm, but the next one’s close behind, her body still
not mellow enough. I dip my head, sealing her lips with a kiss, working her
up even more, and that fucking kiss...
It’s a replay of what went down in the hallway. A complete loss of
inhibitions. Our tongues fight for dominance, mouths come together in a
rushed rhythm, and Blair mewls, her thighs slapping closed to lock my hand
between them.
She’s back to the putty version of herself. Adjusting to my pace, giving
into my dominance as if allowing herself to let go of the fight that fuels her
is all she craves.
“Almost there,” she mumbles, angling her head back and exposing the
porcelain column of her throat. “Cody, I—”
“Come,” I cut her off, sucking a bit of flesh above her pulse, not hard
enough to mark her but hard enough that her eyes burst open in shock.
“Now, B. Show me how good it feels. Let go.”
And she does, her chest rising and falling faster as she pulls down
quick, erratic breaths. The orgasm hits, the pressure pushing my fingers out,
and her legs shake as she drowns the sheets.
I’ve watched enough porn to know this isn’t over.
Pushing my fingers back in, I pump fast and hard while she’s still in
the throes of orgasm, and the wave retreats only to gush back stronger.
Blair’s moaning, gasping, muttering something incomprehensible, her
nails drawing long lines down my back, legs shaking so hard her feet float
above the soaked sheets. I’ve never seen a woman this lost in the moment,
fueled by nothing but desire. She’s still quivering, beads of sweat forming
along her hairline, blue irises almost swallowed by black pupils.
“That’s so fucking hot,” I say.
 I could force another out in seconds, but her skin’s clammy like she’s
not far off passing out.
“And so intense,” she half gasps, half whispers when I glide my
fingers between the swollen lips of her pussy.
Bracing both hands against my pecs, she finds enough strength in her
frail body to push me back until I sit on my calves.
Her delicate hands go straight for my zipper. She pulls it down, flips
the button, and urges me to help as she hauls my jeans down my thighs. My
cock springs free, the head red, precum beading at the tip.
“Are you always walking around commando?” She locks her fingers
around my shaft, maneuvering to lay on her belly.
“I jumped out halfway through the shower when Ana battered at my
door, screaming the place down,” I say, weighing every word because
Blair’s hot breath is right there, fanning my cock, her hand deliberately
pumping up and down.
“Consent to put your cock in my mouth?”
I laugh. Well, try, but it comes out desperate because she uses her
thumb to massage the underside, and after watching her writhe on the bed
for the past fifteen minutes, I’m not far off shooting the load from this tiny
move alone.
“I might fucking die if you don’t,” I groan, and as soon as the words
fully roll off my tongue, she licks me balls to tip, my whole body jerking
with the motion.
“Is Cody Hayes losing his cool?” she teases, rising a little higher on
her elbows as she smears the growing bead of precum around the head. “Do
you want to know a secret?” she whispers, peering up to meet my eyes.
I freeze because now I realize there’s one standard question on my list
I didn’t ask. It seemed such a fucking stretch considering Blair’s reputation
that I didn’t bother, but now, looking into her beautiful eyes, a cold chain
closes my throat.
No, no way she’s a virgin.
According to hundreds of rumors, she fucked half the football team,
for crying out loud.
“I do want to know a secret.”
With a tiny smile, she parts her lips, then quickly bows, swallowing
my cock all the way down.
All the way.
 The head hits the back of her throat, then slides deeper, and before
long, Blair’s bottom lip touches my balls.
My mind can’t comprehend how she fits eleven inches there, but my
body responds in kind, growing that much hotter because one, two, three...
and she lifts her head, releasing me with a pop.
“I don’t have a gag reflex,” she says, beaming at me from under thick
eyelashes.
And she’s back on my shaft like it’s a lollipop, and she can’t get
enough, her fingers toying with my balls in time with her head bobbing up
and down.
Sweat coats my back, the orgasm so fucking close I won’t last much
longer, and this is not how I want to finish the evening.
I want her pussy, but instead of yanking her off me, my fingers tie her
hair, and I look down, loving the sight of her swallowing me all the way.
The image of her kneeling, lips parted as she lets me deep-throat that
pretty mouth flashes on the back of my eyelids, and I almost lose it.
“As amazing as this feels, I want your pussy, B.”
She claws my thighs, swallows me once more, and freezes for three
long seconds before she comes up, wiping the corner of her mouth with one
finger. That sultry, heated look in her blown pupils flips a switch inside my
head.
I grab her by the waist and sit her in my lap, her legs locking around
my back. It’s intimate, this position. We’re face to face. Her nipples brush
my chest, and when I take her lips, she weaves her fingers through my hair,
grinding her hips to slide her wet pussy along my cock.
Moving one hand under her butt, I lift her enough to get us in position.
A small, satisfied whimper rips into my mouth as she inches down my
length.
There are so many contradicting emotions running through me I can’t
decide which takes the stage until she yanks my hand from under her butt
and drops in one quick motion.
We both let out a moan. My muscles pull taut, her wet, tight pussy
gripping me like a vice, pulsing along my shaft like she’s on the verge of
coming undone.
“That feels so good,” she breathes, trying to rise, but I grip her hips
firmly in place.
“Don’t move. Give me a minute.”
 She remains still, but her soft, warm lips brush my ear, and she bites
gently, sending a pleasant sting through my entire body.
“Fuck...” I groan, my cock jutting inside her, muscles spasming to rein
in the overwhelming need to offload. “Jesus, B... you’re so fucking wet.”
“That’s supposed to be a good thing,” she whispers, skating her mouth
along my jaw.
“It’s the best thing, I promise.”
Testing the waters, I lift her hips up slightly. The angle is perfect. Too
perfect, but with a deep breath, determination, and a few unsexy thoughts, I
keep my orgasm in check, pushing it down enough that I won’t come the
second we up the tempo.
“Take charge. Ride me.”
She arches back like she’s about to show me the time of my fucking
life, and gasps, rising on knees buried in the mattress either side of my hips.
She rises so high my cock almost springs free, nothing but the tip left inside
her, and then she falls, impaling herself on me in one long thrust.
Bruising her lips with a deep kiss, I marvel in the feel of her locked in
my arms. I’m fucking drunk on the intense craving for her body even while
I’m balls-deep inside her. I pull her flush against me, and our brakes snap.
It’s frantic the way we move in sync. Loud, too, with her gasps, and
moans, and my growling every time she sinks. We claw for control, taking
and giving at the same time.
“My turn,” I say when her moves gradually slow like her legs lack the
strength to keep going.
Both hands under her butt, I move her onto her back so I can fuck that
sweet, tight pussy like I really want to.
But as soon as she lays under me, her tiny summer dress still bunched
at her waist, those small boobs covered in goosebumps, candy-hard, pink
nipples standing to attention, the merciless fuck loses its appeal.
I wanted to imprint myself inside her. I wanted her to feel me for days
every time she sat down, but I can’t find it in me to use her body like that.
She’s so pure in this moment, her eyes full of trust, arousal, and bliss, her
fingers ghosting my skin like she’s worshipping every inch.
So I return the favor.
I move my hips back then forth, driving myself home, bottoming out
inside her, not relentlessly pounding her like she’s nothing more than a cum
drop.
 Because she’s not.
There’s more to Blair than I let myself see. More than just Blair the
bully. There are deep emotions and layers to her personality, secrets she
guards, hurt she harbors, regret that gnaws at her mind. I see it. I notice
because I finally look past my own fucking hatred, and now...
I want to use her, but I also want to please her.
Sex is suddenly way fucking different to what I had planned. It’s hot,
fast, and hard but not insensitive.
If anything, we both fight to touch as much as we can. Kiss like we’re
losing our grip on reality. Speak with gestures instead of words. Every
stroke of her tongue against mine sets my mind alight. Every sound she
makes, every sound we make, pulls me deeper into our bubble.
And when she comes beneath me, shuddering, moaning, clawing my
back... I fuck her until the pressure is too intense and I pull out, spilling
across her stomach as she squirts all over the bed sheets.
“That was... overdue,” she sighs, amusement coating her words as she
brushes her hair behind her ears and looks down at her hot body. “What a
mess.”
I roll onto my back, my chest heaving, ears ringing, cock at half-mast
still. I’m waiting for the awkwardness to creep up. We both lost our minds
tonight, crossing lines we were never meant to cross.
Well, I was never meant to cross.
Blair doesn’t share my sentiments. She’s not stabbing anyone’s back
by giving in to me.
Inhaling a deep breath, I push those thoughts aside for a few more
minutes. I’ll have plenty of time to torture myself once I leave her bed.
“You should invest in waterproof mattress protectors and thick, chunky
towels,” I say, leveling my breathing.
“Why?”
“It’ll be easier than changing your sheets every time.”
“I doubt you’ll want to repeat this, so no point getting prepared,” she
sighs, not a trace of sarcasm or hurt in her words.
That’s... not what I expected.
She’s not hoping for another round. She knows even this was never
supposed to happen, and that’s all she’s getting.
Girls always act cool about a one-night stand before it happens, but
most grow attached during sex, and by the time we orgasm, one night is not
enough.
At least as far as my experiences go.
But Blair... she’s not pining. Not fishing for more, and... Fuck, I’m
confusing even myself. I never enjoyed girls who clung to me longer than
agreed after I’d had them, but the indifference radiating from Blair—the
same one I always projected—has my panties in a fucking twist.
It almost feels like rejection.
For the next minute or so, I rationalize, calming my racing heart and
mentally revitalizing my limbs. Once my breaths lose their irregular edge, I
sit up and take a moment to admire the wet sheets and Blair’s still-naked
body.
Ribbons of my cum adorn her stomach, boobs, and neck, a sight to
fucking see.
She stares at me, nothing short of content bliss in her heavy, hooded
eyes. She looks ready to fall asleep.
“You need a bath,” I say, getting to my feet.
“Is that a subtle way of saying I smell?”
“It’s a subtle way of saying you need to relax your muscles and wash
my cum off your stomach.” I enter the bathroom, halting with my hand on
the doorknob. “You smell delicious, B. Sweet like candy, you taste like it,
too.”
She doesn’t respond, but the shy smile I get in return is everything. I
turn the faucet to fill the tub, pour some bubble bath in, then clean myself
up, and go back to the bedroom, where she’s on her feet, the spaghetti straps
of her summer dress back in place, the bed stripped of the sheets.
“Get in the tub. If you’re sore tomorrow, take another bath in the
morning, okay?”
Her eyes widen, but she quickly wipes the surprise off her face,
nodding once. “This was fun.”
I smirk, crossing the room to kiss her lips one last time. “That it was,
but don’t forget I fucking hate you, B.”

OceanofPDF.com
SIXTEEN
Cody
WITH A DEEP BREATH, I pull my phone out, typing a message to my
brothers. I need one or more of them here to keep me in check. Even if they
won’t know they’re helping.
It’s been less than twenty hours since I had Blair, and I’m itching to go
over there and do it again. I can’t stop recalling how she looked, sounded,
and tasted. How well we snapped together. How mind-blowingly good the
sex was.
I thought I’d get my fill if we worked out years of pent-up sexual
frustration in bed. Turns out I’ve not even scratched the surface. She’s on
my mind non-stop. The need to grip her waist, impale her on my cock and
watch her ride me is so intense I already jerked off twice today.
I could knock on her door, bend her over the kitchen counter, and have
her squirt time and time again all over the tiles, but I can’t give in to this.
If one night has me this desperate for another, things will get worse if I
cave.
I need my brothers here talking shit, complaining about whatever the
fuck they want because it’ll keep me occupied, but before I send the text,
there’s a knock on my door.
Shit. I was so busy thinking of ways to stay away from Blair I didn’t
once think she’d come over for more. I have no doubt she’s outside my
door, and my mind fucking soars.
Need and want battle with reason and common sense. I can’t do this. I
can’t start a no-strings, casual fuck fest with Blair. Right?
Right.
Then why are my legs moving, and why is my heart climbing up my
throat like an alpinist ice-axing their way up a sheer cliff face?
My brain skips ahead, imagining what’s about to go down. Blair in my
bed tonight. Naked. Panting. Moaning. Loving every fucking thing I
planned in the last two seconds.
“It’s happening!” Logan grins when I open the door, a big bag flung
over his shoulder and little Noah beside him. “You alright, Cody?”
 I was so convinced I’d see Blair that I need a second to snap out of the
shock and swallow the bitter pill of disappointment.
Disappointment that it’s not her.
And disappointment that I lost my sense of right and wrong so fast.
That I considered establishing a regular fucking schedule with the girl who
did nothing but harm to one of my favorite people.
It’s true what they say.
Men think with their dicks regardless of age.
“Hey, yeah, I’m fine. I just... wasn’t expecting this today. Babies rarely
come on the due date, right?”
He chuckles, handing the bag over. “Almost is the keyword here.” He
messes up Noah’s hair before hauling him into his arms. “You’re staying
with Uncle Cody tonight, alright? You’ll have fun.”
“So much fun,” I agree. “I have your favorite cookies and lots of apple
juice.”
That’s about the only thing this kid drinks the last few months, since
Cassidy stopped breastfeeding him. Try giving him water, and he’ll spritz it
in your face.
“Is Cass in the car?” I ask, stepping aside to let them in.
“She is. The contractions are still far apart, so I thought I’d drop Noah
off before things get crazy.” He points to the bag I dropped on the breakfast
bar. “I packed enough for three days in case Eli takes as long to get out as
Noah. If you need help, Nico and Mia said to tell you they’re a phone call
away. I called Gareth already, so don’t worry about work. He’ll take over
your team tomorrow and Friday if needed.”
Gareth is Logan’s right-hand man at Stone and Oak. He started out
working construction and now whines about sitting behind a desk
delegating work. I bet he’ll enjoy getting his hands dirty again.
“You’re rambling, Logan. Chill. We’ll be fine. It’s not my first time,
bro. Nico’s still got the spare car seat?”
He nods, setting Noah down when he starts wriggling in his arms.
“Okay, Daddy’s got to go now.” He kisses his head, then taps his nose.
“Have fun. I’ll come and get you when your little brother’s here.”
“Bye, bye,” Noah cheers, cuddling a plush t-rex to his chest. “Bye,
bye.”
“Don’t give Uncle any trouble.”
“Bye, bye!”
 “Alright, alright!” Logan chuckles, raising his hands. “I’m going.”
A minute later, we’re alone, and a cheeky grin twists Noah’s face a
second before he drops his plushie and bolts for the snack cupboard in the
kitchen.
You wouldn’t know he only started walking two months ago with how
fast he runs.
“I should’ve checked with your dad if you had dinner.”
“Pasta!”
“You ate pasta, or you want pasta?”
He yanks open my dry-food cupboard and pulls out a plastic container
filled with penne.
“I take it you didn’t eat then. We’re cooking, huh?” I set the container
on the breakfast bar, then pull out a foldable highchair from the coat closet.
“Deal, I could eat, but you’re doing the dishes.”
“No!” Noah yells with a giggle, banging his hands on the highchair
tray.
“I knew you’d say that.” Grabbing a handful of wooden utensils and a
plastic bowl, I set them before him, keeping the drummer entertained while
I prepare dinner.

***

“Your mommy won’t be happy about this, so you need to promise you
won’t tell her,” I say, wiping Noah’s face for the third time since we entered
the building.
I don’t know why I bother. It’s not like he’s clean. The chocolate ice
cream in his hand melts, dripping onto his hand, t-shirt, and—since he’s in
my arms as I climb the second flight of stairs—my t-shirt, too.
Noah grins, licking the ice cream, and his face is dirty again. I don’t
bother wiping it again, stuffing the wet wipe in the back pocket of my jeans
as we emerge on the third-floor hallway.
Since he woke up at six am, I’ve changed his clothes twice. Logan
packed enough for three days, but it’s not even been twenty-four hours, and
I’ve burned through half the supplies.
“Hey,” I hear as I pop the key in the lock. Doing a one-eighty, I halt
face to face with Blair.
 God, she’s fucking beautiful again, dressed in black sweatpants and a
matching t-shirt stained in white powder. There’s more on her forehead, her
hair in a bun, a few locks kissing her shoulders.
I open my mouth to reply, but Noah shuts me up, stuffing my face with
his ice cream, then bursts out giggling.
Wiping the chocolaty goo off my lips and beard with the back of my
hand, I maneuver him over my hip. “You could’ve said enough, you
know?”
“No!” he cheers with a broad smile.
“Close. We’ll practice later. I love you, but don’t feed me your food,
okay?” I turn back to Blair. “Busy morning?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You’ve got...” On instinct, I step closer, wiping what I think is flour
off her skin. “You’re baking cookies?”
“Cookie!” Noah cheers, bouncing in my arms. “Cookie!”
“Yes, madeleines. I can bring some over later. I just need to run to the
shop. I’m all out of sugar.”
The words are out before I can stop to think why this is wrong. “I’ve
got sugar. You mind finishing in my kitchen and watching Noah for ten
minutes? I could use a shower, and this devil can’t be left unattended.”
Lies. Filthy lies.
Noah’s fine spending a few minutes alone if he has enough toys. Also,
I had a shower while he was still asleep, but... I don’t really know what.
There’s not one explanation in my head for why I just asked her to
spend time with me.
Not one excuse.
Maybe curiosity.
She’s in sweatpants again. A rare sight. Blair Fitzpatrick never once
came to school without a face full of makeup, a perfect outfit, and bling.
She’s not wearing any of that now, and it’s like staring at a brand-new
person.
Her cheeks heat, eyes darting to my lips before shifting to Noah. “Will
you help me with the cookies?”
“No.”
“He’ll help when it’s time to eat them,” I say, opening my condo.
“Come in.”
“Let me grab everything first.”
 “You need a hand?”
She looks me over. “Yours are full. It’s okay. It’s just a few small
things. Won’t be a minute.” She disappears into her condo as Noah pinches
my nose.
“Juice,” he says. “Juice!”
“I can’t wait until you speak full sentences.”
He speaks a lot already for his age. Mom said neither my brothers nor I
started talking until we were around two, so Noah must take after Cassidy.
He’s sixteen months and has a vocabulary of about twenty words. He
mostly shows me what he wants, but I bet he’ll be talking my ear off in no
time.
Leaving the door ajar, I take Noah in, and by the time he’s got a sippy
cup, Blair’s back with baking trays, three bowls, and an array of spatulas
and ingredients.
“I’ll try not to make a mess.”
“You can try all you want,” I say, washing my hands under the kitchen
faucet. “Noah won’t share your sentiment. I’ll grab a shower. Help yourself
to whatever you want.”
With a tight nod, she lifts Noah into the highchair, and I head to the
bathroom for the quickest shower in the history of mankind.
Ten minutes, and I’m back, dressed in clean—for now—clothes.
They’re filling the baking trays with batter. Noah grins when Blair helps
him, guiding the tablespoon in his hand. Seeing them working together, his
tiny hand engulfed in hers, makes me ache in a way I don’t understand or
even want to think about.
There’s not as much mess as I expected, though if I collected the batter
from Noah’s t-shirt, the counter, and the floor, we could make another tray
of madeleines.
Leaning against the wall, I watch, taking a moment to appreciate how
beautiful Blair is. She should throw away all the slutty dresses she owns
and embrace how good she looks when she’s not even trying.
Soft strands of hair dance around her face, her cheeks flushed from the
oven, giving her a rosy glow. I prefer this side of her. The carefree girl with
a big, genuine smile. She feels real. Not like the other one—the rude, self-
centered bitch.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, peering up at me. “I’ll clean this up in
a minute. We’re almost done.”
 “I’ll clean it up. You’re baking, I’m cleaning.”
“Done!” Noah exclaims, flailing the spoon around and spattering
everything in sight with batter.
“Yes, we’re done. Now let’s go wash your hands.”
He protests, banging the spoon against the marble countertop, but Blair
scoops him up, tickling him until he giggles.
“I’ll sort him out. He needs a change of clothes, too,” I say as she
passes him over.
By the time I’ve changed him, Blair’s cleaned the kitchen, and the
warm scent of vanilla and sugar emanates from the madeleines in the oven.
“It smells amazing in here,” I say, watching Noah climb onto the
couch. “How long before they’re done?”
“Not long now.” Her features soften when she looks over at Noah.
“Looks like someone’s tired.”
He lays on the pillow, eyes closed, t-rex tucked under his arm. I wish I
could fall asleep that fast. It literally takes him thirty seconds.
“So?” she questions, her tone reserved. “On a scale of one to ten, how
much do you regret the other night?” An apologetic look shadows her face
when I don’t answer and she gives a tiny shrug. “One of us had to bring it
up, don’t you think?”
“I don’t.”
“You’d rather pretend nothing happened?”
“No. I was answering your first question, B. I don’t regret it, to be
honest, it was a long time coming.”
Relief floods her face. “So we’re okay? I mean, not okay, obviously.
You still hate me because of Mia, but—” She applies the brakes, her guilt-
ridden eyes snapping to meet mine. “I’m sorry. I can’t turn back time, Cody.
I’ll never be able to right my wrongs, but I want you to know I regret it
all...” She heaves a heavy sigh, pushing off the counter like she’s about to
flee.
That familiar pang of protectiveness jabs my heart again. She looks so
resigned, so hurt, humiliated, and fucking sad, a stark contrast to that façade
of arrogance and disdain she presents to the world. I hate this look on her
almost as much as the resting bitch face.
Extending my hand to stop her leaving, I pull over a bar stool,
gesturing for her to sit, and once she reluctantly does, I grab two cans of
Coke from the fridge.
 “We’re not okay,” I say, my voice firm but far from rude. “I don’t
know if we’ll ever be okay, but I want to hear your story. Why did you do
it? Why did you bully Mia? Was it her looks? Those pink dresses riling you
up? How shy she is? Smart?”
Blair’s eyes drop to the can as she twists the tab, her fingers twitching.
Her silence feels like a thick, oppressive wall between us before she finally
speaks.
“I don’t want to make excuses, Cody. It’s inexcusable. I’m just not a
good person. Let’s leave it at that.”
That’s been my go-to explanation since I found out about the bullying.
Plausible and fitting, but... I’ve had time to get to know Blair a bit these
past few weeks. There’s a different side to her. A hurt woman sheltering
behind a mask. She’s full of kindness that she mostly refuses to show. Full
of smiles and full of tears.
“You’re not all bad. There’s good in you. I don’t know how much
because you hide it so well, but I see you with my nephews, B.” The fear in
her eyes subsides, so instead of pushing her to share things I’m not even
sure I want to hear, I change the subject. “What are your plans for the
summer?”
Her features soften, relief slumping her shoulders as she checks on the
madeleines.
“I don’t have plans,” she admits.
“No job? Won’t you be bored at home?”
“My dad needs me at short notice a lot, so any paid work is out of the
question. I do a bit of volunteering.”
I cock an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. I wouldn’t have guessed Blair
had it in her to be selfless. “Where?”
“At the hospital. I spend time at the psychiatric ward, reading, playing
chess, and just... offering a companion, I guess. A lot of those people are
very lonely.”
Now isn’t that a revelation. I’ve known this girl for years. At least, I
thought I did. Turns out there are many layers to her personality that she’s
been meticulously hiding. The best parts of her are never on display.
“Why the psychiatric ward?”
“Call it sentiment. My mom had schizophrenia,” she says, and the
oven dings, letting us know the cookies are ready.
 There’s a sadness coating her words reminding me her mother’s no
longer here.
She inspects the cookies through the glass before pulling out the tray.
“She died last March,” she adds, grabbing one cookie then quickly dropping
it to pinch her ear. “Hot.”
“No shit, you just took it out of the oven.”
A sweet smile lifts the corners of her lips and... what the fuck is
happening inside my chest right now?
I don’t like this girl. Not one bit. But for reasons I’ll never understand,
that tiny smile while her eyes teared up has my heart beating faster.
“They’re best when they’re still warm.”
“Warm, not hot,” I agree, grabbing a glass serving bowl and a spatula
to transfer the cookies. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
“Don’t be. She had a horrible life. Maybe death will be kinder.”
My eyebrows pull together, but she doesn’t elaborate. Sensing she
doesn’t want to share, I change the topic again.
“So you play chess?”
“I do. I’m pretty good, too. It was the only thing my mom liked when
she had good days, so I got fifteen years of practice.”
Fifteen years. Shit.
She was five when her mother got sick. I doubt she remembers her
before the illness. I don’t know Blair’s father. Never seen the guy, which,
now that I think about it, is fucking odd. I don’t recall anyone ever showing
up for Blair’s cheer practice. No one picked her up from school or came to
see her perform...
Shaking off the undesirable sense of sadness on her behalf, I cross the
room and pull a chessboard from the cabinet. On my way back, I tuck Noah
back in, moving him closer to the backrest of the couch before he takes a
dive.
“Alright, show me what you’ve got.”
I set the board up on the breakfast bar and she eyes it while I snatch a
cookie from the bowl, the condo filled with an aroma just about as sweet as
the heaven melting on my tongue.
I know what she’s thinking; she’s wondering why I’m keeping her
here. I’m wondering that, too.
Why have I invited her in the first place?
 Fuck knows. I can’t explain it. Hatred still sizzles beneath my skin, but
there’s something more there since she spent the night crying in my arms.
Empathy.
She’s obviously been going through a tough time for a while. Losing
her mother couldn’t have been easy, no matter how little contact they had.
She died last year, just as Blair was left with no one in her corner. Everyone
turned their backs on her after what Mia went through, and—
What if her mother’s death triggered the bullying again? Blair left Mia
alone in college. Didn’t bother her until after the Spring Break party in...
March.
“You know what, let’s get it over and done with now,” I say, needing to
find out more because things just don’t add up. “We’ll have to go there at
some point anyway. Tell me about the bullying. Don’t give me excuses, just
the truth.”
She squares her shoulder, moving her e-pawn two spaces after I moved
my f-pawn up by two. “Okay, you’re right. I’ve been trying to apologize
and explain for a long time.”
I believe that. Blair’s tried to approach Mia on multiple occasions this
past year, but she’s hardly ever alone, always under our care, and when
we’re not there, the football team guys are looking out for her. The few
times I caught Blair lingering nearby, she was too afraid of a backlash to
approach.
Since she moved in across the hall and started interacting with those
little heys here and there, I’ve grown increasingly curious about it. All the
more after she spent the evening here with River and me.
There’s something disturbing about how she can spin on a dime from
this caring person before me to the A-grade bitch I know so well.
There are two sides to Blair Fitzpatrick. What’s even more disturbing
is how she keeps her vulnerable side buried, always on guard even among
those she considers friends.
The nagging question returns: who is she playing?
Them or me?
“I bullied her because she was an easy target,” she whispers, firing a
fucking bazooka with the first sentence. “She was weak, quiet, closed-off.
Never talked or fought back... seeing her cry gave me a sense of power.”
It’s a hard pill to swallow, but despite how furious her words make me,
at least I know she’s telling the truth. Instead of playing the ‘I was just a kid
and didn’t know any better’ card, she’s exposing her darkest secrets. Not
many people openly admit guilt like this.
I bet not even Brandon knows.
I bet she never told anyone.
“It made me feel like I mattered,” she continues quietly, sliding her can
from hand to trembling hand across the counter. “It started in kindergarten.
The first time Jake made her cry, everyone started listening... following
him. It was amazing. Such an easy way to have friends, to be heard and
seen...
“I started doing the same, picking on her by his side because I loved
the strength it gave me. I know it sounds messed up, but that’s how it was.
Other girls looked up to me, said and did nice things, and...” Her voice
cracks, prompting me to look up.
I’ve been staring at the oven all this time, watching madeleines bake.
Tears well in Blair’s eyes, nose pink, chin quivering.
I’m not far from snapping and kicking her out. She has no right to look
this vulnerable and hurt. She deserves to feel like shit for what she’s done,
but the concern spearing my insides stuns me into silence.
“I didn’t realize until senior year in high school that I was projecting
onto her all those years. What I did to her was the thing I was running from
myself,” she adds in a whisper.
I move my g-pawn up, grinding my teeth before I trust myself enough
to ask. “Running from what?”
“That’s not important. I told you I won’t make excuses.” She wipes her
wet cheeks with the back of her hand. “When college started, Jake wasn’t
there anymore, but my friends stayed even though I stopped taking shit out
on Mia. The respect I’d earned over the years lingered. People still saw me,
still listened when I talked, so I left Mia alone.” She glances at me, holding
my gaze as she says, “Once you took her under your wing, bullying meant
going against you, and... I had the biggest crush on you when I saw you in
college. Hurting the girl you were so protective of wouldn’t win me any
points, but...” She pinches her lips, eyes welling with tears again, and she
gently shakes her head like she’s done.
Like she’s refusing to say another word.
“Keep going, B,” I encourage, hiding any trace of the mixed emotions
tearing me apart. “You got this far.”
 Shutting her eyes tight, she inhales a calming breath. “Brandon fell in
love with her. He didn’t realize it, but I did. I knew that if he made it work,
I’d lose him, and I couldn’t lose him, Cody. He’s the closest thing to family
I have.”
“Family? You’ve been sleeping with him on and off for years. Now
you’re friends, even though he’s a shitty friend at best, and you call him
your family? That’s messed up.”
“He’s had my back through thick and thin. Well... almost. He’s a little
lost and immature, but he’s got a good heart, even if his head is sometimes
screwed on the wrong way.”
“You’re evading. If you don’t want to answer, say so.”
“I’m not evading. I’m explaining.” She sighs, shifting her queen to h4,
and I get the most genuine smile I’ve seen from her. “Checkmate.”
“What?” My eyes drop to the board. “How?”
She points to the diagonal e1 to h4 that exposes my king. “You’re not
good at this. This is the fastest checkmate you can perform in chess.”
“Looks like I need a few lessons.”
“Anytime.” She beams, but her smile slips off fast. “Sorry, I didn’t
mean to—”
“Mondays and Thursdays?” I cut her off because I don’t want her back
in defensive mode.
I want this girl. She’s... nice. Fun. Beautiful and caring. She’s a good
person.
Her eyes widen a little, but she smiles, her shoulders relaxing as she
nods. “That’ll work.” She grabs another cookie, handing one to me as well.
“And about Brandon... I know there were rumors flying around campus, but
we were never a thing. Neither casual nor serious nor a one-night deal.”
“Never?” I echo, not comprehending the information fast enough.
“Never? Why didn’t you do anything about the rumors?”
“I started them, Cody. Brandon’s the only person I trust. He knows
things no one else does, and I needed him.”
“So you told everyone you were sleeping with him so other girls
would steer clear?”
She nods, her cheeks hotter by the second. “Not many girls dared stand
in my way back then. I fueled the rumors, but they only worked because
Brandon never wanted more than sex until he noticed Mia. My mom died
the day before the Spring Break party, and he wasn’t there for me.”
 “So you took it out on Mia,” I say, connecting the dots. “She did
nothing wrong, Blair. Brandon’s the one who hurt you.” I don’t realize I’ve
slammed my fist on the counter until she flinches, her eyes filling with fresh
tears. “You humiliated her. You burned her hair! How fucked up is that?!”
“I know... I—” She clamps her mouth shut, tears spilling down her
cream cheeks as she slips off the bar stool. “I’m sorry, Cody. I... I don’t
have anything but apologies, and I know they don’t mean anything, but
they’re sincere.” She pushes a long, shaky breath past her lips, glancing at
the oven. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I have to go, but thank you for
today and, and... take the next batch out before it burns,” she rambles,
backing out around the corner until I hear the door slam shut.
“Fuck.” I run a trembling hand down my face. Way to keep my cool.
“Well done, asshole...”
Admitting her sins that blatantly couldn’t have been easy. She opened
up to me, showed her rawest form, unearthed things she probably has a hard
time thinking about, let alone confessing, and making exactly zero excuses
while doing so. She laid the hard, cold truth down... and I snapped.
As I do wherever Mia’s concerned.
I get up to follow Blair, but one glance at the couch stops me taking
half a step. I can’t leave Noah alone.
Flexing my fingers, I ball my fists repeatedly to purge the tension and
influx of unpleasant emotions from Blair’s confession. The hard-to-stomach
memories and the protectiveness I’ve felt toward Mia since I saw her
struggling with Asher.
To this day, I don’t know what triggered the response. I was never
interested in her, never saw her as anything more than a little sister, but the
need to defend her engulfed me. No matter how much time passes, no
matter the fact she’s engaged to my brother, I still feel responsible for her.
Guilt smacks me across the face as Blair’s confessions swirl round my
head, my challenge-loving mind deciphering the clues.
“Such an easy way to have friends, to be heard and seen...”
The fleeting mention of her mother’s schizophrenia, and how death
might be kinder to her than life. How she weighed every word to make sure
nothing she said could be interpreted as an excuse. How she looked like
she’d resigned herself to a life of guilt and regret, not worthy of any good
moments.
Heard. She wanted to be heard and seen...
 I grab a packet of cigarettes from the kitchen drawer and head to the
balcony, surrounding myself with thick, white clouds. It helps center my
mind, clear the clutter, and focus.
Three deep drags, and the web of information, the scraps Blair threw
my way, unravels, creating a simple but bone-chilling picture. A reason.
She bullied Mia to feel like she had an ounce of power and control in
this world. Living with a mentally ill parent had to be a nightmare. To top it
off, throughout all the years I’ve known her, Blair’s never mentioned her
father.
And the fact I don’t know the guy speaks volumes about his
involvement in his daughter’s life.
Was Blair alone with her mother all those years?
Did she watch her die?
I don’t know much about schizophrenia other than what I’ve seen in
one episode of House M.D. If it’s anything like that, then a five-year-old
girl would’ve been properly messed up after witnessing her mother’s mental
breakdowns.
The more I think about her words, the more sense I find and the more
empathy I have for the little girl who watched her mother wilt away. The
more I understand why she stood by Jake Grey’s side, taking her hurt and
frustration out on Mia.
“It doesn’t fucking change anything. She could’ve stopped, she
could’ve...” I zip my mouth, though I admit I get why Vee talks to herself.
It really helps center the thoughts.
The cold, harsh truth is that Blair’s confession does change a fucking
lot. And... she did stop bullying Mia for a while. I don’t know why, but now
I’ve got to know her, I think she tried to do better. Be better...
“Shit.” I toss the cigarette butt in the ashtray and head back inside.
I should’ve never let Blair get this close. We’re at the friendly
neighbor level, I think, but that’s still way too fucking close.
“Juice,” Noah’s voice brings me back to here and now, his big brown
eyes staring from where he sits on the couch, wide awake. “Juice.”
“Sure, little bud. Give me a sec.”
And just like that, the negative emotions disperse, leaving nothing
behind. That’s what my nephews do to me. They bring a sense of order,
peace, and bliss. Hanging out with a kid is easier. They don’t have a care in
the world, and I let myself off the hook for a few hours.
OceanofPDF.com
SEVENTEEN
Blair
THE CHESS LESSONS NEVER HAPPENED. I stood outside Cody’s
apartment for ten minutes last Monday, my hand falling to my side every
time I tried to knock.
Afraid of facing him, I tucked my tail between my legs and fled. It was
too easy to forget how much he hates me after he saved me from Alan, held
me when I cried, and made me come so many times I lost count.
Amazing sex, closeness, fleeting conversations, and possessive
touches... but the thing I loved most was spending time with his nephews.
River is a cute baby. Loud but adorable. And Noah... Noah might just
be the cutest kid in California. I love how curious and gregarious he is. Not
a shy bone in his body.
I guess he takes after his dad. Logan’s the most ostentatious of all the
Hayes.
I grew up surrounded by them. I was five when I saw the triplets at
school. Six when Dad started doing business with Grandad Hayes after
inheriting a large piece of land that’s now an office block. Twelve when
Nico took over the role of my father’s stockbroker, and fifteen when Dad
took me to my first Monica Hayes charity gala.
Cody didn’t bring up the chess lessons again when I passed him. He
hasn’t said anything other than hey this past week, and I’m too chicken to
start a conversation even though he infests my mind daily.
It’s for the best.
Those few encounters we’ve had so far didn’t do me good. I’ve
replayed our conversation for days, scrutinizing my every word, hoping he
didn’t think I was trying to make excuses for who I’ve been my whole life.
I let my guard down around him without thinking, and not just with the
words. No one except Brandon ever saw me like Cody did when I baked
madeleines. No makeup, no pretty dress or jewelry.
Nothing to hide the ugly.
I don’t leave my condo unless I look the part I play, but my mind
didn’t go to get yourself sorted out when I ran out, hearing him talking in
the hallway. Lack of sugar was a lousy excuse, but it worked.
It feels so natural not to pretend around Cody. So natural to be me. The
real me, not the Blair I created to deflect the past.
It also felt fucking amazing to lay all night tucked against Cody’s side
with his long fingers tangled in my hair, the bulk of his warm body holding
me close.
It’s the safest I’ve ever felt—in the arms of a man who despises me for
what I’ve done to Mia.
Him and me both.
Ana sits outside Cody’s apartment when I come home from a shopping
spree with Kelly-Ann. Holding a few bags of lingerie, I stop dead in my
tracks, unsure which way to turn.
I bet she remembers Cody pinning me against the wall, devouring my
mouth last week.
This is bound to be awkward.
Moving the bags into one hand, I fish my key out, my feet aching from
six hours in heels. It’s funny how quickly your feet get used to comfortable
shoes.
I used to spend hours in heels every day, shopping with the girls or
meeting up after school to gossip in our favorite restaurants and cocktail
bars, but I’ve not been out much lately, so spending a few hours in
Louboutins warrants a soak.
“Hey,” Ana chirps as I reach my door, not an ounce of hostility in her
voice. “Do you know where Cody is?”
I look her over, wondering how Cody would expect me to act. Play
dumb? Pretend there’s something between us to get rid of her? Looks like
the kiss did nothing to scare her away, so I guess that strategy wouldn’t
work.
“I’m not sure,” I say.
“Oh, that’s okay. I didn’t think you would.”
It’s bizarre how calm she is, but I shake the moment off, reminding
myself she’s been stalking him for weeks. This eerie friendliness isn’t that
odd. I push my door open, but her soft, apologetic voice glues me to the
spot.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
I should’ve asked Cody what my role is here. It’d be helpful to know
what he expects of me where Ana’s concerned. “I’m not sure what you
mean.”
“You know... you and Cody. When he kissed you, I assumed it was
serious.”
It’s not serious for obvious reasons, but my curiosity piques. How
would she know it’s not serious? She’s not been around. I would’ve noticed
her lingering outside his condo or the building.
“You spoke to him?” I ask. “When?”
“Oh...” Her face falls, cheeks heating a touch. “He didn’t tell you
you’re over? I’m so sorry, I figured when he called me that things didn’t
work out and he needed a distraction.”
“He called you?”
I’m aware I’m stating the obvious, but I’m so taken aback my mind
can’t do anything smarter.
Why would he call her? She’s obviously unhinged. He used me to get
rid of her and now... what? He changed his mind?
“Yeah, he told me to come over tonight. He didn’t say what time,
though. I’ve been waiting for an hour.”
My chest tightens, an unpleasant feeling sinking its claws into my
bones—jealousy.
I have zero right to feel that. Cody and I are nothing more than friendly
neighbors. Though we’ve not said anything other than polite heys I despise
since the night Noah stayed with him, so friendly is probably no longer true.
“Why don’t you call him and check when he’ll be back?” I ask. A
small voice in my head whispers that she might be lying.
“No, it’s okay. I think he’s out with his brothers, and he doesn’t like
being disturbed. I don’t mind waiting.”
Still unsure what to think, I decide it’s none of my business. I
shouldn’t be nosy. Closing the door behind me, I drop my bags next to it,
slip my heels off and sigh in relief.
I need to grab a shower just in case I get a last-minute invitation. I
won’t, but what’s the harm in being prepared?
Mikaela’s organizing one of her famous pool parties. I haven’t been
invited this time, but a small part of me blindly hopes she’ll change her
mind after a few drinks.
She’s been throwing those parties since her sweet sixteenth. No boys,
just girls gossiping, dancing, and drinking. The party used to take place at
her parents’ house, but once their son—Toby—eloped a few months ago
and had a baby, they moved to Europe, leaving Mikaela under Toby’s care.
And that’s where the party is —at his and his wife’s house... the wife
who so happens to be Mia’s older sister, Aisha.
Sometimes it really sucks that the Newport ecosystem is so small, and
everyone knows each other. Aisha would drown me in the pool if I showed
up, and I’m sick and tired of the silence my condo offers.
Showered and dressed, I sit at the breakfast bar with a glass of wine,
drinking it like water to unlock my tense muscles.
After another moment of considering Ana, I decide a looney stalker
warrants a heads-up. If she’s here because he told her to come, no harm
done, but if she’s here to ambush him, Cody would probably want to know.

Me: Ana’s waiting for you and wondering where you are because you
told her to come over and you’re not at home.

Nope... I sound jealous, so I try again.

Me: It’s not nice setting up a fuck session and

I don’t finish typing that one. It’s worse than the first. Taking a deep
breath to calm down and suffocate the jealous monster inside me, I send
something simpler.

Me: Ana’s here.

A few moments pass before delivered changes to read under my

message, and the three dots start dancing. They don’t dance for long
because next thing I know, he’s calling.
My chest erupts in tingles, then a hot flush sweeps me from head to
toe, my heart picking up pace.
If Ana’s right, Cody’s with his brothers. Why is he calling instead of
texting? I swipe my shaking thumb across the screen.
“Did she do anything to you?” he asks, his anger tainted with a twinge
of worry that has my heart singing.
“No, she just said you told her to come over.”
He releases a deep breath and butterflies take off in my stomach
because that breath sounds a lot like relief. “I didn’t,” he says forcefully,
like he’s making sure I believe him. “Fuck, she’s really asking for that
restraining order.”
“What’s going on?” I hear one of his brothers in the background, Theo,
if I’m not mistaken. “Who’s that?”
“My neighbor,” Cody grinds out. “Letting me know my psycho stalker
is at my door again.”
And just as he says it, there’s a loud bang on my door.
“I have to go,” I say, my finger hovering over the end call button as I
reach for the handle.
“Wait. Don’t talk to her, okay? She might be all smiles and kindness,
but Shawn says those are the ones who suddenly snap and go batshit crazy.”
“I got a notification you spent eight hundred dollars at Victoria’s
Secret!” my father booms, shoving the door wide open in one hard kick.
“Who the fuck are you dressing up for?”
Words stick to my throat as Gideon Fitzpatrick towers above me,
nostrils flared, hand raised like he’s about to smack me.
I’ve seen this so many times. The memories of him in this exact
stance, wearing the same malicious sneer, as he took his anger out on Mom
whenever she hallucinated, threaten to bring me to my knees.
My breath falters in my lungs, my body stiff, unmoving as I wait for
him to strike... Not until he pushes a gush of angry air down his nose and
his hand falls to his side do I inhale deeply, feeling like I dodged a bullet.
But my mind riots almost instantly when I realize I’m clutching my
phone and Cody’s still on the line.
Shit, shit, shit.
I kill the connection before my dad notices, but he’s too busy gathering
my shopping bags and storming into my walk-in closet. I hear the wardrobe
doors and drawers clattering until he returns, the bags filled with every
piece of my lingerie.
“Who are you sleeping with?” he snaps, little torches swimming in his
eyes. “Who?!”
“No one, I swear... I went shopping because Kelly-Ann—”
“Spare me the bullshit Kelly-Ann story. I don’t care, but you better not
be dating some fucker behind my back because I will find out, and if you’re
whoring around while you’re working for me, there’ll be hell to pay.”
He wasn’t always like this. Until last year, he didn’t give a damn who I
date or sleep with, but then Grant Bailey happened. A twenty-seven-year-
old, smart, caring man I met at a coffee house. We hit it off and started
casually dating. Nothing too serious, but I enjoyed spending time with him.
It was right about when Dad was looking for an accountant he could
manipulate into doing the books the way he commanded. He staged dinner
with him and his associate to talk a bit of business, and, doing my job, I
flashed the accountant my pussy at the table. His hand went to my knee,
and that’s when his associate joined us.
My fling, Grant.
It was a nasty evening. My father was—rightly so—accused of using
me as bait, so I had to lie through my teeth, making up a story that I was the
one who wanted to meet him because I’d heard so much about him from
Grant, and had seen him somewhere or other and developed intense
feelings.
Thankfully, he was very handsome, so the lie got swallowed, and my
dad was off the hook. But from then on, I wasn’t allowed to date or have a
sexual relationship with anyone because we are not risking the same
situation ever again.
“I’m not seeing anyone, I promise,” I add again, quickly diverting his
attention away from my personal life. “Are we going somewhere? Should I
get ready?”
He clamps his jaw tight, teeth gnashing as he pacifies himself. “You
have two fucking minutes to get dressed.”
With a tight nod, I scurry toward my bedroom. I’ve pissed Dad off
enough lately, and I’m not willing to face the inevitable consequences.
Once I fit into one of the many red dresses and slide my feet into heels,
I glance in the mirror, staring into my dark blue irises surrounded by a
smokey eye. Red lips, tight dress, layered necklaces, diamonds... Blair for
the world.
I wish I didn’t have to do this. It felt great to wear sweats or jeans with
Cody, not an ounce of judgment in his eyes...
With one last touch of mascara, I join my father in the living room,
hyperaware that I’m currently not wearing panties since all of mine are in
the bags he’s holding. I checked, but he even went to the extreme of picking
out my lingerie from the bathroom hamper.
“You want a dick, Blair?” Dad snaps, his lips curling into a mocking
smile. “I’ve got one you can have.”
 With that, he yanks the door open, where wide-eyed Ana sits with her
back to Cody’s.
“Are you okay here, sweetheart? Are you waiting for someone? A
boyfriend, perhaps?” my father coos at Ana. “Cody Hayes, correct?” he
adds, eyeing the door she’s resting against.
Behind his back, I softly bob my head, praying that she confirms. Her
lips part, but she says nothing for a second, until she swallows like she’s
making room for words.
“Yes, sir. Cody Hayes.”
“You got yourself a keeper there, sweetheart. I’m sure you heard
nothing, but I apologize for all the screaming.”
The implied threat in nothing is not lost on Ana. He stares her down,
acting concerned and apologetic, but I know his eyes speak volumes as he
waits for her to nod in confirmation that she’ll keep her mouth shut.
Satisfied with her cooperation, he grips my upper arm in a gesture that
could easily be mistaken for affection if he weren’t gouging his fingers into
my flesh so hard it hurts.
“You’ll leave bruises,” I whisper when we round the corner.
“Be glad I’m not leaving a black eye. Maybe if you got a beating like
your crazy mother, you’d stay in your place.”
Once again, the memories his words summon almost turn my knees to
jelly. I’m not half as scared of his threats as I was when Mom was alive. He
never hit me, but he took Mom’s meds whenever I misbehaved, then beat
her up when she started hallucinating.
He won’t hurt me, though. Not while he needs me to play my part.
Bruises on my arm can be easily attributed to wild sex. A black eye or split
lip, not so much.
“Where are we going tonight?”
“Strip club. Simons pulled out. I’ve got a new guy, probably an even
better fit for what I have in mind...”

OceanofPDF.com
EIGHTEEN
Blair
CODY STEPS OUT OF HIS CONDO when I shove the key into my
lock. It’s after midnight, and I smell like smoke and stripper perfume after
spending too many hours watching women writhing around poles while my
father talked business with his newest victim.
The man didn’t pay me any heed. He barely even looked at me when I
arrived, too busy salivating at the much bustier and curvier girls than me
working the poles.
But I wasn’t excused until my father shook hands with the man, his
smile dazzling, fucking blinding in all its flakiness. Tonight must’ve been
the fastest deal Gideon Fitzpatrick ever closed. I bet the fat envelope he
slipped into Mr. Whatever’s hand helped speed the process, but it’s unusual
for my father to willingly hand out bribes.
The deal must’ve been one he couldn’t afford to lose. Still, giving
money away isn’t a decision Dad takes lightly.
“Where were you?” Cody asks, his icy tone demanding my attention.
“Who was that asshole screaming at you earlier?”
My body ignites at the sight of his sweatpants hanging low, bare feet,
and bare chest. Since the night we spent together, I’ve been walking around
hot and bothered whenever he invades my mind. I wake up drenched in
sweat from intense dreams and finish the job using my purple wand. I’ve
mastered using it, but it’s nowhere near as good as Cody.
My cheeks heat more, filthy thoughts on display as I watch him tug
from a bottle of Corona, glaring at me like I’ve killed his pet snake.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
Playing dumb probably won’t work on him, but I can try.
He scoffs, shaking his head, clearly disappointed in my answer. “Ana
said he dragged you out of here like a fucking dog, Blair. Who was he?”
“It’s none of your business.” I turn to go inside, but Cody leaps
forward, gently cuffing his fingers around my wrist.
“I’m making it my business, B.” He steps closer, backing me against
the wall.
 “Who was he? Your boyfriend?”
Blood sings in my ears. God, he sounds... he sounds jealous.
Possessive. Territorial with how his fingers sink into my flesh, hard enough
to send a message but not hard enough to hurt.
“Stop asking questions. Please.”
“I’m not forcing you to answer.” He moves his hand to trace the line of
my hip, looming over me, his brown irises dancing across my face and
body, two lines creasing his forehead when he takes in my dress. “You
look...” He pauses, scrunching his nose like he caught a bad stench. “You
look better in jeans.”
“So polite,” I mock.
Or try to mock, but my words come out as breathless as I feel when
he’s crowding my personal space, the heat of his body engulfing me whole.
He’s so damn big.
I’m not short. Five-six is not short. Add my three-inch heels, and we’re
close to eye level, but his broad chest and big arms make me feel like small
prey. “You wanted to say I look like a whore. I know. No need to point it
out. I own a mirror.”
“Then why do you dress like this?”
“It’s none of your business!” I drop my gaze, hiding from his scrutiny,
and another thrill passes through me at what I discover.
He’s hard.
And I’m so wet... Feverish with need, dazed by his presence, desperate
for another night. Desperate to nip this topic in the bud and stop him asking
uncomfortable questions.
“The lines we crossed two weeks ago aren’t as significant as those
you’re trying to cross now.” Without thinking, I run my fingers along the
obvious bulge and squeeze gently, but he grabs my wrist, forcing my hand
away. “Stop asking questions, Cody. I promise I’m not worth it. Take a step
back, and... if you want to cross lines, stick to those we already crossed.”
Feeling bold, I wriggle my hand free and move it back where I started,
though this time I slip my fingers inside his sweats and grasp the base of his
thick, warm shaft, pumping slowly.
He falls forward, bracing one arm on the wall, eyes hooding over as
his primitive need takes center stage.
“Should I stop?”
 “Fuck no,” he groans, thrusting into my touch. “Good job derailing the
conversation.”
I watch a restless muscle feather his chiseled jaw, my blood growing
hotter, my mind skipping ahead to him using me to get off. I love how
quickly he can lose control and seize it back whenever he wants.
Rising on my toes, I lean in, my warm breath fanning his ear. “I’d do
this faster with my mouth.”
With another low groan, he loops one arm under my butt, hauling me
into his arms, a beer still in the other hand that he promptly sets aside as we
step into his condo.
“I’ve imagined fucking that sweet no-gag-reflex throat of yours since
you swallowed me down. You got anything to say?”
A small smile twists my lips when he sets me on his bedroom floor,
ever so carefully. I shimmy out of my dress straps, tugging it down to
expose my boobs.
“Don’t come in my mouth.”
“The only place I’ll come will be your pussy.” He drops a pillow by
the wall. “Lose the heels and kneel.”
I find it incredibly endearing that he’s worried about me bruising my
knees. I don’t know why that’s so sweet, but the soft dom vibes I’m getting
from him make me melt.
I whip my hair over one shoulder and look up, loving the sight of
Cody’s strong thighs and long, thick cock proudly standing to attention,
begging for my touch.
“You’re sure you’re okay letting me do this?” he asks, his voice low,
hoarse. The sentence ends with a groan when I angle my neck so it’s easier
for him to slide in. “Words, B.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Giving him a quick reminder of what my lips feel like
wrapped around him, I swallow him down and slip him back out, looking
up. “Do your worst.”
He grabs my hand, setting it over his thigh. “Tap out if I’m taking it
too far.”
“I won’t.”
His nostrils flare, and his patience wears off.
I might be coming across as experienced, but the truth is, despite
having a lot of meaningless sex, I’ve gone down on two other men total,
and I never allowed either of them to use me the way I want Cody to use
me.
Seeing the abyss of his black pupils, hearing his breath falter, those
low, primitive groans... it’s unlike any euphoria I’ve experienced. It’s
addictively freeing, letting him do as he pleases.
I feel safe despite handing over control.
Maybe because he’s fixated on consent. Or because of those soft dom
vibes and how his eyes lose their hard edge when he looks down at me... or
maybe because I’m so into him I want all he offers.
He slides in all the way, legs bucking as he sucks in a harsh breath. I
love when he does that. I love those audible, primal sounds he can’t control.
“You really don’t have a gag reflex,” he says, staring like I hold the
answers to life’s most important questions. “Fuck, baby... you’re beautiful
on your knees.”
Slowly, he pulls out, then slides back in, my cheeks purposely hollow,
my tongue curled to lick the underside as he sets a pace. Another pleasant
sensation spreads inside me when Cody cradles the back of my head, so it
won’t bang against the wall with every thrust.
I’m shaking, grinding my thighs together, searching for a bit of friction
the faster he pumps, chasing his climax. The guttural moans falling from his
lips drive me incoherent.
I can’t get enough of how he watches me, his eyes glazed over. I’m the
one who leaves him this desperate, this satisfied.
The salty, pungent taste of him coats my tongue, precum leaking every
time he hits the wall of my throat, sliding further until I swallow him whole.
Again and again... the faster he pumps, the slicker my thighs and the
harder I suck, ravenous for that moment when he stops fighting his orgasm
and lets it consume him.
“Fuck,” he growls, easing up, both hands softly cupping my face as he
pulls out. “I won’t come unless you come with me, B.”
Helping me up, he spins me around, pins my open palms to the wall,
and locks my wrists in his grip. With the other hand, he yanks my dress up.
“Are you always walking around commando?” he grinds out, throwing
back the question I asked him the first time we fucked. He follows it with a
stinging slap on my butt that makes me wetter. “Where the fuck are your
panties?”
 “Stop asking questions,” I plead, my voice catching when I feel his
cock slide across my pussy. “Either fuck me or get your hands off me.”
He rests his forehead against the back of my head, gripping my hips.
“Keep your hands on the wall, B.” A groan of approval resounds when the
head of his cock juts against my entrance. “On your toes for me.”
I rise as high as possible when he slams into me, making my whole
body spasm. “God, this angle...” I throw my head back, arching into his
hurried strokes. “So good.”
“That it is. It’ll be even better when you start squirting.” He ups the
pace, pumping in and out faster against my G spot with measured precision,
and before long, his arm circles my waist, holding me upright. “Good girl,
don’t fight it. Soak me.”
The orgasm hits, blurring my vision, and the pressure of my squirting
pushes him back.
“Best thing ever. One more, okay? Give me another.” He drives
himself home hard and fast, beckoning another orgasm to the surface within
seconds.
I tremble like an uncoiled spring, wave after wave of small orgasms
assaulting my senses, the floor wet under our feet, the room hot, stuffy, and
reeking of sex.
“Such a good fucking girl when you want to be,” Cody whispers,
pressing his hand between my shoulder blades until my back is almost as
level as a table. “So obedient. So fucking submissive... You know what I
like, don’t you, baby?”
He gathers my hair, wraps it around his wrist, and drives into me fast.
The sound of his hips slapping against mine as he hate-fucks me is the most
erotic thing in the world. Our moans, gasps, and sucked-in labored breaths
mix in the air, tuning out reality until it’s just us. Just him working himself
into me, every stroke designed as the sweetest punishment.
I feel the telltale change of impending climax in his movements. An
injection of panic seizes my muscles because he didn’t grab a condom, but
just as I part my lips to remind him, he pulls out, painting my back with
warm jets of cum, his hips jerking in sync with the quiet curses falling from
his lips.
“Shit,” he pants, slapping my sore butt—gently this time. “Looks like
we’ve got a fucking problem here, B.”
 I tense immediately, but his soft lips stamping the nape of my neck
counter it.
“I already want to do this again,” he admits, and with the last lingering
kiss on my skin, he turns me around. “You think we can keep this up for a
while without you catching feelings?”
His cum trickles down my spine, pooling at the base where his arm
circles my back, firmly holding me to him. Unable to stop myself, I brush
back a strand of his dark hair that fell out of the bun.
“You’re asking if we can casually fuck until we’re both sated, then
stop without me ending up stalking you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
I wish I could say my heart didn’t speed up at the prospect, but that’d
be a blatant lie. I already caught feelings. When he held me all night,
helping me cage my demons without even knowing how much I needed that
comfort.
But I can put a cap on those feelings if I get amazing orgasms and a bit
of closeness in return.
“Under one condition,” I say, mindlessly tracing patterns on his pec.
“One we probably share anyway.”
“Fire away.”
“No one can find out.”
He narrows those brown, gorgeous eyes. “I know why I’d rather keep
this between us, but you... What’s your reason?”
“You ask too many questions.” Rising on my toes to peck his lips one
last time, I wiggle out of his embrace, stepping into the bathroom. “Take it
or leave it.”
He follows, wetting a fresh washcloth under warm water before gently
cleaning my back. “I should start using condoms, so I’m not making a mess
of you every time, but I really don’t want to miss how good it feels when
you’re squirting all over my cock.”
“I’m making a mess of you. It’s fair you make a mess of me, too.”
I don’t add that it’s fitting since I’m a huge mess inside. Instead, I grab
another washcloth and wipe his cock. It’s still at half-mast and probably
wouldn’t need much attention to rise back to full glory.
“So?” I drop the cloth in the sink. “Do we have a deal?”
He tries to kiss me, but I arch away, knowing damn well I need to set
some boundaries if we’re going to participate in extracurricular activities.
Kissing was okay when I thought one night was all I’d get or when I
thought, just a few moments ago, that this was the last time we’d fuck, but
if it’s going to be more regular, kisses are out of the question. I love his
mouth too much to risk it.
“We’re supposed to be working out the sexual tension,” I say when he
cocks an eyebrow. “Kisses are intimate, and intimate might turn
problematic.”
“And sex isn’t intimate?”
“Not the way we just did it.”
He smirks, lifting his hands in defeat. “Fine. Have it your way. No
kissing. Anything else?”
“Yes. No interaction outside the bedroom. No more cookies, no
helping with babysitting, no helping with shopping. No more questions.
Let’s not blur the lines, okay?”
He grinds his teeth, probably not happy about the no-questions part.
The whole point of him cornering me out in the hallway was so he could
learn about the things I refuse to share. I hope to take my dirty little secret
to the grave.
And that’s why I’m imposing the no-questions rule. My crush on Cody
is something real, but I know better than to think or hope we could evolve
into something real. There’s too much ugly history, baggage, and hurt that
can’t be overlooked outside feral, primal, bedroom lust.
Sex is physical. While it can lead to emotions, if we set iron-clad
boundaries, we’ll get what we want from this arrangement without risking
too much.
I get to feel in control of my body. Since my traumatic first time, I’ve
used sex to erase the feel of the sixty-year-old pervert’s hands on me. I
never enjoyed it the way I enjoy it with Cody. His insistence on
communication and consent helps tear down the walls my mind built that
fateful night.
I worked through the trauma mentally with my therapist, and now,
thanks to Cody, I’ll work through it physically so that one day I won’t dread
the idea of commitment.
And, obviously, sex with Cody is a fantasy come true. A fantasy I was
too embarrassed and scared to dream about since I laid eyes on him my first
day of college.
 I’m not sure what Cody wants out of our deal. He can have any girl he
wants, but right now he wants me, so why the hell not?
“You’re driving a hard bargain,” he says, lifting his hand to toy with
my nipple. “But I think a step back is a good idea, so yeah, let’s revert to
heys and replace the talking and working through our bullshit with sex.”
I try not to get hung up on the spite in his voice. He’s annoyed he
won’t find out who the man he heard over the phone is, where I was
tonight, and why I’m not wearing underwear.
“You’re pouting,” I say, dragging my nails along the underside of his
stiffening cock. “Want me to work that frustration out of you, baby boy?” I
inject enough sarcasm into the endearment to drive my point home.
His teeth gnash between his lips. “You don’t like it when I call you
baby girl?”
I love it. I always cringed when I heard guys call their girls that
because, from the observer’s point of view, it’s just so lame, but the desire
coating his voice when it’s aimed at me... not lame at all. Nothing sounds
lame on Cody’s lips.
But again, pet names fall on the wrong side of the line. “Save it for
someone special,” I say, looking down because his cock swells in my palm,
the tip leaking precum once more. “I think you’re ready for round two.”
“I think I am,” he agrees, gripping my hips and setting me by the sink,
his fingers finding my clit. “Are you sore, B?”
“Not one bit.”
“You’re about to be.” He smiles darkly, guiding himself in. “Tap out if
I’m too rough.”
I gasp and cling to his broad shoulders when he slams into me. “Like I
said. I can handle a hate-fuck.”
“Good...” he breathes in my ear, bottoming out inside me. “...hate
fucks are suddenly my favorite.”

OceanofPDF.com
NINETEEN
Cody
THE NEW ARRANGEMENT with Blair works better than I initially
anticipated. Not that I was thinking clearly when we made the deal. I’m not
thinking clearly now, recalling one morning last week that she spent
sprawled over my breakfast bar while I feasted on her pussy, making her
squirt three times before we moved to the bedroom for round two.
Guilt gnaws at me whenever she’s not around to distract me from my
thoughts, but I ponder calling it off ten times a day, feeling like an asshole
for indulging in Blair, of all people. I feel even worse when we’re together,
and I can barely keep myself from dipping my head to take her lips in mine.
I’m not lying to myself, though. I know I won’t call it off. Not yet. I’ve
not had my fill. One second of remembering what she feels like coming
beneath me, and calling it off seems like a felony. Besides, no one knows.
No one will know unless either of us decides otherwise, and sex with
Blair is something out of this world. When we’re alone, she’s not on guard.
No masks, no pretending, no fake smiles, or bitchy attitude. She’s pliant and
submissive, or demanding, depending on my mood.
She’s perfect and I have no control around her.
I’m weak.
There, I fucking said it. I’m weak.
No matter how bad I feel about fraternizing with the enemy I can’t
stop this.
What Mia’s eyes don’t see won’t hurt her, and this meaningless
arrangement with Blair might just stop my obsessive, compulsive
protectiveness toward my brother’s fiancée.
There is nothing healthy about it. Neither for me nor her.
I almost blocked her relationship with Nico because I was so fixated
on keeping her sheltered. Thank God he doesn’t give up easily. By his side,
Mia blossomed from a timid, afraid of her own shadow, sweet little girl to a
still sweet but confident young woman.
She doesn’t take his bullshit like she did at the beginning. She stands
up for herself. She’s fine, and I need to stop walking on eggshells wherever
she’s concerned.
Try as I might, I couldn’t fight the feral need that consumes me
whenever Blair’s close. I stayed away for two weeks after that first time,
running around in fucking circles before I snapped.
Making our sexcapades more regular didn’t cross my mind until I
painted the delicate skin of her back with my cum and realized that was it.
Done. Over.
The last thing I wanted was for it to be over.
But it’s just sex. Nothing more.
When she set the rules while standing naked in my bathroom, I almost
said no way, remembering the man who screamed at her while we were on
the phone. I’m not sure but I think it’s the same man who screamed at her
the night she slept in my arms.
I need answers because I didn’t like that guy’s tone. Derogatory,
spiteful... that’s no way to talk to a woman.
Even if that woman is Blair.
I had time to think about everything she told me while Noah napped on
my couch. I spent two weeks overthinking our every encounter, unearthing
the little things she said, the things she only implied and... I’m having a
hard time hating her as much as I did before.
I still hate her—pinky promise—but it doesn’t come as effortlessly. I
have no trouble fucking her brains out, though.
But while we’re acting like perfect strangers, I wonder what she does
when she’s not with me, alone in her condo. I wonder if she thinks about
me. I wonder if she cries herself to sleep.
I wonder why I fucking wonder.
“Who the fuck are you dressing up for?!”
Those words come back and hit me a few times a day.
Is that guy dangerous? He sounded like someone who wouldn’t have
an issue smacking a girl about, but I’ve been scrutinizing Blair’s body every
time we have sex, and so far, not a single mark on her perfect skin.
Not one bruise, cut, not one sign someone touched her against her will.
And you don’t ask a guy to face-fuck you if you went through that kind of
trauma, so there’s that.
Another thing about our little dalliance that surprised me is the weight
these rules took off my shoulders. Instead of obsessing that I’m doing a
stupid thing with the girl I should never touch, I accept us for what we are
—physical.
Primitive, desire-driven, great sex.
Blair made sure it’s impersonal. A dirty deed. No chats, no kisses, no
way we could crave more. We severed the connection sprouting between us
before it properly took root. The same connection that had us digging
through the piles of crap in our past. We channeled that effort into testing
our limits in bed.
I found zero in Blair so far.
Despite going overboard more than once, she hasn’t tapped out yet. On
the other hand, she found one no-go with me when her finger ventured too
close to my asshole. To say I jerked away would be an understatement. I
jumped out of bed, my chest heaving, eyes shooting fireballs her way.
I don’t hate for the sake of hating. I tried many things over the years,
learning what makes me tick. I could get on board with cock rings, vibrators
strapped to my shaft, or even—though I’m not a fan—edging, but a finger
in my ass is not my jam.
Blair, on the other hand, almost fucking purrs when I coat my fingers
in her arousal and toy with that tight back entrance. I’m yet to push my dick
in there, but she comes twice as hard when I slip the tip of my finger past
the ring of muscles.
I adjust myself in my chair because my cock’s growing hard just
thinking about going balls-deep in her ass to make her squirt.
It’s been two weeks since we made the deal, and we’ve had sex
eighteen times (not that I’m counting). July is here already, hellishly hot.
Five more weeks until Logan’s wedding, four until the bachelor party I’m
here to plan with my brothers.
Too bad planning the night’s strippers and booze loses the battle for
my attention with Miss Fitzpatrick. I can’t push her out of my head for five
fucking minutes lately.
Just this morning, she knocked on my door at five thirty, two hours
before I normally rise on a Friday, sucked me off in the shower, then pushed
me onto the bed and rode my face.
She tried sliding off when she was about to come, but hey, we’re
testing limits, so I held her in place, and almost fucking drowned as she
came.
 I thought I wouldn’t enjoy it considering scientists have yet to decipher
the squirting phenomenon. I thought it’ll be like a golden shower—
A lightbulb moment has me snatching my phone from the table to text
Blair. Sex talk is the only talk we are free to engage in, so I’m not crossing
any lines.

Me: Got one more. Golden showers.

B: Isn’t squirting the same thing? You didn’t protest this morning.

Me: It’s nothing like that. Tastes sweet like your pussy. Smells like your
pussy too. Cherry candy.

She sends back a rolling-its-eyes emoji because she thinks it’s dumb
that I claim she tastes like candy. That’s impossible, Cody.
Like I don’t know that. Of course it’s impossible, but I love her taste,
and when I say she tastes like cherry candy, it’s because it’s my favorite
flavor and hers is on par.
“What’re you smirking at?” Colt asks, joining me at the table,
fashionably late, his hair freshly cut into the signature style he’s had for
years.
Seems like everyone in this family took punctuality lessons from
Logan. I’ve been sitting at this table for ten minutes, and even though we
said seven and it’s five past, no one but Colt is here yet.
“Nothing. A message I got,” I say, erasing the chat before tucking my
phone into my back pocket. “Where is everyone?”
“Shawn pulled up just as I was coming in. I don’t know about the rest.
You been here long?”
“Not really. Ten minutes tops.”
His eyes quickly sweep the table. “Why haven’t you ordered a beer?”
“I was waiting for all of you.”
“You never do that.” He narrows his eyes, crossing both arms over his
chest. “Alright, spill. You obviously spent the last ten minutes texting some
chick, so out with it. Who is she?”
“I’m not texting any chicks. I’ve not got rid of Ana yet, so I’m taking a
break from pussy.”
“You gonna try a dick?” Shawn asks, approaching our table with his
husband, Jack.
 “My friend has a massive crush on you, Cody,” Jack says, pulling
another table closer since we won’t all fit by the one I chose, and Nico
apparently failed to let the staff know we’ll need a table for eight. “I can
give you his number.”
“Tell him I’m flattered but I’ll stick with pussy. As soon as I find one
less unhinged than Ana.”
“Has she been in touch again?” Shawn asks, waving the waitress over.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I got rid of her. She’s not doing anything harmful. I’m sure you can’t
file for a restraining order just because someone gets on your nerves and
doesn’t understand no.”
“Evening, boys,” Kathy, the waitress, says, pulling her notepad out of
her breast pocket. “What are we having? The usual?”
“Yes, babe. The rest are on their way so grab theirs too, alright? Except
Logan. We’re planning his bachelor party, so he’s not coming. Oh, and
could you grab us something to nibble on? I get the feeling we’ll be here a
while.”
“Sure thing,” she chirps, sending Colt a smoldering look we all catch.
As soon as she saunters back toward the bar, the attention swings from
me to my identical brother.
“Nico’s gonna be pissed when he finds out you’re fucking his staff,
bro,” I say in a hushed tone.
“What else is new? He’s always pissed.”
“True,” Shawn chuckles. “But maybe tell your girl to keep it on the
down-low if she doesn’t want to lose her job. Back to you though, Cody. I
don’t like this Ana thing. She sounds obsessed, and from experience, I can
tell you it never ends well.”
“I’ll be fine. She’s not been around since—” I push the air from my
lungs, applying the brakes before I let it slip that Ana’s not been around
since she caught me sneaking out of Blair’s condo last week. “Since I yelled
at her.”
The questioning looks triggered by my tripping over my words
dissipate in a flash. They know I break out in hives whenever a situation
forces me to raise my voice at a woman.
The only girl I ever snapped at without remorse is Blair, but now
things between us have escalated, the regret hits every time she’s such a
good girl and lets me paint her tanned skin with my cum or slide my cock
deep into her sweet mouth.
Conor and Theo arrive when the waitress sets our order on the table,
but no sign of Nico. He’s never late, at least not this much, so we’re getting
restless. Theo grabs his phone ten minutes later, putting it on loudspeaker.
Nico answers almost immediately. “Five minutes, Theo. Order me a
beer, will you?”
“Already waiting.”
As promised, Nico shows up five minutes later, his cheekbone swollen
like he’s been fighting. Not one of us would bat an eye a year ago, but since
he found Mia, Nico stopped throwing his fists left and right, so this is
interesting.
“What happened?” Jack asks, gesturing at his face. “Who pissed you
off?”
“Better question would be who I pissed off.” He sits beside me,
snatching his beer and draining a third. “Mia’s not happy with me.”
“She hit you?” Theo’s eyes widen before he bursts out laughing. “And
she actually did some damage with those tiny fists? Shit, bro. I knew I liked
her the moment I saw her.”
“She didn’t hit me. Well, not in my face. She threw a few punches at
my shoulder. I was teaching her to drive and she panicked when the green
light came on. Instead of slowly accelerating, she fucking floored it. We
were in the Merc, and that thing spins like nobody’s business, so the car
shot forward, did a one-eighty, and my head slammed the side window.”
“Is she okay?” I ask, my fingers flexing in and out of fists. “Is she
hurt?”
“She’s fine, relax.” He waves me off. “Not a scratch on her. She’s
pissed off, though.”
“Stop forcing her to drive. She won’t learn because she doesn’t want to
learn,” Shawn cuts in. “It’s not like she needs to drive, right? Rose can take
her to college.”
“I don’t think she’ll let me teach her again.”
“Good. Leave her alone, and let’s get started,” Shawn says. “I
remember Logan mentioning a tiger when we were planning my bachelor
party. Are we doing that?”
“Can’t say I know where to rent a tiger, but we can paint Ares with
orange stripes,” Theo, the best man, says with a grin. “He was all talk back
then because he didn’t have a girl,” he adds. “Now he’s whipped, and I bet
he won’t even want to leave Cassidy alone for the weekend.”
“Tough shit,” Colt says, waving the waitress over for another round.
“He’s coming. Voluntarily or not.”
“Okay, so no tiger, what about the guest list?”
“I’ve got one penciled in. It’s a bit long. Almost eighty.” Theo pulls a
piece of paper from his pocket, passing it to Nico.
“Eighty?”
He shrugs. “I only included people I know they’ll invite to the
wedding, but I’m sure we can prune this a bit.” He crosses his hands,
staring us all down. “What? It’s not my fault Logan’s friends with half of
fucking Newport.”
Nico skims the list, pulls out a pen, and starts crossing off names.
Before long, the list is shortened to fifty-two guys and we’re left with no
choice but to ask Logan to join the next meeting and narrow it down further.
While Jack and Shawn argue about hotels and casinos, my phone
vibrates in my pocket, and I head outside for a smoke to check the message,
not dumb enough to do it at the table under my brothers’ scrutiny.
It’s just two words.

B: Not tonight.

My eyebrows pinch in the middle. She’s canceling plans we only made

this morning? I guess I can’t expect her to be at my beck and call and a
break might be a good idea, but it doesn’t feel right. We’ve been fucking
multiple times a day, and most of those times Blair initiated, beating me to
the punch.

Me: Okay.

It sounds harsh, like I’m pissed off, and truthfully... I am. I clench and
unclench my fists, annoyance dancing at the edge of my mind. I was
looking forward to tonight. Got her favorite wine and planned to feed her
Chinese takeout before letting her leave.
Even if she’d throw a fit that I’m breaking the rules! which she
probably would.
Colt joins me outside, leaning against the wall a few steps to my left,
pulling his cigarettes from his pocket.
 “Feels like we’re losing touch,” he says, staring into the sky. “Conor’s
with Vee most of the time, you’re locked in your condo, I’m working my
ass off...”
“That’s normal. We had to grow up sometime, but I don’t think we’re
losing touch.”
“Yeah? Because not so long ago we couldn’t go a day without talking
through anything that happened, and now look at us. You didn’t even tell
me Ana’s still stalking you.”
“Nothing new happened, Colt. Not so long ago, you were trying not to
share every tiny detail of your life with us, and now you’re pissed off that
I’m not whining about Ana every time she shows up?”
He grinds his teeth, knowing damn well I’m right. “I don’t want you to
feel you can’t talk to me just because we don’t live in the same house,
okay? There’s suddenly distance between us and I don’t like it.”
“I know we can talk. If there’s something worth mentioning, I’ll call.”
“You sure there’s nothing you want to mention now?”
My heartbeat accelerates. There’s no way he knows about my deal
with Blair. No way. We’ve not been caught or even near-caught—
Fuck! Ana...
If she blabbed, I’m screwed. What do I tell him? How do I explain
myself? What excuse can I conjure? I’m not great with making shit up on
the spot, so I drag out the silence, racking my brain and coming up empty.
How do I explain that the Blair we both know and hate hides a
different girl inside? One that’s kind, helpful, and broken. One that needs
someone to believe she means every word when she apologizes. Someone
to hold her when she cries and kiss her when she smiles.
Colt wouldn’t believe me.
“You got something to ask?” I huff, no clue what to say if he gets it
right. “Ask away, Colt. Don’t play games.”
I don’t think Ana called Colt to tell him she caught me with Blair. Why
would she? They exchanged maybe ten sentences total since the night in
The Ramshack last year.
Ana doesn’t know anything about Mia’s bullying or why this dalliance
with Blair could hurt me and the people around me if anyone found out.
I take a deep breath, cooling my jets.
“Fine,” Colt says, pushing away from the wall, looking annoyed.
“Blair. What’s happening, Cody? First you hate her, then you knock out
Alan. Now you’re MIA most of the time.”
He doesn’t know shit.
He’s just fishing for information in true Colt fashion. If he knows I’m
fucking Blair on the side, he’d call me out on it.
“Don’t throw Alan in my face. You know why I did that. You knocked
him out for the same fucking reason. I would’ve been pissed off regardless
of who he had in that closet. Nothing to do with Blair.”
At the time, I believed it, but things changed quickly. Well, not that
quickly. Blair and I have been neighbors for almost two months, and she’s
been spending hours upon hours on my cock for two weeks now.
We don’t talk unless it’s related to sex, but I’m learning so much about
her while she’s under me and even more right after when we lay in bed,
coming down from the high. Silence, gestures, facial expressions... all
speak volumes.
I’ve not realized this until I saw her leave her condo last night, but
somewhere along the line, I learned how to figure out where she’s heading
based on what she wears. Short, tight, colorful dresses when she’s meeting
her friends. Red, hooker-styled ones when I don’t think I want to know
where she’s heading. Skinny jeans that look painted-on and pretty blouses
when she’s volunteering at the hospital, and... anything goes when she’s
with me. Sweats, jeans, shorts, pj’s.
I like her best when she doesn’t give a crap about her clothes and
makeup. When she lets her guard down, peels off the disguise, and isn’t
forcing smiles or overthinking her words.
“Fine,” Colt says, butting his cigarette on the ground. “I believe you,
but...” He pins me with a pointed stare that I know well: I’ve got you.
“Come talk to me if anything changes.”
“I will,” I say, half absent from this conversation, my mind whirling
around Blair’s whereabouts.
I didn’t see her leave today, so I don’t know what she was wearing or
where she went that was so important she can’t stop by for sex.
“I mean it, Cody. I’m here for you, alright?”
“I heard you the first time.”

OceanofPDF.com
TWENTY
Cody
SOMETIMES I WORRY my head isn’t working the way it should.
Setting aside the fact I stayed up on Friday until I heard Blair come
back so I could deduce where she went by her outfit, I’ve been thinking
about Ana daily.
By the way, I’m ninety-nine percent sure Blair was with her friends
based on her blue sequin dress.
But Ana... I worry about her. Up until her brother’s suicide, she was
the most laid-back, carefree girl I ever came across. Always laughing, never
taking things seriously. Not even sex, which was refreshing, if I’m honest.
No pressure.
I should be happy she’s done stalking me, done hanging outside the
building, but when she was here, I knew she was okay.
Well, not okay, but not doing anything reckless.
Now I’m left wondering.
It’s been almost a month since she was last in touch. Anything
could’ve happened, but I can’t text her without fueling her obsession.
A knock on my door halts my internal tug-of-war. Setting the knife
aside, I cross the condo. Blair’s there, looking unsure of herself, both hands
behind her back, nose scrunched.
And she’s wet. Hair, clothes, face... soaked.
“Is it raining?” I ask.
“In my bathroom,” she confirms. “I slipped while cleaning... grabbed
the pipe to steady myself, but something cracked, and now it’s sputtering
water everywhere. I can’t turn it off. I know this crosses a line, but it’s
Sunday—”
I chuckle, halting her rant. “How about you say Cody, could you please
fix my shower instead of rambling on? We’re neighbors, B. Neighbors help
and your neighbor happens to be very good with his hands.”
A cute blush creeps up her cheeks. “As he proved many, many times.”
She winks, the blush dissolving into a smile. “Could you please fix my
shower before it floods the petty woman downstairs?”
 “I can.” I invite her in, then retrieve my toolbox from the coat closet.
“And Karen’s not only petty, B, she’s old, miserable, and bored.”
“Her name isn’t Karen, but it sure fits. You know she keeps leaving
fake parking tickets on my windscreen whenever I’m not parked perfectly
inside the lines?”
“All she leaves me is her phone number,” I joke, earning myself a
whack on the shoulder. “Hey, it’s not my fault you park like you need extra-
strong glasses. While I fix your shower, can you finish the lasagna? Mix the
spinach with the meat, layer it all, then shove it in the oven.”
She spins on the balls of her bare feet. “You can cook?”
“I can cook, clean, fix showers, and locate the G spot.”
“Aren’t you a package deal?” She struts toward the kitchen, leaving a
wet trail behind.
“Lose your clothes, B. Slip into one of my hoodies.” I motion at her
wet jeans. “Or just strip. Your call.”
The last thing I see before I lock her in my condo is two wrinkles
lining her forehead. Yeah... I shouldn’t have offered my clothes. I shouldn’t
have joked, either, but whatever.
Arriving at the scene in Blair’s bathroom, it’s not half as bad as I
imagined. The water’ s spritzing, and the pipe is loose, but it’s not a full-
blown geyser. Most of the water falls back into the basin, so there’s minimal
risk of flooding Karen.
Too bad. She’d have something to do.
Thankfully, the pipe isn’t bent, just snapped out of place. Despite it
only being a five-minute job tightening the valves, my t-shirt’s soaked when
I head back across the hall.
“My brother should be shot on the spot for putting that shower cubicle
in a modern bathroom. You need an anti-slip mat.”
Blair looks up from where she’s layering the lasagna and takes me in
with a cheeky smile. “Had a little accident, did you?”
I follow her line of sight, finding a wet patch on my groin. “Yeah,
fixing showers turns me on.”
“I was implying something else, but coming in your pants works
better. I guess you had more say in the design than I did. I like your walk-in
shower.”
“It fits us both. I doubt yours would.”
 “Should I say thank you with words or gestures?” She rounds the
island, purposely bending down as she pops the lasagna in the oven, her
sweet ass peeking from under the hem of one of my white t-shirts. I groan
at how good she looks in white, a stark contrast to her tanned skin and
brown hair.
“You forgot the cheese.”
“No, I didn’t. I add it closer to the end so it melts but doesn’t burn.
Unless you prefer it burned.”
“Leave it. I don’t need a thank you, B, but I won’t stop you saying it
with gestures.” I step back to lock the door and yank my t-shirt over my
head. “We have forty minutes before the food’s ready.”
“Thirty,” she counters, crossing the room and jumping into my arms,
her bare, warm, wet pussy pressing into my stomach. “You’re forgetting I
need to sprinkle the cheese on top.”
“Shameless,” I tut, supporting her with one arm, her legs tightly
wrapped around my waist. I push the other hand between us, strumming her
clit. “No panties.”
She moans, biting my earlobe as I carry her into my bedroom. “They
were wet.”
“I bet they were.” Dropping her on the bed, I strip out of my clothes
and fall forward, my face conveniently landing between her legs. “Lay back
and open wide, baby.”
Before she obeys, I’m on her, coating my tongue in the first taste of
her arousal.
“D-Don’t,” she gasps, arching her hips, both hands weaving into my
hair when I blow on her clit. “Don’t call me that.”
I lick her, push my tongue in then out, and in and out until she claws
my scalp, her thighs holding me hostage. “Don’t call you what, baby?”
I suck her clit and the slap she lands on my head isn’t half as hard as
she intended, I’m sure. “You’re breaking the rules, Cody.”
Prying her legs open, I crawl higher, locking her between my arms as I
dive for a kiss.
I want her lips.
The silent, no-kisses fucks were fun at first but the longer we do this,
the more uncomfortable I am when I work myself into her as if she were a
sex doll.
Fuck the rules. She either uses her lips to speak or to kiss me.
 I miss the mark when she turns her head, my lips landing on her ear. I
bite and suck the lobe hard enough that she’ll know it’s not what I wanted,
then yank her t-shirt over her boobs, coming down on them like I’m
starving.
“Oh shit, that feels so nice.” She grabs my ass, spurring me on,
demanding more, faster, harder. “I need you deeper. Please.”
“As you wish.” I flip her over, cross her ankles, and shove a pillow
under her hips. “As deep as I can get,” I say, forcing my cock between her
thighs. “Tell me what you did all day.” With one long measured stroke, I’m
in. Fuck... I need a second to catch my breath because this is the absolute
perfect position.
“No, no, no,” she chants quietly when I pull out and slam back in
deeper than ever.
I halt, my heart pounding like a train on the tracks. “What is it, B?
Does it hurt? You want to stop?”
“No! God, no. Don’t stop,” she mewls, grasping handfuls of the sheets
when I repeat the maneuver. “It’s... it’s amazing, I promise. I meant... I
meant...” Another moan rips from her chest. She arches her spine so hard I
think it might snap. “God, that’s so good.”
“I know.” I grasp her hair, pulling back until she’s perfectly positioned
for a Spiderman kiss.
But as soon as I move in, she jerks away, driving me fucking feral. In
slow, methodic moves, I sink into her, taking my annoyance out on the
delicate skin in the crook of her neck, kissing and nipping the same way I
want to kiss her lips.
“Keep talking,” I encourage, leaning back on my calves. “What did
you mean?”
“That I won’t tell you about my day.”
“Fine.” I pump faster when her walls pulse around my length. “I had
breakfast with Conor and Vee.” My thigh muscles scream the faster I drive
into Blair, watching my cock disappear in her pussy, fitting so well. “She
made waffles with maple syrup...”
“Shut up,” Blair pants, the orgasm hitting her so hard her legs shake,
and her back arches off the bed. “One more,” she pleads. “Please, I need
another one.”
“When have I ever left you with one orgasm?” I chuckle, breaking
another rule to kiss a line up her spine before changing position so she can
take what she needs.
She scrambles to straddle me, and fuck... she’s sexier when she takes
me in my t-shirt than she is when naked.
How’s that possible?
Naked flesh should win over t-shirts, but the mess of Blair’s hair
framing her flushed face, how the soft fabric grips her small boobs, how it
bunches around her thighs, giving me glimpses of my cock sliding in and
out of her... it’s close to fucking perfection.
“They’re sickening,” I continue my story, recalling Vee and Conor
serving breakfast, those lingering looks, smiles, how great they fit...
“Conor’s whipped and Vee—”
“All your brothers are whipped,” Blair utters, knotting her fingers on
my nape. “Why are you telling me this?! You’re breaking the... oh.” Her
eyes roll back into her head when she finds the right angle. One that lets her
grind her clit over my abdomen as she cants her hips, getting us off.
“You’re breaking the rules.”
I am, but I don’t care. Either we morph these sex sessions into
something less clinical, or I’m out because she’s reduced it to jacking off.
Fun, but not half as satisfying. The longer we do this, the more detached she
is.
“Vee’s as whipped as he is.” I grip Blair’s jaw, spreading my fingers
under her chin from one ear to the other as I lean in...
She throws her head back, and I miss again.
Jesus fuck!
“She wants a cat...” I ramble on, kissing, nipping, and sucking the soft,
warm skin. Her tight pussy grips my cock harder with every move, another
orgasm nearby, “...but Conor wants her pregnant—”
“What are you doing, Cody?” Blair snaps, freezing in place to glare at
me. “Why are you talking? Stop talking!”
I wrap an arm around her back, weaving my fingers into her silky hair
and exercising subtle control as I bring her closer, our kiss a breath away.
“Make me.”
Her eyes flicker to my lips. A wild storm of emotions—anger,
irritation, confusion, and relief—crosses her pretty face.
And finally, something shifts. With a swift exhalation of air, she
surrenders, bridging the distance between us, her soft mouth meeting mine.
 I take over immediately. The dam holding intimacy at bay bursts, and
we lose it the same way we lost it when I caught her playing with the purple
wand.
Every stroke of my tongue is returned with a hunger deep within her.
It’s as if she wanted to break this rule since she set it in place, craving the
taste of rebellion.
I bite her lower lip, tugging gently, igniting a very different kind of fire
than the primal lust burning within us.
Shit... maybe her rules had a point. She’s addictive, and this is
definitely the wrong side of the line. Intoxicating tension electrifies the air,
inflating my chest, and yep... definitely the wrong side of the line.
But the wrong side feels so fucking right.
And when we’re done and sitting at the breakfast bar in my kitchen,
devouring the lasagna, talking about Conor’s fixation with babies, Logan’s
bachelor party, and Karen’s pettiness... that feels right, too.

OceanofPDF.com
TWENTY-ONE
Blair
THE VENUE IS THE ONE MY FATHER ENJOYS MOST. An elegant
private room at the back of the Country Club—owned by none other than
Nico Hayes.
He’s the only influential person my father hasn’t manipulated in
Newport Beach.
I’m sure it’s not for the lack of trying.
Although, as he manages my father’s money, maybe Dad doesn’t dare
meddle in Nico’s business.
The fleeting thought fills me with a warm, fuzzy feeling because I
associate Nico with the portfolio my father set up in my name a few years
ago. An award, a prize for the years of serving his needs. I’m supposed to
gain access to it once I graduate.
Unless it’s a lie my father conjured to ensure I obey every command.
A carrot on a stick he can hold over my head.
The private event room is relatively empty. Less than thirty people
sporting fake smiles and real diamonds. Apart from my father’s associates,
there are a few new faces in the crowd, including the man from the front
page of the Newport Gazette that Dad handed me on our way here.
He didn’t answer when I asked why my workload had tripled since I
moved out of his house three months ago.
I haven’t worked this many men in such a short time since I turned
eighteen. Looks like Dad’s squeezing the most out of me before my twenty-
first birthday. Once I can access the portfolio, he’ll lose his bargaining chip.
Casting a quick glance around, I examine the man I’ll be flirting with
tonight. He’s in his fifties with a head of silver hair, an unlit cigar in his
mouth, and an expensive suit hugging his tall frame—Archibald Duke—the
chair of the Orange County planning committee.
Last year, spurred by whispers of an upcoming highway project, my
father bought a substantial tract of land from an old-time farmer. He offered
double the market price, betting on the highway rumor enabling a big
payday.
 As fate would have it, the highway plans fell through. Now he’s stuck
with overpriced land and a huge dent in his wallet.
Dad didn’t explain his next move, but using the Planning
Commissioner must mean he’s trying to flip the land to residential. If he
gets the green light, he can sell it to a developer without breaking a sweat.
And I bet he already has a developer in mind: Stone and Oak. Since
Logan Hayes took the reins two years ago, they’ve been buying land like
it’s a Black Friday sale.
Logan’s a visionary. The best architect in Orange County. A skilled
businessman, too. Rumor has it that he doubled the company’s revenue
within two short years by taking the bold risks his grandfather refused to
take.
“Smile,” Dad barks in my ear, snaking his arm round my waist to lead
me further into the room, greeting people as we pass. “Everything is set up.
When I give you the signal. Do what you do best.”
Plastering a convincing smile to my lips, I let him walk me around the
room, my job well defined: a silent coquette.
I scan the men my father introduces me to. Over the years I’ve got this
down to a T, learning what makes men like my father’s associates tick. I
lick my lips, smile, and bat my eyelashes.
My dress rolls up with every step, and I tug it down just enough to
cover the bare minimum.
“Sweetheart, meet Mr. Duke,” my father says when we finally make it
across the room, stopping before the star of the evening.
He’s alone. No woman hanging on his arm. The man he’s been
speaking to for the past five minutes bobs his chin and walks away, offering
a fleeting sense of privacy in a crowded room.
“Mr. Duke,” I say, my voice sweeter than sugar. “It’s a pleasure to
meet you. I’ve read so much about your recent success.”
“It’s Archibald, my dear. I insist.” He dips his head to kiss my hand.
“Your father’s told me a lot about you, young lady.”
I don’t breathe while he talks to me about college and some sketches
my father apparently showed him. Once the oxygen deprivation has done
enough to create a fake blush, I subtly take a breath.
“Well, thank you, Mr...” I purposely trip over my words, biting my lip.
“I’m sorry, Archibald.”
 “I would love to hear more about your volunteer work,” he says,
dropping his gaze to my breasts before it roams lower, eating up every inch.
“It’s admirable, Blair. Your father is very proud that you’re spending time at
the hospital.”
Bullshit. My father is only proud of the eight digits he sees when he
logs into his bank account.
But I play my part as expected, faking smiles as I run a gentle hand
down his arm. “Of course. I’d love to.”
“Can I get you a drink?” He glances from me to my father. “You’re old
enough to drink, sweetheart, aren’t you?”
“Barely,” my father huffs, wearing the mask of a concerned, loving,
but not-so-strict parent.
If those masks we both wear were tangible, we’d have quite the
collection between us.
“One drink won’t hurt, but just one, sweetie.” He shoots Archibald a
stern look. “Keep her safe. I need to find Richard.”
“Take your time,” Archibald says, offering me his arm.
Hook, line, and sinker.
Just like that, I’m strutting toward the bar with Archibald Duke by my
side. I’m usually a wine kind of girl, but at my father’s banquets, I need
something stronger to take the edge off the humiliation coursing through
my veins. With a glass of neat whiskey each, we head through the patio
doors, taking a seat on a bench by a large fountain outside.
I answer Archibald’s questions on volunteer work for a moment, but
it’s clear from his lustful gaze that his mind is elsewhere. In the gutter, most
likely. I bet he imagined fucking me ten different ways by now.
“What brings you here tonight?” I flick the ball to his court, playing
dumb.
He drapes his hand over the back of the bench, gently sweeping his
fingers along my nape, curling my hair behind my ear before he says, “Your
father has quite the proposition for me.”
“I should have known. It’s not often these events are attended by such
powerful people as yourself.”
God, this sounds so bad. Anyone with half a brain would immediately
know I’m playing him, but I melt Archibald’s brain by crossing my legs as I
speak.
His eyes widen, pupils dilate.
 It’s a brief show, but he sure noticed. I’m not bare tonight. Even after
the shopping spree with Kelly-Ann, my father didn’t confiscate my card, so
I’ve bought new underwear, but a flash of the lace between my legs is
enough to thicken Archibald’s blood.
My skin breaks out in goosebumps when he moves closer, turning his
body around like he’s purposely giving me a better view of the bulge in his
slacks.
My stomach churns painfully. Bitter bile slicks my esophagus. I
swallow hard, or else the contents of my stomach will end up decorating his
expensive suit.
I hate this.
I hate that he’s imagining me naked right now.
I hate that he’s touching me, even if it’s just his fingertips on my neck.
Still too much contact. Contact without consent.
I’m not afforded the privilege of consent in this setting.
“You’re a very clever young woman,” Archibald rasps, his voice thick
as he incredulously readjusts his hard dick. “I’d love to hear more about
you.”
“Ask away. What would you like to know?”
“Let’s start with why a beautiful young woman like yourself comes to
these events on your father’s arm.”
Fear quickens my heart.
Can he see through my ploy? Am I slacking? My ears ring when I
picture the wrath I’ll endure if Archibald figures out he’s being used.
“I’m not sure I understand your question.”
“Why are you here with your father and not your boyfriend,
sweetheart?”
“No boyfriend, I’m afraid.” Drilling the point further, luring him in
with vulnerability, I add, “I wasn’t meeting his expectations, so he found
what he was looking for somewhere else.”
Archibald grabs my chin, forcing my eyes to his. The unexpected
move tears a surprised, a little frightened gasp from me.
“You exceed expectations.” He weighs every word, eyes falling to my
lips. “You’re beautiful, Blair. If your ex didn’t see that, it’s his loss, not
yours.”
Another forced timid blush as I look away, abusing the vulnerability
card. “Thank you, sir.”
 “None of that, sweetheart. It’s Archibald. Boys your age wouldn’t
know what to do with you anyway.” He doesn’t need to elaborate on his
implication.
Dropping his hand from my chin, he sets it on my thigh, grazing my
skin with his thumb. I tremble under his touch, and he takes it as a good
sign, inching his fingers higher.
If only he knew it’s fear shaking me like a leaf, not arousal. I don’t
want his grubby hand anywhere near me, let alone three inches from the
hem of my dress.
The door behind us opens with a click, rattling a wave of relief through
me as Archibald’s hand twitches away.
“That was close,” he whispers in my ear.
“There you are.” My father’s voice breaches the warm evening air.
“I’ve been looking all over for you.”
I jump to my unstable feet, wobbling on five-inch heels. “I’m sorry,
Dad, I—”
“It’s my fault,” Archibald cuts in, turning to look at my father. “We
lost track of time, Gideon. She’s an extraordinary woman, your daughter.”
I look over my shoulder, where my father nods, his features soft,
almost proud. He’s a great actor. “That she is. Could you give us a second,
Blair? We have business to discuss.”
I rise to my feet, holding my empty glass. “I’ll grab another drink.
Would you like anything?”
“Whiskey, if you don’t mind, sweetheart,” Archibald says, his hot gaze
stalking my every move.
With a tight nod, I retreat inside, tugging my dress down every three
steps and avoiding eye contact with all the men I pass.
Now that Dad’s taken over, I’ll be okay.
Going on the track record of these banquets, as soon as my father starts
talking business, I’m off the hook.
My job is done. Just a few nights of crying myself to sleep left. I’ll be
fine.
I’m always fine.
I head into the restroom, splashing my face with cold water. My phone
is on silent, but I check the screen, hoping I’ll see a reply from Cody in
reply to what I sent before my father picked me up: Text me after your
brothers leave. They have another bachelor-party-planning session tonight.
The last one ahead of the party weekend.
We’ve been over the line since the shower incident two weeks ago. We
talk about things we aren’t supposed to, kiss during the deed, kiss when
we’re parting ways, and... I fell asleep in his bed the other night when he
took a quick shower.
I woke up around four in the morning, entangled in his arms, his t-shirt
clinging to my body. A t-shirt he must’ve gently slipped over my head after
I nodded off because I was naked when he left me in bed.
I panicked and snuck out, worried the atmosphere would be awkward
in the morning. Cody didn’t mention it or explain why he’d let me sleep in
his bed, and I was afraid to ask.
Unfortunately, there’s no messages waiting on the screen. It’s almost
ten, so Cody’s either still with his brothers, or not in the mood for sex. I
tuck my phone away, focusing on the task at hand as I exit the restroom,
heading to the bar.
Like a well-behaved, obedient daughter, I order Archibald and my
father a drink, deliver them outside, then sit at the bar with a neat whiskey
in hand, my mind racing.
“You look like you don’t want to be here,” the bartender says, resting
his elbows on the counter. “And like you hate whiskey.”
“I don’t usually drink whiskey,” I admit, swirling the amber liquid in
the glass.
“I’ll get you something better.”
He whips out the shaker, pouring, shaking, adding, mixing, pouring
again, until a tall green cocktail glass stands before me.
It’s tangy with a sweet kick, and I smile for the first time since entering
the room over an hour ago. “Thank you.”
He moves away to serve an older woman with short, bright red hair,
but once he’s done, he comes over to chat.
I wish I could just sneak out, but I know better than to make the same
mistake twice. Disobedience will cost dearly, so instead, I spend an hour
and a half talking to the bartender whenever he’s not serving.
But just as he’s about to start mixing me another drink, my father
arrives, a storm cloud over his head.
“We’re leaving,” he seethes through gritted teeth, gripping my elbow
to yank me up.
 “Is everything okay? Did—”
“Zip it, Blair,” he snaps, maintaining a neutral expression all through
the Country Club until he can shove me into the passenger seat of his car.
“You can’t fucking help yourself, can you?!”
I shrink in on myself, watching the speedometer climb as Dad drops
the pedal to the floor, speeding out of the parking lot.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What happened?”
“You happened. You’re nothing but a problem. I wish I never fucking
had you!” He bangs his fist on the steering wheel. “What the fuck were you
doing flirting with that lowlife at the bar?!”
“Calm down, Dad, I wasn’t... I...” Words catch in my throat, my palms
slick with sweat as he accelerates, flying across Newport at almost a
hundred miles an hour. “Slow down. Please slow down, you’re—”
“Is that your type?” He slams the brake when the lights change at the
junction ahead.
Thank God I’m wearing a seatbelt, or I’d break my nose on the
dashboard.
“Broke fuckers?” he continues. “He’s a bartender! A nobody! If
you’re whoring around, at least have some fucking standards!”
“You told me to leave you and Mr. Duke alone,” I stutter, pumping my
fists open and closed the same way I’ve seen Cody do countless times. “I
was waiting at the bar until you were done talking.”
“You were drooling all over the fucking bartender,” he snaps. “Your
attention should’ve been on Archibald the whole time!”
I bite my cheek hard enough to draw blood. Year after year, Dad gets
worse and worse. I’m used to being called names. I’m used to the
insinuations, yelling, and insults, but tonight is the first time he’s admitted
he wished he never had me.
Resting my forehead against the cool glass, I stare at the buildings
lining the street as Dad pulls away from the traffic lights at half his previous
speed. There’s no point arguing I wasn’t drooling all over the bartender.
Dad’s right. I’m wrong.
Story of my life.
He doesn’t speak the rest of the way. Not until he’s parked up beside
my Porsche. “You want to act like a slut?” he snaps, undoing his seatbelt.
“Look the part.” He licks his thumb then gouges it into my eye, smearing
my makeup.
 Then he rubs his sweaty palm over my mouth to do the same with my
lipstick, before hooking his fingers in my cleavage and ripping my slutty
dress open in one tug.
He yanks me closer, tearing out my hairpins to leave my hair a
disheveled mess. My eyes sting with unshed tears. I won’t fucking cry. I
refuse to give him the satisfaction.
Not this time.
“Get the fuck out of my car but leave the shoes,” he barks. “And your
credit cards.”

OceanofPDF.com
TWENTY-TWO
Cody
“I DON’T KNOW...” CONOR MUTTERS, staring at the invitations.
“This feels too fancy, don’t you think?”
Colt snatches one from the box by my coffee table, turning the black
and gold card as he trails his finger over the engraved script. “I think it’s the
right amount of too-much-out-there for Logan.”
“Fuck you,” Logan booms, a big smile stretching his face.
He shouldn’t be here, but he was driving Theo up the wall with his
questions, so in the end, we invited him to join the planning committee of
his own bachelor party. He’s not complained once, so we’ve not kicked him
out yet.
“How many have you printed?” Nico asks from the barstool, his broad
shoulders squared, jaw tense.
The cloud over his head isn’t because of us, the fact we’re holding this
meeting in my condo instead of the Country Club or his house, or that we’re
drinking beer while he’s clutching a bottle of water.
The reason is Mia. More specifically that she’s out.
Well, not out out. She’s actually in. At home, but not alone. She’s with
Thalia, Rose, and Vee, planning Cassidy’s bachelorette party. Nothing out
of the ordinary, right?
Well...
Instead of choosing the location, gifts, and hotels over a glass of wine,
Thalia decided it would be so much fun to vet male strippers before hiring
three.
It’s why we’re all stuck in my condo. We didn’t feel like going out
tonight, and the girls are at Nico’s house, watching a dozen guys take their
clothes off.
Needless to say, my older brother is barely keeping his ass seated for
longer than three minutes at a time. He mostly paces the room, pumping his
fists.
“Oh unclench,” Theo huffs over his shoulder from where he’s pissing
off Ghost by tapping his fingers on the glass. “They’re fine. They’re at your
house. You’ve got cameras all over the place and panic buttons
everywhere.”
Yes, he does. Installed a week after Mia moved in. She accidentally
tapped the one under the piano one day while Nico was in the basement
gym. The second his phone blipped its distinctive alarm, he practically
teleported upstairs, barreling through the house like a fucking wrecking
ball.
“We’ve got fifty invitations. Enough?” I ask, steering the topic back
toward the bachelor party, but before anyone can chip in, our phones ping in
unison, a message in the group chat.
Nico groans and I laugh, staring at Rose’s message. It’s a picture of a
naked fireman, yellow helmet covering his dick.
“You might want to disinfect the living room,” Conor tells Nico. “And
buy a new couch.”

Me: You know you’re not supposed to take pictures, sis?

Rose: No? Too little too late.

“They’re having much more fun. Why didn’t we order any strippers to
check out?”
“Because we’re spending the night in Vegas and the girls won’t come
all this way to dance in your condo, bro,” Shawn mutters. “Can we please
get this shit organized so I can go home? It’s been a long week, boys. I’m
exhausted.”
And so we do. We organize the guest list, book the hotel, flights, and
VIP booths for a few clubs—strip club included. I doubt we’ll spend much
time watching women grinding around poles when my brothers are so
fucking whipped.
When we’re just about done, Conor clears his throat, visibly tense as
he stares Logan down. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something. I
wanted to ask Cass at the same time, but it might be better to ask you first,
so if the answer is no Cass won’t need to know a thing, since, now I’m
about to ask, I kind of think it’s a dick move.”
Logan runs a hand down his face, smirking at Conor. “You always did
know how to start a conversation by immediately shooting yourself in the
foot. What’s going on?”
 “I promised Vee a year before I propose—”
He’s drowned out by a booming choir of no ways, holy shits and
fucking hells.
“You’ve been dating six months, Conor. Slow down,” Shawn says.
“Why so soon?”
“What am I supposed to wait for?”
“Nothing,” Nico cuts in, glaring at Shawn. “Life’s too short to wait
around.”
“Agreed. I got married six months after I met Thalia,” Theo says. “I
don’t regret it, but... what does your proposal have to do with Logan and
Cass?” He turns to rummage through my chilled drink cabinet, pulling out a
bottle of champagne.
“He wants to propose during the wedding weekend, right?” Colt asks,
leaning back in his chair. “I’m with you on this one, bro. It’s a dick move.”
Logan cocks an eyebrow. “Why is it a dick move?”
“Because it’s your day. Yours and Cassidy’s. Who do you think the
attention will shift to if he goes down on one knee?” Jack chips in. “Sorry,
Conor, but that’s how I see it.”
“No, it’s cool. That’s what you’re all for, a bit of fucking honesty.
Alright, I’ll revert to my New Year’s Eve proposal idea.”
“Hold on a minute.” Logan yanks his cap off, running a hand through
his mess of dark hair. “It’s my wedding. Don’t I get a say in this? When do
you want to do it?”
“After the rehearsal dinner. The whole family will be there, so I
thought it would work okay.”
What he’s not saying aloud, but we all know by now, is that Vee loves
this family like her own. We all thought Mia would be Mom’s favorite with
their shared passion for music, but Mom and Vee connect on a different
level. It’s fascinating to watch sometimes. And because Vee’s mom died, I
think Conor’s trying to include her in our family as much as possible.
What better way than letting us witness their engagement?
“I have to run it by Cassidy, but I don’t see an issue. I don’t think she
will, either,” Logan finally says.
“I’m with Logan,” I say, accepting a champagne flute from Theo. “You
got the ring yet?”
“Yeah, I—”
 “You should’ve fucking called us before you went shopping,” Colt
groans, folding his hands. “Can you return it?”
Conor’s eyebrows bunch in the middle. “You haven’t even seen it yet!”
“Doesn’t matter. Your taste in jewelry is... really fucking bad,” Nico
says. “The only good-looking accessories you buy are watches.”
“It’s a nice ring,” Conor huffs, pulling his phone to show us the
picture. His face immediately falls when we cringe. “What? What’s wrong
with it?”
“What’s right?” I chuckle, patting his back. “Come on, seriously? is
that the biggest diamond they had?”
“No, they had seven carats, but it was square. This is six. The bigger,
the better, right?”
“The diamond doesn’t have to reflect the size of your dick,” Logan
chuckles, drying his champagne flute.
It takes another half an hour of innocent banter before Conor settles on
a prettier and far less obnoxious ring.
Nico’s out the door the moment we call it a day, and Colt follows suit.
Within the next half an hour, everyone but Theo leaves. He lingers, nursing
his beer, staring into the distance like he’s got something to get off his
chest.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says.
I look over my shoulder, checking whether someone’s hiding on the
patio, but no. We’re alone. My eyebrows knot in the middle, not a clue what
he’s apologizing for.
“You’ll have to elaborate.” I rest both elbows on my knees. “What’s
going on?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t want you to babysit River.”
“You didn’t? Good to know... mind telling me why? Am I
untrustworthy or something?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s fucking stupid, Cody. I got an earful from Thalia
about it already, so spare me.”
I toss back the last of my beer, setting the empty bottle on the coffee
table. “You’re not explaining much, bro. Out with it.”
“I was... jealous.”
A semi-horrified scoff of amusement saws past my lips. “Jealous?
What the fuck do you mean? When have I ever given you a reason to be
jealous? I don’t even tell your wife she looks nice when—”
 “I wasn’t jealous about Thalia, Cody,” he says, cringing before a long
sigh leaves his lips. “I told you it’s stupid. You’ve always been great with
kids. Josh, then Aiden, but Noah... you’ve got something special with him.
It’s almost like he’s yours. I didn’t want you babysitting River because I
thought you wouldn’t give him the same attention.”
As grateful as I am for his honesty, I’m fucking offended. I love all my
nephews equally. But kids don’t take to everyone equally. They don’t
pretend, so if they like you, they like you, and if they don’t, you’re fucked.
“I don’t favor Noah, Theo. He favors me. I’m Logan’s first point of
call because Noah enjoys spending time with me best. I treat him the same
way I’ve always treated Josh, and yet I’m not Josh’s favorite uncle, Logan
is.”
“Yeah, I know,” he mutters, nervously toying with the bottle. “Like I
said, Thalia already did the talking.”
“She said you have to apologize?”
He lets out a laugh, relaxing a bit. “You know she did, but it would’ve
occurred to me at some point. Especially because you did great with him.”
“I had help,” I say, and oh fuck blares inside my head before the words
are out.
“Help?”
Running my fingers through my hair, I busy my hands redoing my
bun. “Yeah, a friend stopped by when River was crying, and helped me
calm him down.”
He must notice I purposely omitted a pronoun. I’m not proud I let
Blair in that day. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be where I am right now—very well
acquainted with her gorgeous body.
Not wanting to make this a big deal, which it will be if I tell Theo
because he’s a fucking gossip, I don’t bother explaining.
“I get the feeling you don’t want to share, so I won’t push, but you
know where I am if you need to talk.”
“Nothing worth sharing.”
“Yeah, if you say so,” he sets the bottle aside. “I better go pick up
River. Mom’s probably pulling her hair out by now.”
“She had seven of us, and we were all different. I doubt there’s
anything she can’t deal with.”
“I’m sure, but—”
 “You miss him already,” I chuckle, walking him to the door. “Call me
if you need a babysitter. I mean it.”
“I know and I will.” He pats my back, stepping out of the condo with a
stupid grin. “Put a word in for me with Thalia next time you see her,
alright?”
I burst out laughing, but it dies on my tongue when I notice Blair. She
freezes midway into the hallway, eyes jumping between Theo and me. A
second before he follows my line of sight, one eyebrow raised, she dashes
round the corner.
“You alright, Cody?” he asks, still frowning. “You look like you’ve
seen a ghost.”
“I’m good, just... never mind.” I shake it off as if I had a hallucination
or remembered something I didn’t want to remember. “Say hi to Mom and
Dad.”
“Do it yourself,” he huffs, backing away toward the staircase. “Mom’s
complaining she only ever sees you at the get-togethers these days. Make an
effort.”
“I will.”
He turns the way he’s heading, lifting one hand in a silent see ya as he
disappears behind the same corner as Blair.
I listen, waiting until he sees her and freaks the fuck out, but other than
retreating footsteps, the building is completely silent. She must’ve gone
upstairs.
A minute passes. Then another, and I’m still rooted to the spot in my
doorway, waiting for her.
Eventually she peeks around the corner like she’s checking the coast is
clear. Her face falls, chin wobbles, and my veins fill with red-hot fury.
I’ll kill whichever fucker laid a finger on her.
She’s barefoot, her stockings ripped at her thighs, dress torn at her
cleavage, barely hiding her areolas. Her hair is messy, and her makeup
doesn’t look any better: red lipstick smeared up to her ear, black mascara
river deltas traversing her cheeks.
A cold, icy dread settles in my stomach. I need whoever did this right
here, right now. I’ll fucking kill him, I swear.
“What happened?” I ask, my voice raw, the anger stirring within me
almost impossible to rein in. “Who did this to you?”
 She pinches her lips, a futile attempt to keep her emotions in check as
she steps further into the light to cross the hallway, tightly clutching her
keys
“Don’t brush me off, B,” I warn, gripping her elbow. “Who hurt you?”
The way she jumps away from me turns the lava filling my system to
ice. I grind my teeth, shoving the dark scenarios away, but it’s useless. They
scramble to the front of my imagination, driving me insane.
“I’m fine,” Blair whispers, the words strained, voice brittle.
“Turn around,” I hiss.
She shakes her head, pushing the key into the lock. I have half a mind
to spin her around myself, but after her reaction to my touch I’m second-
guessing my every move.
“I’m fine, Cody. I promise,” she insists, barely keeping her composure.
“Fuck! Baby... turn. Around. Please.” The desperation in my voice is
pitiful, but in this moment, I couldn’t care less because... shit... I don’t think
I hate her anymore.
She stills. I watch her entire demeanor change before my eyes. She
squares her shoulders, lifts her chin, pushes out her chest and locks herself
like that as she turns to face me.
If you ignored her eyes, she’s a good enough actress to have you
convinced. She’s putting on a performance worth a standing ovation, but
her eyes, those damn blue, sad, beautiful eyes, give her away, swimming
with fear and humiliation.
“I’m fine,” she repeats with a conviction that would fool anyone but
me. “Goodnight, Cody.”
“No.” Instinctively, I reach to stop her turning away, but freeze before
I touch her. Scaring her is the last thing I want. Closing my fist, I let my
hand fall to my side. “Talk to me, B.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she snaps, hurt morphing to anger.
“Leave me the hell alone, okay?” She turns around, poking my chest with
her long finger, fresh tears cascading over her nose. “We’re not friends.
We’re nothing! I don’t need your pity!”
“You’re not nothing to me,” I grind out, adding something I never
thought I’d consider. “I’m across the hall if you change your mind. I’ll
leave the door unlocked.”
“I won’t come. We’re done. I can’t do this anymore.”
 I’m rendered speechless, and she uses that moment to flee. With
visible stiffness in every move, she enters her condo, slamming the door
shut while I’m reeling.
We’re not done.
She can’t mean it. She’s shaken up, doesn’t trust me, and needs space.
That’s all it is, but the protective instinct roaring within me hates the very
fucking concept of space right now.

OceanofPDF.com
TWENTY-THREE
Cody
I CAN’T SIT STILL. The image of Blair—disheveled and broken, her
clothes torn, makeup smeared, shoulders sagging—is ingrained into my
psyche like a millennia-old cave painting that refuses to fade.
It’ll haunt me forever, along with this all-encompassing feeling ripping
me apart. A feeling I know so damn well: the overpowering need to protect.
Maddening concern. Bloodthirst.
Whoever touched her... whoever laid one fucking finger on Blair
would end up six feet under if I got my hands on him now. It’s intense this
feeling, raging like a thunderstorm.
Restless and fuming, I busy myself with mundane tasks to stop from
barging inside Blair’s apartment and demanding answers. I discard the beer
bottles my brothers drained, straighten the cushions, feed Ghost, unload the
dishwasher... I do anything and everything that springs to mind in a vain
attempt to push aside the worry eating me alive.
Did someone hurt her? Did they touch her against her will? Who the
fuck dared to touch her? Why? Where?
Until about eleven o’clock, I’m hoping she’ll come over, but once
midnight strikes, I accept she’s asleep. Which summons a brand-new reason
to cross the hallway.
I want to hold her. Mold her to my side and chase away whatever
demons torment her fragile mind. But I can’t.
She doesn’t want me there.
That’s not how this thing between us works.
One foot after the other, I drag myself into the bathroom, shower, then
get in bed.
Not that sleep wants to take me. I’m still fucking reeling.
I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t give a damn, but I do, and it drives me wild.
Even more so because I can’t erase how easily she switched into this other
girl. From displaying her vulnerabilities to shutting them off within
seconds.
From the girl I want to spend time with to a girl I can’t stand.
 Ever since she showed up at my doorstep when River was crying, I’ve
wondered where this unfamiliar side of her came from. The girl who bakes
cookies, wears jeans, and sometimes smiles with her eyes. She’s a stranger.
Was a stranger. I’ve not seen that girl once at school, and since I met
her, I’ve wondered if it’s a front. A new trick to weasel her way back into
the spotlight.
One day I’m certain it’s not a front, that the girl in tight dresses, flashy
makeup, and vile personality is a mask, the next I’m not so sure. I’ve
known the vile Blair for years, but it’s been less than three months since I
met the caring, cute, beautiful Blair.
The constant second-guessing drives me insane. It’s scary to think
she’s pretending when she’s with me, but it’s fucking petrifying to think
she’s not.
I don’t know when sleep finally takes me, but I do know when it lets
me go. It’s when the mattress dips, informing me I’m not alone.
The dim glow of LED strips illuminates Blair’s tear-streaked,
frightened face as she perches on the edge of the mattress.
She closes her eyes, shuts them tight as if blocking reality, then
swallows hard, her body tense. She might be bracing to say something, but
the fact she snuck into my bedroom in the middle of the night and now sits
here, steeling herself for the worst, tells me more than words ever could.
She needs this. Needs me.
When I mentioned leaving the door unlocked, I thought she’d come to
explain what the fuck happened, not crawl into my bed.
It doesn’t matter what I thought. She’s here now. I’m sure it took a
great deal of back and forth before she gathered the courage to come over.
To put herself on display, risking rejection in the most intimate way.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, blinking her eyes open to meet mine, her
vulnerability clear in the near dark. “I didn’t mean what I said. I... I—” She
pinches her lips as if trying not to cry. “I don’t want to be alone.”
The turmoil whipping me into a frenzy all evening subsides. The world
sharpens into focus. The fog and the static buzzing in the back of my mind
dissipate, replaced by a clarity I haven’t felt in a long time.
“Come here,” I whisper, lifting the comforter.
More silent tears slide down her pale skin, her shoulders hunch, relief
visibly rattling through her. Without hesitation, she slides into bed beside
me, a bit stiff and guarded, unsure how much I’ll allow.
 A whole fucking lot.
“Thank you,” she mutters, settling awkwardly on her back, leaving
enough distance for another person between us.
She’s already in my bed. We might as well not build a pillow wall
between us like teenagers.
“I said come here, B,” I coax, lifting the comforter higher. “Either your
head on my chest or my chest to your back.”
She turns to the side, staring at me with big, wide eyes like she can’t
believe the offer.
To be honest, neither can I. I’m stepping over the line we drew, the one
she fights much harder than I do not to cross.
It’s so far behind right now I can’t even see it. And I should. There’s a
reason that line was in place. Mia.
One person, but her hurt is enough to detest Blair. Enough to kick her
out, bolt the door, and not give a damn but... Blair’s a puzzle. She’s more
than meets the eye.
Her past is full of hurt, a sick mother, a missing father, fake friends,
and her present... fuck knows what it is. From the little she said, the little
I’ve seen, it’s far from good. Far from simple.
My internal battle comes to a screeching halt when, in a heartbeat,
she’s on me, moving closer with such urgency she’d knock me over if I
were standing. Her small body fits against mine, and the second I feel how
fragile she is, every reason this is wrong ceases to exist.
I pull her into me, my arm around her waist, chin resting on her head,
hugging her hard enough that there’s not a breath of space between us. My
chest is heavy, my mind chaotic, but not one muscle feels tense. I love
having her this close.
I love that she feels safe with me.
Letting out a long, steady breath, she melts into both me and the
mattress—a clear sign she trusts me to soothe her.
And knowing she does... stirs up feelings I can’t name.
Or maybe don’t want to.
“I need to know if someone hurt you,” I whisper, my fingers spread
over her belly, holding her in place so she can’t run. “If they touched you
without consent.”
She’s quiet for a while but remains pliant with my thumb brushing her
belly button. She doesn’t run.
 I wouldn’t let her. She shouldn’t be alone.
“Not like you imagine,” she finally replies.
That doesn’t help me much. It’s an honest answer, but not clear, and
my mind races, inventing more questions. Someone did hurt her. Touched
her without permission, but not like I imagine.
And what do I imagine?
The worst, obviously. Anyone who saw her in the hallway would
imagine the worst.
“I’m fine, Cody,” she adds quietly. “Karma’s leveling the field. I did
worse than what I’m getting.”
A tightness settles in my chest. She doesn’t show this side often.
Whenever I get a glimpse of this resigned girl, I’m fucking reeling. She
believes she deserves all the suffering life has in store. She takes it, not even
trying to draw a line between the person she was and the person she’s
become.
“What are you doing, B?” I ask, feeling her tremble. “You want to be
miserable for the rest of your life? Live in the past? Never move forward?”
She’s silently drawing a pattern on my chest, her whole body pulling
taut the longer she’s lost in her head. I don’t realize she’s crying until the
first tear puddles my chest. She swats it away, inhaling a shaky breath.
“I don’t know how to fix it,” she whispers, her voice full of self-
inflicted torment. “I can’t.”
“No, you can’t. You can’t change what you did, but you can admit you
were wrong. You can apologize and forgive yourself for not knowing things
before you learned them.”
She burrows further into me, gripping the sheets and wrenching like
she’s trying to transfer the pain ripping her apart. “I don’t deserve
forgiveness. I haven’t done anything to deserve it.”
I gently nudge her onto her back, propping myself over her as I cradle
her face in both hands, looking down into those tearful blue eyes. “You’ve
done two of those things, B. You admitted you were wrong. You apologized
to me and you tried apologizing to Mia. It’s my fault you never had the
chance. I’m sorry for that.”
“Don’t be. I wouldn’t let me apologize, either.”
“Stop,” I whisper, brushing her tears away. “Stop punishing yourself.
You’ve grown. You learned. You’re a better person than you were back
then.”
 She shakes her head, eyes closed to block my words, but both hands
hold onto my t-shirt as if I might disappear.
“You told me about the bullying. You told me about your life. You
haven’t made a single excuse, but I know...” I dip my head, pressing my
forehead to hers as a pained sob rips from her chest, making mine swell. “I
know you weren’t cruel for the sake of being cruel, baby. Why can’t you
see that? It was a defense mechanism against your own hurt.”
“That doesn’t make it okay! The reasons don’t matter!” she chokes,
moving her hands to my neck and threading her fingers into my hair. “I
didn’t know I was projecting until I was older.”
“Exactly.” I drop a gentle kiss on her forehead. “And when you
realized, you stopped. You learned. I said a lot of shitty things to you, B, but
you forgave me, didn’t you?”
She slowly opens her eyes when I rise on one elbow, tucking her back.
“There was nothing to forgive. I never blamed you, Cody. I know you’re a
good person, and I—”
I press a finger against her lips before she says she deserves to be
hated, hurt, and cast aside. She keeps saying that and it’s not true. No one
who so blatantly admits their mistakes deserves to be judged solely on those
mistakes.
People are the best defense lawyers for their own mistakes and the
harshest judges of the mistakes of others.
Blair’s the opposite. She’s her own judge, jury, and executioner. She
ruled herself guilty. A life sentence of sabotaging her happiness. Even
though she doesn’t believe she deserves anything good, she’s not just
waiting out her time. She’s growing as a person. Learning how to be better.
“You see good in me, but not in yourself? This is where you go wrong.
You think your feelings, past, and everything you endured doesn’t carry any
weight? That none of it left a mark?” I ask, trying to show her she’s being
too hard on herself. “You’re not a bad person. You’re aware of the wrongs.
You think you’re inflicting justifiable punishment on yourself, but you’re
taking it too far.” I kiss her forehead, then flip her so my chest is flush
against her back. “Enough, baby. Time to take a step forward.”
She says nothing else, but we’re both wide awake. The delicate aromas
of the mango in her body lotion and coconut shampoo waft the room,
keeping me eerily calm. I hope her scent will soak my sheets and pillows.
And more than anything, I hope she’ll still be here in the morning.
OceanofPDF.com
TWENTY-FOUR
Blair
A KNOCK ON MY DOOR makes me jump off the stool, crossing the
room faster than I usually move at this hour. It’s barely past six, but I’m
nursing my second coffee, already showered and dressed.
I haven’t slept much. I’ve been replaying everything Cody said last
night, the sincerity in his voice, the soothing delicacy of his touch. He really
believes I deserve another chance.
He’s got a heart as big as Mia’s.
I almost let it slip that, in a moment of unexplainable courage, I visited
Nico’s house three days after the graduation party, when they’d returned
from Europe, and apologized to Mia.
I can thank Cody for that courage, but I don’t want him to know what I
did. He might take it the wrong way... he might think I did it because I want
more from him than we agreed.
I do, but that’s not why I faced the man made of pure wrath—Mia’s
fiancé.
It was what Cody told me the day after the graduation party that
ignited my new sense of courage and helped me knock on Nico’s door.

“You’re letting your mistakes define you, B. Use them to guide you.”

I did.
Nico let me in, Mia listened, and even though her huge heart allowed
her to move past my cruelty, the weight didn’t drop off my shoulders.
Knowing Mia had the strength to forgive me made me feel worse because
she’s so pure. She didn’t deserve what she got from me, and the regret and
guilt amplified.
I pull the tie out of my hair, combing the braid out with my fingers as I
expect it’s my father standing outside with another round of demands, much
harsher today thanks to last night.
But instead of Dad, Cody’s there in his boxer shorts, the expanse of his
chest stealing my breath.
 “You’re not leaving my bed twice without a word,” he grumbles,
running a hand down his face like he’s trying to rub off the sleepiness.
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m sorry I—”
“No,” he clips. “No bullshit, B. I thought we were past that now. You
can’t crawl into my bed in tears, expect me to hold you, then disappear
without a word.”
I step back instead of forward. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I
promise.”
With an exasperated huff, he grabs my waist, slings me over his
shoulder, and carries me into his apartment. He lays me on the bed, pulling
the comforter to my chin.
“I’m not saying I don’t want you coming over when you need me. I’m
not pissed off because you came. I’m pissed off because you left. You’re
obviously going through some shit, and I...” He grips his neck, squeezing
hard. “I want to help, okay?”
He crawls in and draws me against his chest. “Tell me what happened
last night. Where were you?”
“Thank you for caring, but there are things I don’t want to talk about. I
know what you thought when you saw me last night, but it wasn’t that,
okay? I’m fine.” I fling one hand over his torso, snuggling into his side.
“You’re crossing more lines, Cody.”
He presses his cheek to my head, and I feel his jaw clamp tight, an
internal battle stealing his attention from the determination he exuded
moments ago. Using that to my advantage, I distract him further, sliding my
hand down his chest until my fingers find the outline of his big, hard cock.
“You can’t keep evading,” he growls, arching his hips into my touch as
I jack him off slowly. “Talk to me. I’ll listen.”
“So will my therapist,” I counter, and dip my head, planting open-
mouthed kisses on his neck.
“You’re in therapy?”
I nod, tracing my lips along to his ear. “I thought she could fix me,
but... it’s been a year, and I’m still broken.”
“You’re starting to piss me off,” he grumbles, his fingers ghosting my
back, the touch possessive, firm but affectionate. “You’re not broken, B.”
“Careful there,” I say, arching back enough that we’re at eye level.
“You sound like you’re forgetting you hate me, Cody.”
“What if I don’t want to hate you?”
 “Then I don’t want to fuck you.” I kiss his jaw, inching toward his lips,
then sit up, yanking my top over my head.
Cody’s on me in a flash, his big hands palming my small breasts. He
circles his warm mouth around my nipple and sucks before tending to the
other the same way.
“Show me how much you hate me,” I whisper.
He sucks harder. The sharp sting travels straight down between my
legs when his tongue joins the fun, soothing the ache.
“You’re cheating,” I say, wrapping my arms around him as he kisses
his way up between the valley of my breasts, pinning me to the mattress
with his body. “No kiss—”
His lips come down on mine, restless, hot, demanding. “Lose that
attitude, shut the fuck up, and take what I give you,” he murmurs, spreading
my thighs to make room for himself. “You’ll talk, B.” He nips my lip before
stealing another long, hot kiss. “You’ll tell me what happened last night.”
“No. I... I...” I swallow a harsh breath when he pushes my panties
aside, quickly dipping two fingers inside. “That’s not fair.”
“Fair? You don’t play fair, so don’t expect it from me.” He dips his
head again, the kiss as feral as our first. “Scream, kick, fight me all you
want. I. Don’t. Care. You’ll talk.”
“God, I hate you.” I don’t mean it. And the words don’t ring true. It
sounds like I mean a different four-letter word.
He flips me onto my belly, tears my panties off, and falls on top of me,
his boxers long gone. His cock slides between my soaked lips, teasing,
promising an orgasm.
“That’s good. Hate me more.” His chest is flush with my back as he
moves inside me, supporting his weight on both elbows to not squish me
into the mattress. “Where were you last night?”
“Out...” I moan, grasping the pillow with both hands.
He slams into me harder, gripping my hair in one hand to lift my head
off the pillow. His lips hover over mine just long enough to sink his cock
deep into me while his tongue plunders my mouth.
“So sweet,” he whispers, biting my lip, the pace of his thrusts enough
to send me hurtling toward the edge but not enough to summon the orgasm
to the surface. “Where were you last night?”
“I told you. Out.”
 He lets go of my hair and sits back on his calves, driving into me hard
until I’m shaking, almost coming, but then he eases off, before pulling out
completely.
“Out where?”
“This is blackmail! Very cruel, horrible, awful—” I swallow the rest of
the sentence when he curls one arm under my waist and hauls me up,
settling me over his cock, my knees digging into the mattress either side of
his hips.
“Choose a safe word, B.”
“What?”
“Choose a fucking safe word. Anything you wouldn’t normally say
during sex.” He lifts my hips, impaling me on his dick, eyes boring into
mine. “Red? Pineapple?”
“Checkmate.”
A smirk curves his lips. “Checkmate it is. Use it when you want me to
stop.”
“Stop talking or stop touching me?”
“Both. When you use your safe word, everything stops.”
My smile slips off my face, but I don’t stop moving, his big hands
guiding me to slowly rise and fall. Mine wrap tightly around his neck as I
cling to him, not wanting to miss a second of having him so close.
“I don’t want to talk, Cody. Please, don’t make me talk. I just want you
inside me. Don’t use sex against me. Keep hating me, keep hate-fucking
me.”
“I’m afraid you don’t make the rules here, B.” He skates his lips across
my collarbones. “I’ll hate-fuck you ten ways to Sunday once you stop
acting like a brat. I’m not using sex against you. I’m using it to shut down
your firewall.” He grabs my nape, guiding my lips over his for a soft kiss.
“I’ll edge you. I’ll make you submit not because I want you to tell me what
the fuck happened but because you want to tell me.” He kisses me again,
nipping my bottom lip. “You’re just scared.”
“You’re wrong,” I breathe into his mouth, inching away.
He slaps my butt. “I don’t think I am.” Pinning me in place, he takes
over the torture as he slowly, oh so slowly, hits my G spot with shallow
thrusts. “Where were you last night?”
“I don’t like this.” I hide my face in the crook of his neck, and he
immediately wraps his arms around my back, holding me close while we
move in sync.
“That’s okay,” he coos. “I don’t like this either.” He flips me onto my
back, crawling over me, and the deep, urgent thrust almost sets me off. “But
what I don’t like more is seeing you cry. Who did you go out with?”
“None of your business.”
“Same guy that was here when you broke your glassware?” he
demands, driving into me faster, the orgasm like a teasing wave at the
shore, coming and going, coming and going, never quite reaching far
enough to flood the beach. “Same one who yelled at you when we spoke
over the phone?”
This isn’t the first time Cody’s denied me the release. I don’t mind that
part, but couple it with the questions, with his angry and concerned at the
same time tone, and the way he looks at me... my armor starts to crack.
I shut my eyes tight, blocking the oncoming tears, blocking his words,
and the memories, but it’s useless.
Everything comes crashing down. The last thing I hear before my
mind jams up is Cody’s next barked question.
“Same one who picks you up when you’re wearing red?”
Every suppressed emotion I’ve ever bottled up, hiding behind fake
smiles, and a fleeting sense of control, resurfaces, hitting me from all sides
at once.
Cody disappears. His bedroom, too.
My head turns into a giant screen. The images flick so fast. My mother
losing her mind, hallucinating, my father ramming his fists into her head,
the degenerates watching, touching me against my will since I was twelve.
How I preyed on Mia, then cried under my bed when Mom screamed that I
killed Dad. Blood on my thighs, hands on my hips, filthy words.
Hundreds of broken scenes, a projection of the worst moments in my
life. Of my whole life, because there was no happiness in it. Not real
happiness. Artificial, manufactured. Fake.
Just like the face I show the world.
Cody rocks me gently in his arms, my head under his chin, his arms
around me, my nails clawing his flesh so hard I’ve left long, red lines.
I broke the skin.
A powerful shudder shakes me as reality re-emerges. My face is wet,
and I’m naked under the comforter Cody’s tucked around us. I’ve never had
a panic attack in front of anyone other than my father. The last one
happened when I hurled those glasses across my kitchen at him.
“There you are,” Cody breathes in my hair, his hold tightening around
me when I try to move. “It’s okay, calm down. It’s me, baby. I’ve got you.”
“I’m fine,” I rasp, swallowing the tears and prying myself away. “I’m
sorry, I... zoned out.”
“Blair,” he utters, taking my chin between his fingers to turn my face
his way. “Does it happen often?”
“Nothing happened.”
This has gone too far. Cody’s too perceptive, too clever and he cares
enough to dig deeper, to ask questions.
“You had a panic attack, B. That’s not nothing.” He cushions his
fingers round my wrist, dragging me back to him. “Talk to me. Tell me
what’s going on.”
Against all reason, I curve myself into him, hiding my face in the
crook of his neck. He smells of sex, cologne, smoke, and me. Soothing.
Heady.
My negative emotions fade with his every word. It doesn’t matter what
he says. It’s his voice that calms me down. He could be reading the phone
book for all I care.
“I did,” I answer truthfully. “I hurt me.”
There’s a long pause, his muscles tensing until he’s wound up so tight
he might never unwind. “Will you ever answer any of my questions?”
“That’s not part of the deal.”
“Fuck the deal,” he whispers in my hair. “You want me to break
someone’s neck? I’ll do it. Tell me who hurt you.”
He shouldn’t care. I’m not worth it. Not worth his attention or the rules
he’s breaking.
My lips part. I want to tell him we’re done. Over. No more sex. Not
even a hey in passing, but I can’t push the words out.
Cody’s my first taste of calm and safe. My first taste of normal. I don’t
pretend when I’m with him. I don’t feel I have to, and that’s scary. Scary
and addictive, so instead of closing the gates, I take the cowardly way out,
leaving them open.
“Checkmate,” I say, bracing both hands against his chest to push him
away.
 He doesn’t oppose, lifting his hands so I can move away, every next
word sharp as a bullet. “Next time you need a shoulder to cry on—” He
pauses, teeth gnashing between his lips, anger dancing in those deep, brown
eyes.
I know what’s on the tip of his tongue: don’t come crawling to me, but
with a long exhale, his shoulders slump, and something else comes out.
“You made it clear you won’t tell me what’s happening. All you’re
after is a good fuck, so fine, we’ll stick to that, but if you need help... if
anyone hurts you... I’m here, B. Come to me, okay? I’ll help.”
The hurt in his voice cuts me so deep it briefly steals my breath. He
cares and I... I’m pushing him away.
It’s better this way. I don’t have anything good to offer.

OceanofPDF.com
TWENTY-FIVE
Cody
THE BACHELOR PARTY GUEST LIST ends up being thirty-two men
long. Thirty-two guys in the wild of Las Vegas for two days straight. I don’t
know if I want to remember every minute or blackout and not know a thing
because I just know I’ll make a shitload of bad decisions.
I’ve been on edge since Blair texted an hour ago with yet another not
tonight. She’s avoiding me, but I can’t figure out why.
We were fine after she used the safe word. I stopped by her condo on
Monday after work, and we spent three hours in bed, but on Tuesday,
without explanation, she sent a text saying not tonight. She did the same
yesterday—today, too.
Three days, no explanation. I’m crawling out of my skin, fighting my
every instinct so I can give her space.
It’ll be easier once the bachelor party sets off in a rented luxury bus
that’ll not only take us to Vegas, but chauffeur us around the city all night.
My mind will be occupied, no time to think about Blair’s silent treatment.
But... we need to leave first, and with my brothers acting like a bunch
of whipped pussies, it might be problematic. The messages in the Sausage
Fest group chat come more frequently every hour. Colt and I, the last Hayes
brothers left with unclouded judgment, have been putting fires out since
five am.
Theo had his panties in a twist first because they’re all leaving their
kids with Mom, and he wasn’t sure she could handle five boys.

Colt: She had seven of us, bro. Five is a piece of cake. Dad’s there, too,
and Grandma is coming over to help. Relax.

Theo: She was thirty years younger, Colt. She only had four to deal
with. We were self-sufficient before the three of you arrived. River’s not an
easy kid.

Logan: Neither were you. And you’re even worse as an adult.

 It took more than those messages to calm him down, but once Theo
was under control, Nico asked Shawn to break the law and get Mia a gun
permit. Since I’m not in the best mood, instead of being reasonable and
helpful, I’m an annoying prick.

Me: Get her a bulletproof vest while you’re at it, Shawn. Two
bodyguards with vicious dogs, a satellite phone for emergencies in case
she’s out of range, and one of those panic buttons she can wear around her
neck.

My brothers join the fun, quicker than lightning, when there’s a rare
occasion to put Nico in his place.

Shawn: I don’t have a spare bulletproof vest, but I have proper body
armor. Will that work?

Conor: Yeah, that’s good. Don’t forget a holster for the gun, a few
knives, and maybe a smoke grenade just to veer on the side of caution.

Logan: She’ll need silver bullets for vampires too, bro. And a survival
kit in case there’s an apocalypse. Flashlights, water, batteries, canned food.
You know, the essentials.

Nico: Fuck you all.

There’s a pause in the incoming messages. Long enough that I’m

starting to wonder if we took it too far, but then Nico is typing appears at
the top of the chat.

Nico: Fine, assholes. Just a can of pepper spray if you can, Shawn. But
make sure it’s light and the range is good. Damn, will you all be fucking
sorry if zombies take over the world tonight.

Another hour goes by before the shit hits the fan again. Logan sends a
picture of Noah’s t-rex. Eli’s grasping its tail in his small palm, and Noah
stands beside the crib, crying.

Conor: I got you two of those last year. Where’s the spare?
 Logan: No idea. Can’t find it.

Conor: Fine, I’m on it. I’ll finish up in the office and stop by the
arcades on my way home.

It’s barely lunchtime, and I’ve done little more than stare at my phone
most of the morning. It’s a good thing my team’s finishing off the
construction site we’ve been working on since I started in May. They’re
clearing the equipment before we hand over to the interior design team next
week, so not much for me to do, or Logan would be busting my ass for
wasting work time on personal matters.
We’re close to the city center, so I hit a café for a sandwich and a
coffee, choosing a table by the window, my phone face up, the chat on
because there’s another meltdown.

Theo: Come to think of it, pepper spray isn’t a bad idea. Plenty of
crazy in this world. Get one for Thalia, Shawn.

Logan: Make it three.

Conor: Fuck. Fine, get one for Vee, too.

At this point, I’m done. What a bunch of absolute crybabies. Theo

leads the pack on this one because Thalia’s the toughest, and she definitely
doesn’t need pepper spray to keep herself safe. She’ll keep the girls safe,
too, but—
The image of Blair all disheveled, makeup smeared, clothes torn
flashes before my eyes and... shit.
I think I finally get why my brothers act the way they do. I’d feel so
much better if B had a can on her.
I snatch the phone, sending her a short text.

Me: Care to tell me what’s going on? Why are you avoiding me?

My foot taps against the floor while I wait for the reply, ignoring the
messages coming in to the Sausage Fest chat.

B: I’m not avoiding you.

 My clenched fist slowly uncurls on the table and the muscles in my
jaw relax, making me realize I’ve been mindlessly grinding my teeth while
waiting for her message.

Cody: Fine, then come over tonight. No questions.

The reply comes back, so does the tension. It seizes my muscles so

hard they cramp. The involuntary reflex also makes my fist clench, and
since I’m holding the phone, the screen cracks. A hairline fracture in the
bottom left corner, but it’s enough to skyrocket my temper.

B: I can’t. I’m sorry.

I look up to the ceiling, muttering under my breath. Kick me when I’m

down, why don’t you?
Three days is a long time to think. Last night, to keep myself occupied,
I worked out Blair and I have been sleeping around for eight weeks. Eight
weeks. Two months of sex. I’ve not had a relationship this long with any
other woman in my entire life. Not even Ana came close.
During those two months, she’s texted me variations of not tonight a
dozen times, but I can’t hits differently. Given the situation, it feels like a
gentler way of saying we’re done.
And knowing we’re done, that I won’t see her, touch her, kiss her
drives me to the brink of a nervous breakdown.
Two months, but I’ve not had my fill yet. Not even close. If anything, I
want more.
Boy, am I in trouble.
Without thinking, I let the hurt rippling through me take the stage. She
should have the guts to tell me the deal is off the table.

Me: If we’re done, it’d be nice to know before I go to Vegas so I don’t

keep my dick on a leash all weekend for nothing.

I regret it as soon as I press send. It sounds so fucking wrong... like

she’s just a good lay. Like I don’t care about anything other than sex.
I shouldn’t care.
Jesus... what have I gotten myself into?
Or better yet, why?
 It’s not like I didn’t know any better. I kept the attraction simmering
beneath the surface, suppressed and denied, for a long time. Just desire, I
told myself. But deep down, I knew the undeniable truth. I knew it when I
carried Blair, wasted and unconscious in my arms, out of Brandon’s house
after the graduation party.
I knew it when I held her close to my chest, wrapped in my hoodie, in
the back seat of Colt’s car.
Fuck, I even knew it when I kissed her and stalked into her bedroom
with one goal in mind: fuck her senseless.
I knew, but I ignored it. Belittled the intensity of the magnetic pull
between us.
I thought I was safe. That I had it under control.
After all those years I saw Blair parading the school corridors in tight
dresses, the rumors, and her reputation... I was certain I could keep it
physical. I had to, considering everything she did to Mia.
Just sex. Great, intense, raw sex.
But now I’m absolutely fucking screwed. Trapped in a whirlwind of
emotions, a damn hurricane tearing through my mind. The text I just sent
her might be the lowest I’ve ever sunk, but shit can always get worse.
When her reply arrives, it’s definitely worse. Ten times worse.

B: I can’t because it’s THIS time of the month, but good to know where
you stand. Feel free to use your dick whichever way you deem fit.

How about I accidentally catch it in my zipper as punishment? If I

thought I felt bad for texting the idiotic line before, it’s got nothing on how
I feel now.

***

Five hours later, with three boxes of takeout food stacked in my arms
and a paper bag dangling from my wrist, I knock on Blair’s door, still in my
work clothes.
Shower can wait.
I’ve got some serious apologizing to do. I never guilt-tripped a girl for
being on her period. Had I known, I definitely wouldn’t have done it this
time.
 The door opens, Blair’s pretty face contorts into a scowl as she looks
me over, one eyebrow raised. “What do you want?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, stepping closer, not close enough that she won’t be
able to shut the door in my face though. “I’m having a shitty day and I took
it out on you. I didn’t mean what I said.” I lift the takeout boxes higher.
“Pizza, Chinese, and Italian. I didn’t know what you’d want.”
The two wrinkles on her forehead even out, vulnerability peeking
through the cracks of her composure.
“No one has ever apologized to me,” she admits quietly. “Thank you,
and I’m sorry, too. I should’ve told you I’m on my period instead of
tiptoeing around the subject.” She glances at the bag hanging from my
wrist. “What’s in there?”
“I’ll show you if you let me in.”
Her combative stance across the threshold wavers, and she opens the
door further, stepping aside. “We’re not having sex tonight, Cody.”
“A true sailorman will cross the red sea, baby. Orgasms help with
cramps, you know?”
“I’m the one with a vagina here, so yes, I do know. Do you know what
also helps? Heat packs, pills, and candy bars. I don’t feel sexy right now so
no orgasms. It’s gross.” She closes the door, staying in the same spot as I
dump the takeout boxes on the kitchen island.
“It’s not gross. It’s normal. I’m not here for sex, B, but I could make
you squirt in the shower so it’s less gross.”
“I’ll pass, thanks,” she says, scrunching her nose, eyes glimmering
softly. “So? What’s in the bag?”
“Take a look.”

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TWENTY-SIX
Blair
CANDY BARS. Lots of candy, a scented candle, a bath bomb that
smells like coconuts and vanilla, tampons, pills, and even some lame rom-
com. That’s what’s in the bag.
A period survival kit.
I peer up at Cody from where I stand looking at the contents spread
before me.
“What is it? Did I forget something? I can run out and—”
“You bought me tampons,” I whisper.
He cocks an eyebrow, scrutinizing the box. “Do you not use tampons?
I can go buy pads if you want.”
“No, this... this is perfect.” My hands tremble as I place every item
back in the bag, my thoughts in overdrive.
Cody crosses the room then hauls me onto the counter, both hands
gripping the marble edge as he beds his elbows, staring at me. “What’s
wrong?”
Needing something to do with my fingers, I wrinkle the hem of his
black polo shirt.
My heart pounds a wild rhythm of hope and fear. This is so much more
than just being friendly. It’s intimate, personal. Something a boyfriend
would do, not a man who labeled himself my enemy.
He shouldn’t be here. As much as I want him to spend time with me
outside the bedroom, he shouldn’t. He’s not doing us any favors. We’re
tiptoeing on thin ice, and it’s more like stomping when he acts considerate
and helpful. Tender, sweet, caring.
When he looks at me like he never wants to look away.
He tilts my chin, searching my face. “Words, baby. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just... this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,”
I admit, meeting his piercing gaze. “It doesn’t feel like you hate me
anymore.”
The lines we drew are blurring, evaporating, and I’m scared because...
I think I’m in love with him, and now... everything has to stop.
 We were doomed from the start.
I had feelings for him before he kissed me, and I put up a lousy fight
whenever he stretched the boundaries.
I let it happen, falling deeper and deeper while fooling myself I had it
under control.
“You should go,” I say, bracing both hands against his chest as I slam
my walls back up, even though they’re full of holes now. It’s no longer easy
to slip into my unemotional, guarded act. No longer easy to play that part.
Not around Cody. “Please,” I whisper, everything inside me rioting as I say,
“I... I can’t do this. You need to leave.”
He doesn’t budge. If anything, he crowds me further. “Take it off,” he
says, cradling my thighs, a tornado of contradicting emotions in his eyes
fighting for the stage. “Now, B.”
My eyebrows bank in the middle as I look down at my summer dress.
He can’t be serious. “No. I told you we’re not having sex tonight.”
“That’s not what I want,” he seethes through gritted teeth. “Eyes on
me, B,” he adds, near whispering. “Which one is real?”
“Real? I... which what is real?”
“You. Which one of you is real? I’m tired of guessing, so tell me. Is
this real?” He flicks a hand at me. “Or the girl who laughed with me last
night? The girl who bakes cookies, plays peek-a-boo with my nephews, and
cries herself to sleep in my arms. The girl who doesn’t give a fuck about red
lips or high heels and doesn’t mind me seeing her without makeup? The girl
who drinks beer from the bottle, wears sweatpants, and admits her mistakes
or this.” He motions to me again, alluding to the fake act I’m trying to put
on right now. The godawful, attention-seeking attitude, crude language, and
rude comments. “Which one is real and which is a mask?”
I stare at him, my insides tingling and tying into knots. “You know
which one is real.”
“I do, but you’d still rather be this girl. You’re her when you go out
with your fake friends. Her when you wear those red dresses. The only time
you’re you is when you’re with me.”
I bite my cheek, loving and hating that he sees right through me. That
he pays enough attention to notice that the face I show the world isn’t my
true face.
“You have a year of college left,” he continues, hammering his point
across. “After that’s over, life begins. You won’t see most of your fake
friends again. They won’t give you a second thought two years from now.
In five years, most won’t remember your name.”
He leans in closer, close enough that our noses almost brush. “This
isn’t you,” he whispers, almost pleading, though with a flaring temper laced
in his tone. “This is a defense mechanism. An alter ego you created to
deflect the hurt. I can’t fucking stand this girl,” he spits out, eyes roving my
body up and down before he meets mine again. “But I like the girl who
sneaks into my bed when she needs a hug. I like the girl who smiles with
her eyes, not just her lips.” He takes a pause. Every muscle in his body
winds up tight, but his face radiates determination. “I like the girl who trusts
me to bear the weight of her hurt. I don’t hate her, B. Far from it.”
My heart beats out of my chest, the last sentence coating every mental
cut and bruise, acting like a balm, cuddling me with more warmth than I
ever received.
Cody moves back a step, standing taller, prouder, more confident.
“Take it off. Bin it, burn it. Stop sabotaging your life.”
My thoughts race a million miles a second, my mind flooding with
memories of every moment I spent with Cody these past weeks, every
fleeting conversation, tear, and time he let me fall apart in his arms.
That tiny brush of my lips against his neck when he fell asleep after
dragging me onto the mattress in his condo.
The first kiss he initiated and how fast it led to more.
Every smile, every gasp, every blissful minute.
And then it all shifts to the other side of the coin. My father, my
friends, the future I dreamed of for so long. The goals, threats, everything I
could lose. Everything I suffered, the road I’ve taken, and how close to the
finish line I am.
And then there’s the imposing shadow of my mistakes. The hell I put
Mia through, how much it hurts to even think about forgiving myself.
Even if I can... Cody’s family will never accept me. This is beautiful
on paper, but it won’t last. Cody will leave.
He’ll leave, and I’ll be alone. Not even any fake friends to take my
mind off those dark thoughts. No money to fall back on. No dreams. No
future.
What will I do then?
God, but what if he doesn’t leave? What if I really earned a second
chance?
 Cody cups my face, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t disappear inside
your head. Don’t overthink, B. Take. It. Off. Please... If you can’t do it for
you, do it for me. I’ll teach you how to let go of the past. I’ll teach you how
to be happy.”
Inching away, my vocal cords tying in knots, my shaking hands drop
to my unsteady legs. “You should try to hate me again. I’m not worth the
risk, Cody.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”

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TWENTY-SEVEN
Cody
WITH MY HEART ON MY FUCKING SLEEVE, I wait for Blair to
speak. To smile, take off that fucking mask, and be herself: the girl learning
how to be happy.
That it’s okay to be happy despite the past.
I’m in deep. So fucking deep. I have no idea how to navigate these
treacherous waters. I miss her. She’s right here, but I fucking miss her. I
want her. Whether beneath me, on top of me, or nestled into my side... I
don’t care as long as she’s with me.
I should’ve realized I wouldn’t give her up. It should’ve clicked when
I stormed over here after she sneaked out of my bed. But I ignored the
signs, the undeniable attraction, and feelings that defy logic because deep
down, I knew that once I acknowledged how much I crave Blair outside the
bedroom, I’d have to end it.
And now it’s too late to get out unscathed. It’s too late to get out,
period. I’m falling in love with her.
It’s as simple and as complicated as that.
The last nail to my coffin was the look of utter disbelief when she
stared at a pack of tampons I bought. You’d think I gave her a diamond
ring, she was so bewildered.
My pulse triphammers in my neck while she remains silent,
overthinking her next words.
It’ll hurt like a bitch if she tells me we’re done. The mere idea of us
being over turns my blood cold. I don’t want to let her go. Not now, not
ever, and accepting that is both intoxicating and terrifying.
I want to learn more about her. Uncover her protective layers,
permanently strip her masks and help her accept every mistake she’s ever
made. I want to help her move on and embrace how much she’s changed.
Show her that she’s most beautiful when her tough exterior crumbles to
reveal vulnerability and goodness. I want her to let go of the blame and
believe she deserves happiness.
Happiness with me.
 I’m teetering on the edge of a dangerous path. Afraid of losing my
brothers’ trust. Scared of hurting Mia. Fucking petrified of losing them all
because I want Blair.
“There isn’t a single thing you could do to make us turn on you.”
Nico’s words echo in the deepest recess of my mind. He said that when
Logan admitted he was in love with Cassidy. Logan thought that because
Cass was friends with Kaya, who cheated on Nico, it would be an issue.
Logan thought we’d never speak to him again. He thought we
wouldn’t forgive him...
I wish I could say my situation is the same, but it’s not in the slightest.
If anyone can help me organize my thoughts and shed some light on how I
should approach this, it’s definitely Logan.
Blair stares at the floor, but I don’t think she sees it. She’s deep in her
head. God knows what she’s thinking about. Is she weighing her options?
Wondering if she feels the same way I do? Wondering how to tell me she
doesn’t?
Fuck. Knows.
I wait because I trust she’ll make the right choice. That she’ll let go of
the blame. That she’ll take a step away from the alter ego she’s
masqueraded as for years.
I wait because I’m falling in love with her.
I want to help her see that her past doesn’t define her. Mistakes are a
part of life, growing up, and learning who we are. She can right the wrongs
if she believes she’s worth fighting for.
Seconds pass, each stretching into oblivion, my wristwatch ticking
loud and clear. Slowly, Blair moves her eyes from the floor to me, and the
weight on my shoulders eases.
It’s hard to pinpoint what exactly changes that sends relief rattling
through me. Maybe it’s the way her shoulders sag, how she nervously pulls
her lower lip between her teeth, or the uncertainty shining in those deep
blue irises.
Maybe it’s all that and something else I can’t name.
“There she is,” I say as I trail my knuckles along her jawline, tilting
her chin up. “There’s my girl.”
The corners of her lips twitch. Not a smile, barely a promise of one,
but she’s calm, her decision made, and my heart swells three sizes,
threatening to burst, when she hooks her index finger in the collar of my t-
shirt, tugging twice.
I dip my head, covering her lips with a kiss, slipping my tongue inside
the silk of her mouth, tasting, teasing, sealing the unspoken promises. We’ll
make this work. I know we will.
She scoots closer to the edge of the counter, weaving her delicate
fingers through my hair, the kiss evolving like it did the first time.
Everything holding us back disappears, raw, primitive desire returning,
now more potent with the burgeoning emotions behind it.
“This won’t be easy,” she murmurs between kisses. “There are things I
need to deal with, things I need to figure out... things I can’t tell you about.”
“I’m not asking for miracles, B. I just want you to stop pretending
you’re someone you’re not. Stop living in limbo and start walking forward.
I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I promise it’ll be worth it.”
She trails her fingertips down my scalp, neck, and shoulders, then
holds my face in both hands. “You’re worth every tear I’ll cry, Cody, but I
need a few days to deal with my life. A few days to make changes. Until I
stand firmly on my feet...” She touches my chest right above my heartbeat,
then touches hers, “...this has to stay between us.”
Who would’ve thought she’d be the one keeping us a secret? It should
be me doing everything in my power to make sure my brothers won’t find
out, but I’ve lost interest in keeping our enemies-with-benefits status on the
down-low.
I was sloppy. Careless enough to stop locking the door when she came
over. One of my brothers could’ve walked in on us fucking in my kitchen,
and I didn’t care.
“Deal, but don’t make me wait long. I’m not keeping you a secret
longer than I absolutely have to.”
Her cheeks pale. “Aren’t you afraid what your brothers will say?”
“Petrified,” I admit.
I could lie to make things easier, but nothing about us is easy. This is a
fucked-up, complicated kind of love. The best things in life are never easy,
and I refuse to start with lies.
“Cody, I—”
“You’re worth it,” I cut in before she says something that’ll spike my
blood pressure.
“I’m worth losing your family?”
 I smile, pecking her forehead. “You don’t know my family all that
well, but I promise I won’t lose them. It might take them time to accept that
you’re mine, but they will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I know my family, B. There’s nothing I could do that would make
them hate me. We give each other shit over anything and everything, but
when it matters, we listen.”

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TWENTY-EIGHT
Cody
WE SPENT THE EVENING EATING COLD TAKEOUT, watching the
lame romantic comedy I bought, cuddling on her uncomfortable, navy-blue
couch, and making out like a pair of teenagers.
She didn’t elaborate on what she needs to take care of before we tell
my family about us, and despite the curiosity gnawing at my brain, I
decided pushing for answers wasn’t the way ahead.
When she fell asleep on the couch, around midnight, I carried her to
bed and stayed, cradling her to me all night.
What I didn’t do was set the alarm. The bachelor party meets at Nico’s
at seven am. He’s got the biggest driveway, enough space for the guys to
leave their cars there all weekend.
The moment I open my eyes and glance at my wristwatch, I know I’m
screwed. It’s six-thirty already. I’m not showered or dressed. I may have
grabbed a shower last night when I went to pack a bag for the weekend, but
that doesn’t count. I need a shower in the morning to wake up properly.
“Fuck,” I hiss, leaping out of bed. “I need to go, B. I’m late.”
She grumbles something, tucking the comforter closer to her chin
before peeking with one eye. “It’s too early.”
“It’s late for me.” I yank my pants on, gather the rest of my clothes,
and bend over to kiss her head. “You better not be on your period when I
come back.” Grabbing her hand from under her pillow, I settle it over my
cock, groaning when she applies the right amount of pressure. “This needs
taking care of.”
She sits up with a half-asleep, dreamy smile. “I know how to make it
all better.”
“Me too, but I don’t have time, B. Behave.”
“You’re already late. What’s three more minutes?”
“You think you can jerk me off in three minutes?”
“If that doesn’t work, there’s always another way.” She wiggles her ass
to give me a hint.
 Heat detonates behind my ribs. The idea of exploring her this way is
music to my ears. Too bad it’s not possible. “Seeing that you think I can just
slide in there the same as your pussy tells me you never had a cock in your
sweet tight ass. We need lube, a plug, and more than three minutes to get
you nice and ready.”
She hooks her index finger in the pockets of my sweats, tugs my pants
down and quickly does the same with my boxers.
“B, we don’t—” I shut up when she takes my dick in her hot mouth,
twirling her tongue around the head. “Fuck,” I hiss, my balls pulling taut,
orgasm already building at the base of my spine. “You might be onto
something with those three minutes.”
She sucks me in deeper, her head bobbing back and forth, long nails
gouging into my hips to keep me in place when she swallows me down.
“Good girl, fuck, that’s good... a little faster.”
I gather her hair, holding it in a ponytail with my fist, eyes on her
pretty face. The orgasm gains momentum, hurtling to the surface faster
once she grips the base. It’s a sensory overload. That stubborn part of my
character not prone to giving up or letting someone else win is fighting it,
but B knows how to drive me incoherent with need. How to make me lose
control.
“Out,” is all I rasp before nothing more than my guttural noises fill the
room. My throat constricts as the orgasm rattles through me, powerful
enough to cramp my thighs.
B arches back in time, working my length with her small hand,
milking my warm cum over her chest and throat.
“That was...” I suck in a harsh breath. “Thank you, baby.”
I grip her underarms, helping her up when she tucks my cock back in
my boxers and readjusts my sweats.
“I like making you lose control,” she admits, smoothing her hands
down the sides of my sweatpants.
“I hate that I can’t return the favor, but—”
“I’m on my period, Cody. I wouldn’t let you return the favor even if
you weren’t late.” She smiles, looks curiously down her cleavage, wipes up
a fingerful of my cum, and sucks it into her mouth.
One small move, but it drives me feral. I could easily rise again and
bend her over the bed.
 Her eyes widen in surprise as her finger pops out of her mouth. “It’s
nothing like I imagined.” She dabs her finger again, licking it clean as she
looks at me. “You can come in my mouth next time.”
“Jesus... What are you doing to me?”
She’s careful not to touch her chest to mine as she stamps a quick kiss
on my lips. “I’m making sure not one show you see this weekend tops this.”
I slap her butt, squeezing hard. “Nothing tops this, B, but you look
good in green. I like that you’re jealous, as long as you don’t take it too far.
If I wanted to fuck someone else tonight, I wouldn’t have told you I don’t
hate you.” I slap her butt again and drop one last kiss on her head. “Go take
a bath. I’ll see you Sunday. Call me if you need me.”
A smile is all I get before she locks herself in the bathroom, and I exit
her condo, determined to grab the fastest shower in the history of mankind.
But that goes to shit the second I yank the door wide open, stalking out
of Blair’s condo with a bare chest, wild hair, and half my clothes in hand.
It goes to shit because I come face to face with my brother, strutting
down the corridor. He halts mid-step, narrowed eyes taking me in.
“I thought you could use a lift,” Logan says, weighing every word.
“All those cars will be a tight fit at Nico’s.”
“Am I glad it’s you and not one of the others.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “If you think I won’t give you any shit, you’re
sorely mistaken, bro.”
A small smile plays across my lips despite the atmosphere thickening,
tangling, and getting too hot to breathe as I cross the hallway. “I know, but
among all that shit, you’ll be helpful. Come on, I need a shower.”
“Yeah, I bet...” he mutters, following me inside. “Shower first, then I
get to call you names, and then you can talk.”
“While you’re thinking of those names, make me a coffee.”
He punches my shoulder on his way to the kitchen while I take a left to
my bedroom, Logan’s quiet asshole hitting my ears as I pull fresh clothes
from the closet.
“That’s one!” I shout back. “Why don’t you take five minutes to
remember what it was like when you were in my shoes.”
“I wouldn’t fucking fit in your shoes, bro,” he snaps, annoyed but
nowhere near as angry as I expected. “Shut up, let me think, and get a move
on. We’re late.”
“It’s your party. The guys won’t leave without you.”
 “If you don’t start moving, I’ll leave without you.”
Ever since Blair crawled into my bed, I’ve imagined my brothers’
reaction if they found out about us. I wondered how much shouting I’d have
to endure, how pissed they’d be on a scale of one to ten, and how long Nico
would growl, snap, and avoid me.
How hard would he punch? Would he break my nose or rein his
temper enough that I’d only end up with a black eye?
I was jittery and restless when these thoughts overwhelmed me, my
stomach tied into elaborate knots, anxiety chewing at the edge of my mind.
But now that Blair’s mine, my head is quiet.
Logan just caught me red-handed. I should think of the best way to lie
my way out of this, but I don’t. No matter what he might say, or if he
demands I come clean today, I’m not nervous. I know what I want.
I’m ready to face the consequences.
Once I step back into the kitchen, showered, dressed, and wheeling my
small suitcase, the atmosphere makes my skin crawl.
Fine, maybe I am a little nervous after all.
“So?” Logan prompts, handing me a cup. “Are we just gonna pretend
nothing happened, or will you start talking?” He leans against the counter,
sipping his steaming americano. “I know who lives across the hall, so tell
me... what were you thinking?”
“I found her,” I say simply, looking him dead in the eye.
“Was she lost in her condo? Cody, I’m a patient person. I have two
kids, so patience is necessary, but if you don’t start explaining, I can’t
promise I won’t fucking hit you.” He sets the cup aside, grinding his teeth,
the reaction he’s kept in check thus far blowing up in my face.
He’s fifteen feet away, but his shoulders tense so hard I can fucking
see it. His posture changes from careless to a statue, and along with his
posture, the atmosphere shifts, the air heavy, loaded with tension.
“Fuck, Cody,” he clips, starting off resigned, but his voice grows
sharper with every word. “Blair? Seriously? What the hell were you
thinking?”
“I wasn’t,” I admit, plopping down on the couch. We’re not going
anywhere until this conversation is over. “I didn’t expect it would go this
far. There’s more to Blair than meets the eye, Logan. She told me about her
past, the bullying, why she was doing it, and—”
 “She burned Mia’s hair! You have any idea how pissed Nico was when
he found out? How long it took to calm the fucker down? and you...” He
massages his temples with both hands. “You were going out of your way
last year to keep Nico from hurting Mia. Now you’re fucking around with
the girl who did nothing else? That’s...” He trails off, clearly at a loss for
words.
“We’re not fucking around. Not anymore. She’s my Cass, Logan.” I
pump my fists, clenching and unclenching to rid the inferno behind my ribs.
He has every right to ask questions. I’m sure it’s a walk in the park
compared to what Nico will put me through, but that fucking around
comment just rubs me the wrong way. “She’s my Thalia, Mia, Vee... my
girl,” I add to clarify. “I know it’s complicated.”
“No shit,” he huffs, but his tone is gentler as he runs a hand down his
face. “Fuck. If this is how you see her... it changes things.” He stares at me
over his coffee, taking another long sip.
Logan and I have grown closer since I became Noah’s favorite uncle.
Or maybe it’s because I’m no longer an annoying teenager that we get along
better.
My dynamic with all four of my older brothers has changed over the
past two years, but Logan and I are similar on more levels than we realized.
He gets me. Sometimes pulls thoughts straight from my head like Colt
and Conor do.
“Love is always complicated. Name one of us who had it easy?” he
challenges but doesn’t wait for an answer. “We’ve all been through shit to
get our happy ever after.”
“This is as close to you and Cass as it gets, so you’re my best hope for
support.”
“That’s why you were happy I caught you sneaking out of her condo,
not one of the others, right?”
“Yeah. You’re least likely to bite my head off.” I crack my knuckles
and straighten my spine, setting my empty cup on the coffee table. “Tell me
what I’m supposed to do.”
“You want me to tell you what to do? Don’t get me wrong, bro...” he
pauses, pulling a dumb fucking face.
It’s probably not dumb, but I’m on edge and easily irritable. Sue me.
“Alright, let’s backtrack a bit. I need more information, Cody. How did
this happen? How did you justify it?”
 “Blair’s different now. She changed. I know how it sounds, but it’s the
truth. She had a fucked-up life. It still haunts her, but she’s working on
herself...” I hide my face in my hands.
It’s not easy explaining how much she changed to someone who hasn’t
spent time with Blair. How what she went through shaped her into the
person she is now.
Even I don’t know exactly what her life looked like or what bodies
she’s still hiding in the closet.
It’s not easy explaining how much sheer will and character she’s
shown, never making excuses even though she’s got plenty of raw material
for one.
How resigned she is to her deluded belief that she doesn’t deserve to
be happy because she made mistakes.
Everyone makes mistakes. What we do about them proves who we are.
Blair’s amazing. Strong, beautiful, kind... so fucking fragile. Filled with
regret, careful, sweet.
I’m in fucking love with her for every one of those things.
“The point is,” I say, peering at Logan. “I get it. I understand her. She’s
not a bad person.”
He mulls it over, scratching the stubble he’s growing out. “Does she
know how you feel?”
“I haven’t told her I love her if that’s what you mean. I think it’s pretty
damn obvious. We were casual for a while and—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, wagging his fingers. “I’m not done yet. Do you
want my blessing? You need assurance that your brothers will have your
back?”
“No. I know what I want, Logan. She’s mine.”
He bobs his head up and down a few times. “Good answer. Means
you’re serious. I didn’t wait for your blessing before I went after Cassidy. I
wanted her, and nothing would’ve changed my mind.” He folds his arms
across his chest. “So? What is it you want from me? Lay your cards down,
Cody. I’m too old to play games.”
“Pointers. Advice. What do I tell Nico and Mia? How do I break the
news? How do I explain that Blair’s not all fucking evil?”
“Well, for starters, don’t tell anyone this weekend. I love you, but if
you fuck up my night, I will hit you. You waited however long, so wait a bit
longer.”
 “I wasn’t planning on telling anyone today. B asked for a few more
days before we make it official. Once I’ve got the green light... what do I
do? Call everybody in like you did or talk to Nico and Mia first? I’m pretty
sure everyone will listen, but Nico—”
“Bring her to the wedding,” Logan cuts in.
“What?”
A small smirk curls his lips, soothing the furious look he’s had on for
the past few minutes. Though furious might be an exaggeration. Logan’s
unpredictable, hot-headed, and ruthless when the situation requires, but his
face is soft. He doesn’t look intimidating. At least not as intimidating as he
thinks he does.
“Bring her to the wedding,” he repeats much slower. “Shock therapy.
Show her off and deal with the aftermath.”
“I don’t know... I don’t want to put her in the firing line.”
He pushes away from the counter, setting his empty cup in the sink.
“You’re not avoiding that, bro. She’ll be on the spot one way or another.
You want Nico to listen? Bring Blair to the wedding. He can’t leave or
avoid you there. You’ll say what you want to say.” He snatches his keys
from the breakfast bar, motioning for me to follow. “Besides, what kind of a
fucking wedding would it be if someone didn’t get their ass kicked?”
This is the last way I’d plan this, but it’s not an entirely idiotic idea. If
Logan thinks it’s good, I won’t question him. Not just because he went
through the same thing and wouldn’t advise me to do something that could
seriously backfire but because I’m selfish. I want my girl on my arm at his
wedding.
Looks like it’s settled... I’m getting my ass kicked in a tuxedo.

OceanofPDF.com
TWENTY-NINE
Blair
WITH A POUNDING HEART, I inhale a deep breath before dialing my
father’s number. It rings once, twice, and the call drops. My stomach twists
with dread when my screen lights up with a message.

Dad: on holiday. Back Friday.

Not what I was hoping for. We need to talk before Cody comes back. I
don’t have a plan yet, but Dad being away is not the worst thing. It gives me
time to take the first steps into a life without Gideon Fitzpatrick’s support.

Me: It’s important. We need to talk.

I hit send, give him a minute to read it, then call again. This time, the
phone doesn’t even ring. Instead, I’m greeted with his voicemail. “You’ve
reached Gideon Fitzpatrick. I’m unavailable at the moment. Please leave a
message.” I hang up before the beep, frustration and relief filling my jittery
mind.
Maybe it’s for the best. It gives me a few days to gather my thoughts
and steel myself for the inevitable showdown.
Slumping back onto the couch, I stare at my phone, praying that when
the time comes to face my father, it doesn’t destroy this fragile happiness
I’ve found. And more than anything, I hope it doesn’t ruin my relationship
with Cody.
He’s become my safe haven. My source of joy, security, and calm.
Losing him is more terrifying than any confrontation with my father.
I don’t know if I deserve him, but for the first time in my life I have
something worth fighting for.
Someone worth fighting for.
I spend the rest of the day sorting through my jewelry, purses, and
shoes, texting Cody every few hours. They’re all hungover and not looking
forward to the six-hour bus ride back.
 He sent me a picture of the Corona he’s nursing at the hotel bar, along
with a few words that almost had me whipping my purple wand out.

Cody: Can’t wait to be inside you, baby. I’ve missed you.

As much as I’d like to scratch that itch and give myself an orgasm, I’d
much rather have Cody do the honors. He’s better at it than I am. The
orgasms he evokes are much more powerful.
By the time the bachelor party is in good enough shape to get on the
road, it’s eight in the evening. Cody won’t be back until late into the night,
so I send him another text as I head out for food.

Me: I left my key in your mailbox. Let yourself in.

He doesn’t reply until I’m on my way back, the aromatic scent of pizza
filling my small Porsche.

Cody: That tells me you’re planning to fall asleep. Wait for me.

Me: I’ll try, but just in case, the key is there.

My good mood evaporates when I park my car and spot Cody’s stalker
lurking outside, eyes hidden behind a pair of oversized shades.
She’s nervously pressing a button on the keypad, probably ringing
Cody’s place, then paces three steps left and right, arms crossed tightly over
her chest.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice far from friendly.
I’m in combat mode, jealousy writhing inside me. If she thinks she can
steal my man, she has another thing coming.
She turns on her heel, and my combat stance wavers. There’s
something almost desperate in her expression. A kind of deeply ingrained
sadness I know well.
“Oh, hey, Blair. I was just calling your apartment...”
“You’re here to see me?” That’s not what I expected. My initial
jealousy fades as I gesture toward the pizza box. “I stepped out for food.”
She bites her lip, inserting a tense pause. “I need a favor,” she finally
admits, eyes welling with tears. “Please.” Her voice cracks like eggshells.
 “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” I set the pizza on a nearby bench,
giving her my full attention.
“I need to apologize to Cody.”
I stiffen at that, the jealous monster rearing its head once more. “Cody
isn’t here. It’s Logan’s bachelor party weekend.”
“I know. That’s why I came tonight.” She pauses as if shepherding her
emotions. She looks so small and lost it throws me off-guard. “I want you to
give him something.” She hands me a crumpled piece of paper from her
pocket.
“What’s this?”
“An apology. I can’t face him. Not after everything I did, so I wrote a
letter. Read it, okay? I want you to know, and if you decide he should see it,
give it to Cody.”
“It’s not my place to decide what he should or shouldn’t see. I’ll give it
to him when he comes back.”
“Thank you.” She offers me a small smile, already backing away. “You
make a cute couple, you know?”
She doesn’t wait for me to respond, turning and marching away, her
heels clicking against the sidewalk.
I lose my appetite by the time I drop the bag on the kitchen island.
Ana did say she wanted me to read it...
Before I can talk myself out of it, I sit on the couch and unfold the
letter.

Cody,

A letter. How very nineties of me, right?

Maybe in a way, but the truth is, I’m scared to face you. I made a mess
of my life. There’s a lot I need to get off my chest, and I owe you an apology.
Hopefully, by the time you finish reading, things will make more sense,
and you’ll understand why I behaved the way I did.
First, I’m sorry for dragging you into my messed-up world. It wasn’t
fair. You never deserved the crazy you got from me.
I blamed myself for my brother’s suicide and, in a twisted way, I
started punishing myself. I couldn’t deal with the guilt, knowing he could
still be alive if I had found time for him.
 My brother’s girl broke up with him, and I wasn’t there when he
needed me most. I was so caught up in my own life that I didn’t give him the
time and attention he needed. He called me the night before he died, asking
me to come over... I didn’t, and then he was gone.
Everything fell apart. I thought that by setting myself up for your
rejection, I could feel a fraction of the pain he did. I’m sorry you got caught
in the middle. I have nothing in my defense other than that I wasn’t thinking
clearly.
I’m sure you’ve noticed—with great relief—that I’ve not been around
for a few weeks. I’ve been in daily therapy since I last saw you.
I would probably be stalking you still if my mom hadn’t asked me to
help clean out my brother’s place. Seeing his empty apartment and dealing
with all that guilt was too much. I broke down.
Now that I’m in therapy, popping pills, I’m starting to get better. I’m
working through that guilt, learning to live again.
I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I’m sorry for the drama
and thank you for never filing that restraining order like I know you wanted
to.
I hope you can forgive me. Once I’m all better, maybe we can grab a
drink and make fun of my stalking.

Ana

***

“B,” I hear Cody whisper, softly but urgently, his fingers grazing my
cheek. “B, wake up, baby. I need you.”
A flutter in my belly pulls me further out of sleep, the anticipation sky-
high. Slowly, I open my eyes, finding him sitting beside me, nothing but his
silhouette visible in the darkness.
“Hey,” I murmur, reaching to touch his face. “I half expected I’d wake
up with you already sliding inside me.”
“It crossed my mind, but we’ve not discussed it.”
“You have my consent to fuck me while I sleep.” I yawn, stretching
out before I sit up. “What time is it?”
“Almost three.” He grips my waist when I get up, standing me
between his legs, his lips kissing the hollow between my breasts. “You’re
not getting any more sleep tonight.”
“Okay, but I need three minutes in the bathroom first.”
“Two.” He pats my butt. “Not a second longer.”
A pleasant shudder runs through me when he slips his fingers under
the hem of my night dress, moving the fabric up as they graze my thigh.
“Dirty dream?” he questions, slipping two digits inside me. “You’re
wet, B.”
“That’s what you do to me.”
He groans, plunging in deeper. “So warm... fuck, I need you on me
right now.”
I gently tap the back of his head. “Two minutes. Strip, Cody.”
Wriggling out of his embrace, I lock myself in the bathroom to brush
my teeth and sprinkle my face with cold water. Cody’s naked when I step
back into the bedroom.
The nightlamp is on, and he sits with his back to the headboard,
palming his cock, stroking slowly.
The sight makes my knees buckle.
“Do it again,” I order, sliding the straps of my night dress down my
arms. It sighs into a heap of blue silk at my feet. Cody pumps his length, his
burning gaze fixed on my boobs. “That’s hot,” I whisper. “One day, I want
to sit and watch.”
“That day won’t be today. Panties off, B.”
Hooking my thumbs in the elastic, my blue thong follows the night
dress before my knees dent the mattress at the bottom of the bed.
“Good girl,” Cody rasps, his big hand working faster. “Now crawl to
me.”
Another body-wide shudder shakes me. I’m slick between my legs,
every move reminding me how much I want and need him inside. I crawl
slowly, my eyes idling between his face and his cock, the head red, angry,
and glistening with precum.
“I want a taste,” I murmur.
“Want? Someone’s feeling bratty tonight.” He grips the back of my
head once I’m in reach. “Lose the attitude and ask nicely.”
He tries to drag me in for a kiss, but instead, I dive, taking him down
my throat fast.
Oops... I forgot to ask.
 “Fuck,” he rasps, his fingers spasming in my hair. “Fine. I’ll gladly
take this kind of bratty, but not tonight. Come here.”
He gently pulls me off him and helps me maneuver into position, his
hands supporting my butt. We both gasp when I sink, loving how he
stretches me slowly.
“Don’t move,” he whispers in my mouth, holding me still once he’s
balls-deep. “Too good. You feel way too good, B. I missed you.” He forces
my forehead against his, taking my lips in slow, biting kisses. “I couldn’t
stop thinking about you.”
“All those boobs you saw didn’t distract you?”
He pushes my hips back far enough that just the head of his cock
remains nestled inside me, then yanks me close again, the sensation setting
off fireworks in my head.
“I prefer your boobs.” He pushes me back again, dipping his head to
circle my nipples with his hot tongue.
“Mine are small. I’m sure you’ve seen better.”
“They’re not yours; they’re mine and perfect. Round, sweet...” He
kisses each one, then my lips as he grips my waist, flipping us over. “Mine,
B. Every inch of you is mine.”
He pulls out and thrusts in, hovering over me, the weight of his body
soothing me in the best way. Instead of the expected hard, relentless fuck,
sex is different tonight.
So much different it has my heart swelling every time he bottoms out
inside me. Those brown eyes glued to my face shine with an unfamiliar
intensity. Less lust, more affection. Our moves, touches, kisses... different.
Deeper. More intimate. More meaningful. Slow, tender, intense.
He cradles my face, kisses my lips, and watches me as if he’s afraid
I’ll disappear.
We can’t get close enough.
A smoldering behind my ribs envelopes my heart more the longer I
look into his eyes and see the emotions raging inside him, and I want—
No, I shouldn’t. It’s too soon... too dangerous. I should protect myself
in case this bubble bursts. In case he leaves once I tell him about my father,
or when his brothers decide I’m not worth forgiveness, but... when he
touches me like he’s worshipping every inch and kisses me like he’s trying
to show me who I belong to, I stop overthinking, and just feel.
I part my lips, throwing caution to the wind. “Cody, I—”
 “I know,” he whispers, sealing my lips. “I know, baby.”
I feel it in our gestures. See it in his eyes. Taste it on his lips.
This is it. What I never wanted to happen, happened, and now we’re
both desperate to let the other one know because this... us... it’s perfect in
all its imperfections. It’s right.
And well overdue, seeing how fast we fell.
“I hate you more,” he says, caressing every inch of my skin he can
reach.
That word feels right.
The hate we harbored evolved. So has the definition, at least for us,
and we both mean a different four-letter word.
“I hate you so. Fucking. Much,” he breathes, pressing his lips to my
forehead.
“I hate you more.”

OceanofPDF.com
THIRTY
Cody
WITH TWO CUPS OF COFFEE and a bag of Jolly Ranchers, I cross
the airport, heading into the departure lounge. The symphony of rolling
suitcases, conversations, and announcements thunders loud enough that I
can’t hear my thoughts.
Loud enough to muffle the quiet doubts prickling my mind. I want B
by my side, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not worried about my brothers’
reaction.
It took a few days to convince Blair she should come. A few long days
of chats, sex, declarations, and promises. Maybe the best few days in my
life thus far.
It was so freeing to hold her every night, wake up beside her, and come
home to find her cooking.
Mundane. Normal. Boring. Fucking amazing.
We spent every minute after I came home from work together. Just the
two of us every evening. Well, apart from Monday when I called Ana,
asking her to come over, after I read her letter.
My step falters when I turn right toward the cozy couch Blair and I
occupied minutes ago and find a different couple there, the guy holding a
tumbler of whiskey, the girl scrolling through her socials.
A quick scan of the area tells me Blair’s not here. Maybe she went to
the restroom, and the seat poachers swooped in.
“Are you Cody?” the guy in my seat asks.
“Yeah. Why?”
He retrieves a napkin from the pocket of his flannel shirt. “Blair left
this for you.”
Dread shudders through me, throwing my hands into a shaking fit that
nearly sends Blair’s mochaccino toppling off my black coffee. Quick
reflexes save the day as I park everything on the nearest table, before taking
the napkin from the man’s outstretched hand.
Even without looking, I know she bailed, but I unfold the napkin
anyway, my heart pounding a drum solo. The airport logo is ingrained in the
bottom left corner, and scrawled in the middle:

Cody,

Please don’t chase me. I can’t go through with this. We’re not meant to
be. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I don’t want to be
the worst that happens to you. I should’ve never let this get so far. I’m
sorry.

B.

My stomach drops as I read her words once, twice, and then again,
each striking a more devastating blow. I fight the growing sense of panic...
unsuccessfully. It’s overwhelming, singing in my ears, whooshing through
my bloodstream. The sweat from my hands soaks the napkin, smudging the
ink as it crumples, and I feel like I’m suffocating.
She’s breaking up with me? Through a fucking napkin?
The airport buzz becomes a dull throb, drowned out by my heart
thundering in my chest.
A knot twists in my gut, nausea threatening to spill over.
Fuck, this is... love is cruel. I’ve experienced my fair share of pain but
this is the worst kind. My hands shake so hard that Blair’s words blur
together. My head is a cacophony of thoughts, all colliding and ricocheting,
refusing to settle.
This must be how Vivienne feels whenever she’s off her meds. I
remember how she visualized it one evening over beer—a huge intersection
with traffic zooming in from all directions at different speeds, no traffic
lights to control the mayhem.
I’m stuck in that traffic jam, thoughts honking and veering, no safe
way across.
“We’re done,” I say under my breath, using Vee’s technique of
speaking her thoughts aloud.
I should’ve chosen a different thought because, out loud, this one guts
me like a fish.
Feeling the burning, curious gaze of the couple on the couch, I peel my
eyes off the napkin. The woman stopped staring at her phone to watch me
with accusing eyes.
“How long ago did she leave?” I ask.
 “Not long, maybe ten minutes,” the man offers.
“She was shaken up,” the woman adds, in a judgmental screech. “She
looked scared.”
Yeah, well, dumping your boyfriend via a note on a fucking napkin
forty minutes before flying to his brother’s wedding will do that to a girl.
Ten minutes is long enough to leave the building and hail a cab.
Instead of chasing her like she told me not to, I grab my phone, dialing her
number.
No luck. I should’ve figured she’d switch it off. The voicemail
message twists my stomach further.
With a new sense of determination, I stride toward the exit, ignoring
our flight being announced. Screw the flight. I need to find Blair. I need to
—
God, I can’t fucking breathe. It feels like she pushed an eleven-inch
blade into my heart. If this is what Conor felt when Vee tried to leave him,
then I owe him an apology for belittling how much this hurts.
I halt halfway across the building, gouging my fingers into the back of
my neck. Blair played this smart. She knew I won’t skip Logan’s wedding.
She knows I can’t chase after her.
By Monday, when I get back, she’ll probably have moved out from
across the hall, long fucking gone.
My insides shake, the hurt morphing into seething anger because that’s
easier to deal with. After everything we’ve been through, the bullshit we’ve
had to work through to put our happiness first, she turns around and spits in
my face.
Good, keep going. It’s working. Anger is easy.
Easier for sure. I reread her stupid note, focusing on certain lines that
fuel my anger.
I should’ve never let this get so far.
No. It’s me who should’ve never let this get so far. So out of control. I
shouldn’t have trusted a girl who dealt hate, abuse, and pain like playing
cards her whole life. I shouldn’t have trusted she could do a one-eighty and
stick in the new lane.
I make myself hate her again until the agonizing pain shredding my
heart ebbs enough that I can pull down a breath without worrying my lungs
will collapse.
 The relief doesn’t last long, though, because I know I’m lying to
myself.
Another announcement rings from the speakers. Passengers flying to
San Francisco should make their way to the gate.
Awesome.
Not only has she dumped my ass, but she’s left me dateless for
Logan’s wedding. I whip out my phone, blinded by my corkscrewing
emotions. With stiff fingers, I dial the number and press the phone to my
ear.
“How quickly can you get to the airport?”

***

I’m calmer once the plane takes off. Only a bit, though. The pain is
there, throbbing like a raw wound. My chest feels hollow. I’m pretty sure
Blair ripped my heart out and took it with her.
During the flight, I have time to decode her note, hunting for the
reason she chose to leave today.
It doesn’t take long before a disturbing idea pops into my head...
something triggered her decision.
It makes sense because she was perfectly happy this morning. All
pretty smiles, kisses, and a few breathless orgasms. After worrying for days,
she was finally looking forward to the wedding, though obsessing over my
brothers’ reaction.
It was cute how nervous she was, rethinking her dress choice twenty
times over, keen to make a good impression.
This morning, she woke up happy, saying she’d follow my lead, and
believed what I told her: they’ll accept this faster than you think.
I’m not naïve enough to have thought they wouldn’t react. I expected
explosive emotions, yelling, probably a right hook from Nico, but I know
my family. I know my brothers.
We’ve been through enough over the years. There are seven of us, so
life’s never boring, but regardless of what happens, we stick together when
it matters. Always loyal, trusting the process, and giving each other the
benefit of the doubt.
I knew they’d come around once they realized how much Blair meant
to me—how much she still means to me. It would have taken a while, but it
would happen.
I pep-talked myself all week to the point where I was actually buzzed
about seeing their faces when I’d arrive with Blair on my arm.
That’s why I didn’t tell them who I’m bringing.
Was bringing...

There is nothing you can do that would make us turn our backs on you.

Nico’s words casually popped into my head ten times a day, making
the prospect of showing off my girl less daunting.
They won’t turn on me.
Wouldn’t turn on me if B was still mine.
I’d been expecting surprised looks, annoyance laced with confusion
and angry curiosity. They’d find the first opportunity for us all to sit alone.
With two bottles of vodka and enough answers, they’d stop growling. And
then... they’d either forgive and accept or take time out to mull it over.
What’s most bizarre is that Mia’s reaction worried me least. Again, I
had time to imagine every possible scenario, but not one I could conjure
ended with anything other than her smile. She loves me. Probably more
than my brothers do.
She wants to see me happy. I know she does, so I also know she’d talk
through the past with Blair.
Circling back to the point, despite Blair’s initial worries, she was
genuinely excited about the wedding and meeting my family. We had sex
right before we left for the airport. She told me she loves me more than
once today, and nothing else she’s said or done triggered my suspicions.
Nothing hinted something might be wrong.
She’s a good actress, but I don’t think she was playing me. Something
happened while I was getting coffee. Whether a realization hit her or
something else entirely, her decision was abrupt.
Too fucking abrupt, and now I regret not running after her. I should
have. If I’d caught her outside the airport, maybe she’d be the one sitting
beside me.
But I wasn’t thinking straight. It didn’t even cross my mind to catch a
later flight, or even drive to the venue.
I wish I could skip tonight’s rehearsal dinner and follow Blair to
demand an explanation. Help her deal with whatever’s happening.
 I can’t because Conor will drop on one knee after dinner, and thanks to
catching a later flight, I’m not sure we’ll make it before he asks Vivienne
the question.
It was only when my stand-in date turned up, after I waited over an
hour and a half at the airport, that she suggested we catch the next flight and
I realized it was an option. By then, it was too late to go after Blair. I’d be
risking not making the rehearsal dinner at all.
We’re already set to miss most of it as we’re running three hours
behind.
Selfishly, I hope Colt tells Conor I’m running late, and he’ll hold off
until I get there because I don’t want to miss the moment. Four of my
brothers are already engaged or married. I haven’t witnessed any of them
pop the question. I doubt I’ll get to see Colt propose, so this is my only
chance to share this with one of my brothers.

***

The flight really did me good.

I organized my thoughts and decided that I won’t let Blair go no matter
what. Not without an explanation. Even if she says she doesn’t love me and,
by some chance, it’s true, I want to understand what drove her away.
I hurry outside, spurred on by the ticking clock and a spike of
adrenaline. We’re so fucking late, and it’s an hour’s drive to Yountville
Estate.
I load mine and Blair’s luggage into the trunk first, then help my date
with hers. Holding the door open for her, I shake the stiffness off my limbs,
ignoring the guilt prickling my skin. I organized a replacement plus one
without considering why Blair left.
Now, it feels like I’m cheating on her.
Too little too late for a change of heart now, I guess.
With a bit of luck that seems to elude me today, I’ll rent another room.
If not I’ll crash on the floor, or with Rose and her new boyfriend. A little
supervision won’t hurt her.
The drive to the venue is painfully quiet, my mind spinning, fixated on
where Blair is right now, why her phone is switched off, and whether she’s
safe.
 But the incessant whirlwind is forced aside by a race against the clock
when we arrive at the hotel. Once the receptionist checks us in—informing
me that they’re fully booked—we rush upstairs to change.
Throwing my suit jacket on, I remember the day Blair helped me pick
my outfits for the wedding. Looking back, that was when I started falling in
love with her. It took all I had not to grip her waist, pull her to me, and kiss
her in that small changing room.
The yellow skater dress Blair wanted to wear tonight hangs from the
closet door along with the deep blue one she chose for tomorrow. I took
them out of her suitcase, so they won’t crease, in case, by some miracle, she
changes her mind and shows up.
Not even ten minutes after arriving, we’re downstairs, and—thank God
—we made it in time.
Conor’s rising from his chair, and Mia’s halfway across the room,
heading toward a piano.
As we stop in the ballroom doorway, all eyes turn to us. My brothers’
faces a mix of confusion, annoyance, and surprise... more or less what I
expected if Blair was on my arm.
But it’s not my girl.
It’s Ana.

OceanofPDF.com
THIRTY-ONE
Blair
SITTING IN THE DEPARTURE LOUNGE, I watch Cody disappear
toward a café. A tight ball of nerves forms in the pit of my stomach the
moment he’s out of sight but it’s not nearly as overwhelming as I’d
anticipated.
Maybe because I faced Nico and Mia. Or maybe because Cody keeps
me grounded in the present, calming me with a kiss or a look whenever my
hands start shaking.
They’re doing it now, and while Cody’s getting me a mochaccino, I let
my mind flicker back to our past few days together, to the sense of freedom
and happiness he evokes. It’s in every shared glance, every lingering touch,
every sweetly intimate kiss, and mind-bending orgasm.
And it’s certainly there every time he murmurs, I hate you in that low,
tender voice. Each time he says it, another hidden bruise inside me heals a
little more.
It’s new, this bliss. New, exciting, and addictive. He is addictive. The
more time I spend with him, the happier I feel.
I pull my phone out of my purse at its quiet ringtone. Anxiety ripples
through me as my father’s name blinks on the screen. I’ve been trying to
reach him since last week, but now he’s calling, I’m tempted to let
voicemail keep him from ruining my day.
Keeping it a secret from Cody, I started paving my way out over the
past few days. I’ve not told Dad, but there’s nothing he can say to change
my mind, so I’ve been quietly selling my valuables—designer purses,
shoes, jewelry—piece by piece, hoping to scrape together enough money
for somewhere to live when my father evicts me from my condo.
And he will because this is it. I’m done playing his games. Done
sabotaging my life. It’s about time he found out.
“Hey,” I say, pressing the phone against my ear, eyes scanning the
crowd for Cody. “I’ve been trying to reach you all week. We need to talk.”
“We’ll talk tonight. I need you at the Country Club at eight o’clock
sharp. I’ll be heading there straight from the airport so make your own
way.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I lift my chin higher, pumping as much
conviction into my words as I can. “I’m not coming.”
“What? What do you mean you’re not coming? And why is it so loud
there? Where are you?”
“I’m at the airport.”
“Airport? Where the fuck are you going?” he snaps, his tone spiked
with casual arrogance that makes my skin prickle.
“San Francisco,” I breathe out, my fingers tight around the phone.
“Logan Hayes’ wedding.”
Silence rings between us, stretching so long it prompts me to check
he’s still on the line. “Are—”
“You’re fucking Cody, aren’t you?”
I expected anger. Screaming. Insults... I didn’t expect him to sound
amused.
Taken aback, my palms turn clammy. “We’re seeing each other,” I
confirm quietly, falling silent when his low, dark laughter pierces my ear.
“What’s so funny?”
“I always knew you were stupid, but you never struck me as naïve,
Blair.” He laughs again, the sound grating. “Do you really think he’ll stick
around? That you’re more than a temporary hole to indulge in?”
“Cody’s not like that. He cares about me, and I’m not—”
“He’s not like what? Like any other man keen to fuck easy pussy?
You’re not Cinderella, Blair, and this isn’t a fairy tale. Don’t be childish.”
“He cares about me,” I utter, pinching the strap of my purse between
my fingers. “He’s taking me to the wedding so I can meet his brothers. How
do you explain that?”
“The reason doesn’t matter,” he says with conviction. “It’s the
outcome that will crush you. Cody won’t stick around. Family is sacred to
the Hayes, and you tormented Nico’s fiancée for years. You’re a vile human
being, and Cody will drop you once the novelty wears off. Probably sooner
than you think.”
I swallow hard, swatting my tears away. Dad’s wrong. Cody wouldn’t
take me to the wedding if he wasn’t serious about us.
“You don’t know me,” I say, my voice quivering at the edges.
“No one knows you like I do. I fucking made you. Face it, Blair. The
moment Nico snaps is the moment you and Cody are done. You’ll be flying
back home in tears before midnight.” A bang at his end startles me so much
I jump. I think he slapped his mahogany desk. “Do you really think he’ll
choose you over his family? No one would choose you.”
First tears roll down my cheek, and more follow, Dad’s words hitting
my insecurities with laser precision. “I’m different now,” I whisper. “I’m
not a bad person. I’ve changed, Dad. I—”
“Changed?” he snorts, his voice dripping with disdain. “A leopard
doesn’t change its spots. You’re still the same little girl, desperate for
attention. Desperate to be seen, and you’ll do everything to be seen. You’re
doing it right now, fucking around with a Hayes of all the men available in
this town. I specifically asked you not to get involved with anyone. You had
one job, and you couldn’t even do that. You’re problematic, Blair. You’re a
liability, and you’re delusional if you think Cody won’t see it.”
Every word he speaks, laced with cruel certainty, claws my fragile
defenses, shattering the cocoon of happiness that Cody’s woven around me.
“He loves me,” I stutter, covering my eyes with my hand. “He said so.”
“Did he now? And since no one’s allowed to lie about that, it must be
true,” Dad laughs, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “I love you, Blair.”
A cold shiver slithers down my spine. “No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” he agrees, cold and ruthless. “And yet I said it. Cody
says he loves you and he can do whatever the fuck he pleases. You live
across the hall! It’s convenient. Wake up and smell the roses. Will you
really throw away the future you spent your whole life working for? Be
real, Blair. Look in the mirror. Admit that you’re not worth the trouble
you’ll cause when you show up at Logan’s wedding.”
I hate him with everything in me. I hate his tone, the toxic, brutal
symphony of accusations he spews, and I hate that he’s right.
I don’t deserve Cody. I never did, and I never will.
I scoff at my own stupidity. How did I let myself believe I could make
him happy? How is forcing him to risk his family supposed to achieve that?
He’d be crushed if he had to give them up. It’s so obvious in the way
his eyes light up when he talks about them, how great he is with his
nephews, how much he loves Mia...
He won’t give them up. Not for someone like me.
Cody deserves more. Someone who’s not haunted by the past. He
deserves everything, and I can barely offer anything. All I have is a
truckload of baggage and a trail of bad decisions. The future I can promise
isn’t easy or colorful.
It’s a heartache waiting to happen.
More tears ruin my makeup. It probably resembles a Halloween-
worthy costume by now.
I’ve cried countless times in my life. What’s once more?
I love Cody. And, because I love him, I can’t let him risk losing his
family over me. My mistakes can’t mess up his life. Even if he wants me
now, it won’t last.
My father sighs long and heavy. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. You’re
less and less useful as the days go by, so here’s what we’ll do. You lock in
Archibald Duke, and you’re free to live your pathetic little life. The condo,
car, money—all yours once Archibald signs the papers. One last deal, Blair.
You won’t have to see me ever again.”
“Okay,” I manage, barely keeping my voice steady.
At this point, I don’t care about the condo or the money. I want to
crawl into a ditch and stay there, but there’s a tiny voice whispering at the
back of my mind I can’t ignore.
Falling apart is easy. Hold it together, even if only out of spite.
“Good choice,” Dad spits out. “One day, you’ll be sipping drinks on
your yacht, looking back on this conversation, and you’ll thank me. Meet
me at the Country Club at eight.”

OceanofPDF.com
THIRTY-TWO
Cody
THE ENGAGEMENT RING glimmering on Vivienne’s finger is easily
the prettiest in the family. Good job he let us help instead of proposing with
the monstrosity he bought or Vee would walk the streets wearing an
oversized rock and risking being mugged.
With the rehearsal dinner done and the congratulations dying down,
Colt pulls me outside for a smoke. Before we even leave the venue, all my
other brothers follow suit.
“Jesus, Cody!” Conor snaps, his brows furrowed in frustration. “What
were you thinking bringing Ana here?”
“This isn’t how you convince her to leave you alone,” Colt adds,
shaking his head. “Why the hell is she here?”
Shawn steps forward, smacking the back of my head. “Use this
sometimes, will you? She’s watching you like a lovesick puppy. How the
hell do you expect to get a restraining order when you invite her as your
plus one?”
“I’m guessing their reaction now is why you haven’t told anyone who
you’re bringing,” Theo says, his voice even, almost amused, as he rests
against the wall with a smirk. “You all should shut up and let him speak.
What if they worked things out, and she’s the next Mrs. Hayes? You’ll
regret barking at him.”
Nico snatches the pack of cigarettes from my hand, pulling one out,
eyes drilling into me. “So, what’s going on?”
I run a hand down my face, the weight of their judgment a bit much to
take in my current state. “Ana’s here as my friend.”
“A friend?” Conor scoffs. “Do you hear yourself? Cody, what the
fuck? She’s been stalking you for weeks! She wouldn’t take no for an
answer. You magically forget about that?”
“Damn, she must be good in bed,” Theo chirps.
“No, I didn’t forget about the stalking, but she apologized and
explained she was having a rough time.”
 Conor rolls his eyes. “You’re such a fucking do-gooder, Cody. It’s
gonna come back and bite you in the ass.”
I knew Ana was struggling, but she illuminated the details in her letter
and when she came by on Monday.
“She was depressed and couldn’t let me go because I was the only
person who actually fucking listened to her,” I continue. “She’s better now
she’s on antidepressants, and I am not sleeping with her.” I emphasize the
last sentence.
I’m not sleeping with anyone considering my girlfriend dumped me
five hours ago. For a moment, I wonder whether to tell them about Blair.
I’m dying to get this off my chest. I need them... I need them to help me
through this.
“Alright, if that’s really what it is and you trust her to behave, then
fine,” Shawn says, kicking himself off the wall as he inhales a drag of his
cigarette. “She can stay.”
“Excuse me?” My head snaps to him so fast I hear a crack. “What do
you mean she can stay? That’s not up to you.”
“Technically, you’re right, but you really think I’d let a stalker,
possibly a crazy person, stay here with our family and kids all weekend?
I’m a cop, Cody. I’ve seen enough shit to know that would be a bad idea.”
I know he witnesses awful things every day, and he’s sensitive when it
comes to safety, but it riles me up how fucking inconsiderate he can be
sometimes.
“Alright,” Logan says, staring me down like he’s trying to ask
questions telepathically. A small shake of my head is all I can give him and,
with a tight nod, he continues, “The DJ’s staying until one in the morning,
so let’s move. I need a drink, and I promised Cassidy a dance.”
I think that’s Logan’s subtle way of making sure this conversation is
over so I don’t start spilling my guts. Good call.
There’ll be time for confessions on the flight back on Sunday. Only
Nico won’t be there to hear my rant, as they drove here to spare Mia the
flight. She was on Xanax when they flew to Europe, and Nico was not
pleased.
While he should be the first one to find out, maybe it’s best if he’s the
last. Maybe my brothers can help me prepare.
They all head back inside, but I linger in the garden, grabbing another
smoke while checking my phone for messages from Blair. I have half a
mind to hurl it across the lawn when I find nothing. I tried calling her a few
times and I’ve sent too many texts demanding an explanation, but now I’ve
calmed down, I send a very different message.
One that will hopefully strike the right nerve.

Me: I’m not letting you go without a fight, baby.

Enjoying my time here is almost fucking impossible while I don’t

know what’s happening with the girl I love.
All I need is one text, confirmation that she’s safe. She’s perfectly
capable of taking care of herself but not knowing what pushed her away has
me running around in circles.
“When you refused to tell us who you’re bringing over, I thought
you’d show up with Blair,” Colt says, making me jump.
I was certain he followed the others inside...
Fuck, I’m not getting out of this now. Lying is a possibility as valid as
playing dumb, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure Colt figured this out a while
ago. He was just giving me a chance to come to him first. Which obviously
didn’t work.
I’m tired of evading his questions. We never kept secrets from each
other, so instead of lying again, I pull the breakup napkin from my jacket
pocket and tell God’s honest truth as I pass it over.
“That was the plan.”
What do you know? My voice fucking quivers. When did I become so
weak? So whipped.
Crazy what love does to a man...
We’re not over, though; I need to focus on that before I have a
meltdown. I won’t let her leave. Not unless she can honestly tell me she
doesn’t love me and never could.
“That’s not what I expected,” Colt huffs, squeezing the nape of his
neck as his eyes rake the words, his thumb grazing the airport logo. “Why
didn’t you tell me?” He punches my shoulder hard enough to hurt. “I asked
you so many times if you wanted to get something off your chest because I
fucking knew.”
“I thought way too many times about calling you,” I sigh, staring into
the sky. “What gave me away?”
 He shrugs, raking his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Call it a
triplet intuition.” He laughs without humor. “Conor knows too. He came to
me a few weeks ago, subtly fishing for intel. He thought you’d told me and
not him.”
“I didn’t share because I didn’t think there was anything worth sharing
until last week. It’s not as if I brief you about every woman I fuck. B and I...
we agreed to—”
The door slides open, and Conor pops his head out. “What are you still
doing here? Your date looks mighty uncomfortable, bro,” he says, shooting
me a meaningful glance. “What’s going on?”
“We were right,” Colt says, stretching out his hand to pass Conor the
napkin. “You catch up, I’ll go grab a few beers, and then you can tell us
exactly what happened, Cody.”
“Not now,” I say. “We’re here for Logan’s wedding. We can’t just
vanish. I’ll tell you everything when the party’s over.”
That reminds me... I should talk to Rose about crashing in their room. I
bet she’ll be thrilled about having her brother breathing down her neck and
killing off any funny business.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Conor says, handing me back the napkin. “But
just so you know? I’m pissed off you didn’t tell us sooner.” He doesn’t
sound pissed, though. He sounds worried.
“Keep it between us, okay? I don’t want this to spoil the wedding.”
They nod, and we enter the venue where Vivienne and her best friend,
Abby—Colt’s date—have adopted Ana into their circle. Dancing is the last
thing on my mind, but, I invited Ana here so I shouldn’t mope all night. She
deserves a bit of fun after the rough few months she’s had. With that in
mind, I muster the energy to take her hand and lead her onto the dance
floor.

***

It’s well past midnight before everyone retreats to their rooms, the bride
not concerned about catching her beauty sleep. Noah and Eli are staying
with their babysitter in a separate room, so Cassidy won’t have to keep
getting up to feed Eli. I guess the eight hours of uninterrupted sleep she’ll
have tonight is longer than she’s had since Noah was born.
 I send Ana into our room and scratch the idea of crashing with Rose.
Our room has a wide loveseat, so I’ll sleep there. That’s if I even make it
upstairs before morning. The idea of hitting the bottle until I black out is
tempting.
As if reading my mind, instead of beers, Colt joins me in the garden
under a chiffon canopy covered with fresh flowers for the ceremony in the
morning, armed with shot glasses and Patrón. “I thought you’d appreciate
this.”
Instead of the chairs flanking a long wide carpet that serves as an aisle,
we settle on a raised wooden platform where the piano for Mia’s
performance will sit. They asked Mom to play throughout the ceremony,
which meant focusing her attention on something other than Logan and
Cassidy, so she framed Mia.
“Where’s Conor?” I ask, watching Colt unscrew the bottle. My
stomach cramps at the strong smell of tequila wafting in the air, sending me
down memory lane to Brandon’s house, and that first time I held Blair in
my arms.
“Kissing his fiancée goodnight.”
“Close,” Conor says, stepping out of the darkness. “I was giving my
fiancée a quick goodnight orgasm. She’ll be out cold before I make it back,
so we wouldn’t have had our engagement night otherwise.”
“That’s not a thing,” Colt laughs, offering Conor a shot glass, then
swiftly yanking it back as he reaches for it. “Did you wash your hands?”
“I didn’t use hands, bro.”
“Touché.”
We knock back a shot, their expectant gazes on me.
“I’m in love with her,” I admit, pulling out the big guns. “I don’t know
how or when exactly, but I am.” I run a hand down my face, squeezing the
shot glass just shy of hard enough to break it. “We agreed to casual sex, laid
ground rules—”
“I guess keeping it a secret was one of them?” Conor asks.
“Yeah. She didn’t say why she wanted to keep it a secret—”
“That was her rule?” Colt grabs the bottle, pouring another round. “I
figured you kept it on the down-low because of Mia.”
“That would’ve been my reason if I hadn’t got to know Blair better.
She told me her side of the story but never made excuses. She owned up to
everything...” I crack my neck left and right, staring at the white flowers
above.
“What did she say?” Conor urges quietly, raising his shot.
“It’s not my story to tell. Blair needs a chance to clear the air with Mia
before I tell you what I know. That’s if I get her back.”
“They already talked,” Colt chimes in, and my spine goes rigid as a
titanium rod. “She stopped by the day after the graduation party. You didn’t
know?”
“No, I didn’t. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Did they—” I halt,
remembering Mia was in Europe with Nico that weekend. “Mia wasn’t
home,” I say quietly. “What did you tell Blair?”
“To try another day.” He shrugs, throwing tequila down his throat.
Him and his fucking tension-building pauses. “And?” I urge, my jaw
ticking. “Did she come back?”
“Yeah, a few days later. They talked. Nico was with them the whole
time. I don’t know what they talked about, but Blair didn’t leave in tears,
and Mia just said she was okay.”
Why didn’t Blair mention this? Why didn’t Mia?
Blair went to see her way before we accidentally ended up in bed yet
never said a word. It’s not like she didn’t have the time or the opportunity.
She could’ve mentioned it when she told me why she bullied Mia in the
first place.
I whip my cigarettes out and light one up, the smoke filling my lungs a
plausible tranquilizer.
“Alright, keep talking, bro. I want the whole story,” Conor encourages
with a hard slap on my back. “How did it start? How did you go from
hating her to whipping your dick out.”
I get comfortable, resting against one of the pillars holding the canopy
over the platform. “I got to know her first. We weren’t talking until she
helped me with River one day, and then slowly, we built up on that. A
sentence here, two there...” Colt takes my shot glass, filling it to the brim
before handing it back. “One day, Ana came over,” I continue. “While she
was accusing me of cheating, Blair rounded the corner. I saw an opportunity
to get rid of Ana, so I grabbed Blair, acted distraught that she caught us,
and, putting on a show, I kissed her.”
Memories flood back. That one kiss—hands down—the best moment
of my life. The second my lips touched hers, I was doomed. Cupid, bow,
arrow.
“And then?” Colt asks. “Stop daydreaming and talk.”
“I don’t know...” I sigh. “Something just fucking clicked. It was
supposed to be a quick peck, but before I knew it, I slammed her against the
wall. We were seconds away from fucking right there in the hallway.”
“Jesus,” Conor chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Is this what
I sounded like when I complained Vee didn’t want to go out with me?” He
thrusts another shot glass toward me, downing his own simultaneously with
Colt. “Too many details, bro.”
“That’s exactly what you sounded like,” Colt agrees, an effortless grin
playing on his lips. “And you...” He points at me, “...spare us the details.”
“Okay, fine. Fast forward a bit. We agreed to casual sex, and Blair
insisted we revert to nothing more than polite heys in passing. No kissing,
no sweet talk, no talk at all. We were just supposed to use each other in
bed.”
“But that backfired, didn’t it?”
“Big time. We were casual for a while, but before I knew it, what I
didn’t want to happen to her, happened to me. I caught feelings. I tricked
her into kissing me, locked her in my condo, and didn’t let her leave until
she ate dinner with me...”
Conor rolls his eyes. Too bad he’s not so prone to keeping his stories
PG-rated whenever he talks about Vivienne.
“When did you decide to take it up a step?” Colt asks.
“Last week. Just before the bachelor party.”
“I fucking knew it!” Conor booms, his voice carrying over the pristine
lawn. “You were so fucking happy, and you barely looked at any girls all
weekend. Damn, I’m good.”
Colt, more composed, raises a questioning eyebrow. “And the
wedding? Quite risky bringing her here, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I know, but to be perfectly honest, I was dying to see your faces
when you saw us walk in together.”
“Oh, thank fuck.” He exhales a long breath, looking up to the star-
studded sky, theatrically mouthing thank you. “I was freaking out you’d
kept quiet because you’re as stupid as Logan and thought we’d stop talking
to you.”
We all chuckle, remembering the name-calling that went down when
Logan proudly announced he was in love with Cassidy and would choose
her and—unborn at the time—Noah, no matter what we thought.
“Maybe if that situation with Logan never happened, I would’ve been
more worried,” I admit, passing Colt my shot glass. “I remember what Nico
said, so I know that nothing, least of all love, would make you turn on me.”
“Say what you will, but I think we turned out better than they did,”
Conor muses, raising his shot glass higher as if making a toast. “We learned
from their mistakes, didn’t we?”
“We sure did.” Colt’s face softens. “Way to drive the point home,
though. Big-headed as always,” he quips, clinking his shot to ours. “So
what happened today? Why isn’t she here?”
The tequila burns going down, warming my chest. Too bad it doesn’t
dull the ache ripping my heart open all over again. “That’s the thing. You’ve
got as much information as I do. B was nervous all week but woke up
excited this morning. I left her in the departure lounge for five fucking
minutes while I went to buy coffee. She was gone when I came back, and
some random guy gave me that napkin.”
“Sounds like she got cold feet, bro. She’ll probably apologize when
you get back. You’ll be fine.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s something else. It’s not me. At least I don’t
think it’s me.”
“Time.” Colt makes a T using his hands. “We need another bottle.
Hold on a sec.”
However many drinks he had before we started the Patrón are showing
in his steps as he zig-zags toward the hotel. He’s quick, though, back inside
three minutes with two bottles.
“If we drink this, we’ll end up sleeping right here,” Conor says but still
downs his shot with a grin. “Alright, so how does Ana factor into all this?
Last-minute decision? Is she the reason you had to take another flight?”
“Yeah, Blair bolted forty minutes before take-off.” I fall back, lying
flat on the wooden platform, staring at the flowers, chiffon, and stars. “I
shouldn’t have brought Ana here. I called her two minutes after I read
Blair’s note. I hadn’t processed what it said, and on our way here, I realized
this can’t be it. There’s something I’m not seeing.”
We keep talking while the second bottle of tequila empties at a steady
pace. By the time my wristwatch reads three in the morning the world blurs
and sways as we stumble into the hotel lobby.
We’re trashed.
 I can’t remember the last time I was this drunk, but I’m feeling a little
better now that I got everything off my chest. Now that I know my brothers
have my back no matter what happens. It’s been a while since we had a
good heart-to-heart. I fucking missed spending quality time with them.
After all, that’s what family is about. We stick together through the highs
and the lows.
“Fuck, I sure hope we’ll be up in time for the ceremony,” Conor
mumbles while an imaginary tornado in the lobby tosses him about. “I’m so
drunk. Vee’s not gonna be pleased.”
“We’ll be golden,” Colt slurs, phone in hand.
He stops by the stairs, narrowing his eyes at the screen, his feet spread
for balance, upper body swaying wildly.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Shut up. I can’t see when you talk.”
Conor chuckles, resting against the wall, his head down as if eyeing
his shoes, but I think he’s nodding off.
We’re definitely not waking up on time.
I already feel like I’m rolling down a steep hill. The world tips
sideways, something hits my ribs, then my head, and many hands grip my
arms, hauling me up.
Ah, so I did roll down. Not a hill, though. The stairs.
That’ll hurt tomorrow.

OceanofPDF.com
THIRTY-THREE
Blair
MY EYES STING. Concealer and a heap of foundation barely cover the
puffiness—the aftermath of a day spent crying. I stop in the doorway of the
Country Club’s private room, mentally preparing before I step into the
elegant, luxuriously decorated space.
A warm golden light spills from the chandeliers overhead, casting a
warm glow on the impeccably dressed crowd mingling around me. Polite
conversation and the clinking of crystal glasses create a humming
soundtrack, but I feel like a hollow shell, a puppet going through the
motions. A prop in this performance. My father’s done-up doll.
My dress is red as always. It’s inappropriate, with its short, shimmery
length leaving little to the imagination. And, as always, that’s what my
father wanted me to wear... another task, another demand in this charade.
Gideon Fitzpatrick is impossible to overlook. He towers over the
throng, standing by the bar, exuding an air of authority that immediately
draws attention. He’s alone, leaning over the counter as he orders a drink.
His gaze scans over me, a satisfied smirk curving his lips as he takes in
my attire. “Blair,” he acknowledges, his voice dripping with smug
satisfaction. “Good to see you’re making the right choices. Did you tell
Cody first, or did you flee like a coward?”
His snide remark could be a punch to the gut and I wouldn’t tell the
difference. He knows exactly which words hurt most. Before I retort, we’re
interrupted. Archibald Duke enters the scene, saving the day, in a way. I’m
not sure if I was about to retaliate or break down into pathetic, ugly sobs,
but neither would have been good.
Archibald’s eyes shine as they sweep over me, a predatory grin taking
real estate across his chiseled face. “Good evening, sweetheart,” he greets,
taking my hand to press a lingering kiss on the back. “You look very nice
tonight.”
In a well-practiced move, my father finds something in the crowd that
requires his immediate attention.
“I’ll be right back,” he promises. “Five minutes, Archibald.”
 “Take your time. We’ll order some drinks.” He snaps his fingers at the
bartender as my father retreats. “Whiskey and a glass of your finest white.”
“Of course, sir.”
Once the bartender turns around, Archibald seizes the moment, resting
his grubby palm on my lower back, the gesture serving as a reminder of
what he expects tonight.
“Nice doesn’t do you justice,” he says, leaning closer to my ear, warm
breath kissing my neck. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart. And this dress... a
masterpiece.”
Playing my role, I smile, thanking him quietly, my attention on the
bartender, who takes all but a minute to slide two glasses across the counter.
And once again, Archibald seizes the moment, taking me outside. We
sit on the same bench I sat on with Mr. Simons, and I just know tonight will
go down the same way.
My mind veers to Cody of its own accord, and the messages I found
when I switched on my phone earlier.

Cody: What the hell happened?

Cody: Why did you leave?

Cody: Fuck, B! If you’re running because you’re scared, I get it, but
you could’ve fucking said you didn’t want to come!

And then, an hour after those messages, another one arrived, the tone
much different.

Cody: Just let me know you’re okay.

The reality of what I willingly, knowingly gave up sinks into my

bones. I didn’t have time to think it through when I ran. Now, I wonder how
I’ll face him when he returns. How will I explain myself?
Archibald’s touch on my cheek pulls me back into reality. His gaze is
gentle, though still aroused, despite the deep eleven marking his wrinkled
forehead. “Blair, is everything okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his voice a
soft whisper. “You’ve been crying, haven’t you?”
“Oh, no, it’s just allergies,” I lie, getting back in character with a deep
breath. “I’m sorry for zoning out. It’s been an exhausting week.”
 “You should relax,” he coos, leaning into me.
I watch his long fingers brush the hem of my dress, teasing the fabric
higher and higher. My heart pounds like a sledgehammer, my body frozen,
cold, motionless.
He’s not wasting time, and I can’t react. If I upset him, he’ll storm out,
my father won’t close the deal, and I’ll lose the chance to end this tonight.
My father is not a man of his word, but there was something in his
voice when he said this would be the last job I’d have to complete...
something I can’t name, but that gave me hope. If I do well, this will all be
over by tomorrow.
One last job. One last man touching me without permission.
“Are you always this brave?” Archibald asks, closing in, the whiskey
on his breath fanning my cheek. “How many men have you allowed to do
this?”
“I...” My mind is reeling.
I think he knows he’s being played. I think he figured out what I’ve
been doing all these years.
I’m surprised it lasted this long.
When I was younger, it was no surprise that men didn’t brag to each
other about feeling up an underage girl, but since I turned eighteen, I’ve
expected my father’s manipulations to come to light.
It’s been over two years, though, and none of the men I’ve been made
to flirt with since I became legal seem to realize it’s just a game I’m forced
to play.
Either that, or they’re purposely ignoring the signs.
Some probably keep their mouths shut to avoid marital problems.
Some might be afraid of sexual assault accusations—which my father
would make if anyone dared undermine him—but I would’ve expected at
least a few to warn their friends.
I think Archibald might be one who’s been warned.
My palms are sleek with sweat, My heart hammers away, and blood
sings in my ears when he pushes my dress higher, savoring the moment
until I’m exposed. Nothing but sheer black lace stands between Archibald
and an eyeful.
“I—”
“Shh, sweetheart,” he coos. “This will be our secret. Your daddy
wouldn’t be pleased if he knew you were flashing those pretty panties to an
old man.” His fingers brush my thigh, making camp an inch before the
black lacy fabric. His guttural groan has me shaking harder. “Like I said.
Boys won’t do you no good. You need a real man.”
He drags his index finger higher, touching the elastic, then lower to
curve between my legs. I shut my eyes, blocking reality, my teeth cracking
from gritting them so hard.
Forcing my lungs to breathe, I imagine I’m not here.
No one’s touching me without permission. No one’s using me to make
money. No one’s threatening to destroy my dreams or my future.
I’m safe, locked in Cody’s arms, his long fingers entangled in my hair.
His other hand ghosts along my spine, soothing, calming. My head tucked
under his chin as I inhale his scent, his soft whispers tickling my ear.
“I hate you, baby girl. I hate you so fucking much.”
But I’m not with Cody.
He’s thousands of miles away, and I’m here, my mind jumping from
reality to what happened last time things went this far, three years ago.
A pathetic whimper slips past my lips. It’s unmistakable, that sound.
Distress, fear... but Archibald doesn’t stop. He pretends he can’t feel how
much I’m shaking, how scared I am...
Or maybe that’s what gets him off.
He pretends I’m enjoying this, that I’m encouraging him as his finger
slowly heads for the prize.
“You need to be very quiet, sweetheart,” he tuts, the warm stench of
whiskey on his breath making my stomach churn.
I stay still, convincing myself that I can do this and survive... It’s just
this one last time. Just once, and it’s over. I grit my teeth, rationalizing
further, but then my phone vibrates in my clutch bag, and I know it’s Cody
demanding my attention.
It’s as if he knows I need him right now.
His face flashes before my eyes, an avalanche of beautiful memories
flooding my system.
I can’t take this anymore. Not one more second of humiliation,
degradation, and fear. No amount of money is worth this. It was when I
hadn’t known anything better.
It was worth it before Cody showed me what happiness and real,
unconditional love feels like.
 Before him, only my mother offered me her attention without
expectation. Everyone else either wanted something in return or wanted me
to act a certain way. My so-called friends stood beside me because they
looked up to me, were scared of me, or could use me for money or
popularity.
Everyone had an agenda.
Everyone but my mother and Cody.

“Stop punishing yourself. You’ve grown. You learned. You’re a better

person than you were back then. I know you weren’t cruel for the sake of
being cruel, baby. Why can’t you see that? It was a defense mechanism
against your own hurt. You think your feelings, past, and everything you
endured doesn’t carry any weight? That none of it left a mark? You’re not a
bad person. You’re aware of the wrongs. You think you’re inflicting
justifiable punishment on yourself, but you’re taking it too far. Enough,
baby. Time to take a step forward.”

I deserve to be happy.
I’m not out of the woods, there’s still so much that needs fixing, but
I’m willing to stop punishing myself. Stop believing I’m not worth a
chance.
I am. I can do better. I can earn his family’s forgiveness and make
Cody happy. I know I can.
My body immediately goes into combat mode, but I stop before
pushing Archibald away with everything I have. If I make a scene, I won’t
have time to get away before my father follows.
I probably won’t even reach my car.
A questionable plan forms within seconds. Instead of fighting
Archibald off, I force myself to relax as I lean into his gentle touch.
X marks the spot.
He finds the prize, his finger drawing from the fabric-covered entrance
up to my mound. My entire body stiffens. The thin fabric of my panties is
all that separates his skin from mine.
He drags his finger down again as if looking for wetness that’s not
there. Spurring him on, I part my lips, letting out an almost inaudible gasp.
“Shh, sweetheart. We don’t want to get caught, do we?”
 “I can’t,” I murmur, doing my best not to sound like I’m about to hurl.
“I can’t keep quiet when you do this.”
“This?” He rolls my clit under his finger, then pinches hard, earning a
tiny artificial moan. “You’re spectacular, sweetheart.”
“Could we—” I pause purposefully, rolling my eyes back like I love
what he’s doing. “Could we please go somewhere else? Somewhere I won’t
have to be quiet?”
A low grunt tears from his chest. “I’m not sure your father would be
happy if he saw us leave together.”
Inching even closer, I line his ear with my lips. “He doesn’t have to
know. I can tell him I don’t feel well, and meet you in the parking lot in
fifteen...” Another fake needy gasp. “No, not that long... ten minutes. I have
a car here, we can go back to my place. I live alone.”
“Not your place. I have a spot in town.” He pulls his hand away.
I almost cry in relief, but catch myself in time, making a soft,
disappointed sound. It does the trick. The corner of his mouth lifts, his eyes
darker than coal.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he coos, slopping a kiss on my temple.
“Daddy’s going to take care of you very soon.”
My stomach twists, but I keep my composure intact as he hands me a
black business card. There’s nothing on it apart from an address. No name,
no logo, just the address. Telling me Archibald takes a lot of women there.
“Judging by how he treated you last time you left before he allowed it,
I think it’s safer if I make an excuse on your behalf,” he says, driving his
hand down my thigh to stop on my knee. “Meet me there in an hour.” He
taps the card.
For the first time since I met the man, I feel a tiny bit of gratitude
toward him. He just bought me time to pack my things. I’m sure my father
will head for my doorstep the moment Archibald leaves this party.
That’s what I want. I want him to come so I can tell him it’s over. I
won’t follow his orders any longer but this extra time allows me to plan a
little better.
“What color do you like?” I ask, building up on my lie, so he won’t
have any reason to doubt me. “I’ll make sure I wear it.”
“Oh, you’re gonna be such a treat. I like white.” He takes my hand,
helping me up. “Go, sweetheart. I’ll see you in an hour. Go around the
building, don’t go back inside.”
 I readjust my dress, trying not to break into a sprint as I walk away,
looking back a few times before I disappear behind the corner.
It’s a blessing that Dad couldn’t pick me up today, because my car is
here. Not even three minutes later, I’m on the road, my hands shaking, heart
pumping blood faster.
I’m officially homeless.
It won’t take long before my father comes after me. As soon as
Archibald tells him that I left because I wasn’t feeling well, he’ll see
through the ploy, and I’ll be facing the wrath of all the gods. Not even an
hour from now, I’ll be homeless. Broke. Discarded.
But instead of feeling defeated, I feel oddly at peace. The only thing
left is to get to my condo and pack as many things as I can before my father
turns up and starts throwing everything away to intimidate me into
cooperating.
I check the clock on the dashboard—almost one o’clock in the
morning. My mind immediately goes to Cody, wondering what he’s doing
right now. The rehearsal dinner must be over. I imagine he’s drinking with
his brothers. I doubt he told them about us, but I’m sure he’ll need a drink.
I don’t let my mind linger there too long. There’ll be time to think of
apologies and how to best explain why I left once this nightmare is over.
By the time I push the key in the lock, I have a plan in place. Leaving
my door wide open, I open Cody’s apartment. He gave me a key so I could
let myself in whenever I needed him.
I need him now.
Why is it that people only appreciate what they have when they lose it?
Why couldn’t I have seen how misguided my self-punishment was and how
much I want to stop it while I was still with Cody at the airport?
Kicking my heels off, I pull out a suitcase, dropping it onto the bed,
and empty the documents drawer first. They’re what I’ll need most. Then
it’s the money I’ve been collecting for the past few weeks in case my father
cuts me off again.
There’s not much there, not even ten grand, but it’s enough for a
deposit on a small apartment. The rest will keep me afloat while I search for
a job.
Jewelry is next. I don’t pack everything, just things I got from friends
over the years, and a few things I bought without my father knowing. I add
the few designer purses and shoes I haven’t yet sold, so I can pawn them
when I run low on cash. Then, I pack clothes. No red dresses. Just jeans, t-
shirts, Cody’s hoodies, and a few pairs of sneakers.
It takes less than ten minutes before I zip the suitcase and wheel it
across into Cody’s apartment. I leave it in the bedroom, along with my
phone, then lock the door and peel up the carpet by Cody’s door, stashing
the key there.
And then I wait.

OceanofPDF.com
THIRTY-FOUR
Blair
I’M ON MY COUCH when my dad barges in, cheeks red with
exasperation, chest heaving as if he ran here.
“Mind telling me what the fuck you were thinking, leaving again when
I specifically told you that you’re not allowed to leave until I say you can?”
He slams the door behind him so hard the windows shake. “You should be
fucking glad that Archibald promised to meet me on Monday after he told
me he couldn’t stay.”
“I’m done,” I say, without emotion.
“You’re done?” he scoffs. “What do you mean you’re done?”
I point at a suitcase by the couch. It’s not the one I wheeled to Cody’s
condo. This one is full of things I won’t miss if Dad won’t let me take them
—which I expect he won’t.
“What is that? Some sort of power play?” he sneers, genuinely amused
by my idea. “Stop living in a dream land and look around! You’re on your
own. You think you can threaten me? I own you, Blair. You have nothing
without me. No money, no home, no car. No college tuition.”
“I don’t want your money,” I say calmly, his words hitting a void.
“Take it all. I’d rather be homeless than—”
“You’re damn right you’ll be homeless!”
“That’s okay.” I set the car and condo keys on the coffee table, pushing
them his way. “I packed a few things, mostly gifts from friends, but you’re
welcome to check I’m not taking anything you paid for.”
He laughs. Loudly. Maniacally.
I’m so detached, so worn out, that it doesn’t faze me. He can laugh and
threaten me all he wants, but he won’t change my mind.
Seeing no reaction no matter how loud he laughs, Dad stops. “You
really think he loves you, don’t you? How fucking dumb are you?” He
looks me dead in the eye. “Wake up, Blair. Life is not a movie. You’re
throwing away years of work, and for what? A guy who’s worth ten of you?
Forget Cody! There’s six million in your portfolio, Blair! Think about those
dreams you’ll make come true—”
 “Some dreams are worth sacrificing for one that already came true,” I
say quietly. “I agreed to be treated like I’m worthless because I blamed
myself. I thought I deserved nothing but pain for how I acted.”
“You’re right. That’s all you deserve,” he seethes, folding his arms
across his chest. “So what? You suddenly forgave yourself? Don’t play
innocent, Blair. You did what I said every time because you fucking enjoy
it. You love the attention. You love a challenge, and you love manipulating
people.”
“Do you really think I love being touched without consent? Being
used? Having no say in what happens to me? There’s a lot of reasons I
allowed this so long, why I never reported you, but none of them are valid
anymore.”
“What will you report, Blair?” he barks, full of confidence that
suddenly wavers as a shadow of fear clouds his face. “It’s my word against
yours. No one will believe you after I’ve told them I cut you off. That I took
away your allowance. You’re a spoilt little girl with a long list of sins. You
have no credibility.”
“I won’t report you. I don’t want the money, or the car, not even the
house. The only thing I want is for you to leave me alone.”
He rakes his hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I can’t fucking
believe you. You think you’re in love? You’re not. Love is an illusion. It
doesn’t exist!”
“It doesn’t feel like an illusion,” I say, peering up at him.
This conversation is pointless. There is nothing he can say that will
convince me I’m making a mistake. There’s also nothing I can say to show
him what kind of monster he became once Mom got sick. Maybe he’ll see it
one day. Maybe he’ll look back at his life and regret the things he’s done
while blinded by greed.
But that day isn’t today because there’s not an ounce of remorse on my
father’s face.
With a deep, calming breath, I muster the strength to get up, wheeling
the suitcase behind me. “Goodbye, Dad.”
He stands there, dumbfounded, watching me leave. I get as far as the
elevator before he grips my arm, yanking me back.
“Where the hell will you go?”
I’ll be back here as soon as he’s gone so I can grab the other suitcase
from Cody’s apartment. “That’s not your problem. I am no longer your
problem.”
He grinds his teeth. “Of course it’s my fucking problem. What do you
think people will think when you end up homeless after Cody throws you
out?” He shoves the keys into my hand. “It’s your name on the deed and
your name on the car registration. I can’t throw you out even if I want to.
Get back inside, calm down, sleep this dreamy attitude off and we’ll talk on
Monday.”
I open my mouth, but he holds his hand up to silence me and marches
away, heavy steps thudding down the stairs.
I gawk at the empty space where he stood a second ago, the whole
situation surreal at best. If I had stood up for myself years ago, how
different would my life be now?
Slowly, I turn around, wheeling the suitcase back into my condo before
crossing the hallway to get the other one from Cody’s bedroom. As soon as
I step inside and his smell engulfs me, I break down, crying like I’ve never
cried before.
Instead of bursting with relief because I still have a roof over my head,
tears well in my eyes.
It doesn’t feel like a win.
It feels like a blade through my heart because judging by Dad’s
reaction, by how quickly he folded, he only used me because I allowed it...
I did this to myself.

OceanofPDF.com
THIRTY-FIVE
Cody
“MORNING.” Mia’s normally sweet, melodic voice slices through my
aching head like a chainsaw. “Did he sleep here all night?”
I cautiously peek under heavy eyelids, squinting against the blinding
sunlight streaming through the window. Did someone take a baseball bat to
my skull last night?
The room spins wildly, and I clamp my eyes shut, inhaling a steady
breath.
“Yes,” Ana says in a low, soft tone. “He came back around three this
morning, grabbed this...” She tugs something I’m resting my cheek against,
“...and fell asleep before I had a chance to cover him with a blanket.”
“Fuck,” I hiss, my throat dry, tongue like sandpaper. I try to speak, but
can only manage a raspy whisper. “Bug... lower, please.” I peek again,
finding Mia leaning over me, her face blurry and distorted.
“I’ve got the hangover remedy for you.”
“No, Bug...” My head pounds so hard I can barely think straight. This
is the worst hangover ever... I should’ve retched into the bushes like I did at
the graduation party. “Lower.”
“I think he means your voice,” Ana chuckles, quickly slapping a hand
over her mouth. “Sorry.”
I snap myself upright as if I’m ripping a band-aid. “Oh, fuck. Bad idea.
Very, very bad idea,” I mutter, steadying myself as the room spins. God, it
feels like I’ve been hit by a fucking truck. “The wedding... did I miss it?”
“It’s barely seven in the morning, plenty of time,” Mia whispers.
“Here, drink this.” She hands me a glass and two pills. “Electrolytes and
painkillers.”
I swallow them down without a question, cool water soothing my
parched throat.
“How did you know he’s not well?” Ana asks, watching me empty the
glass in one.
“Colt texted me last night.” She air-quotes for impact. “3C drunk. SOS
am.” She swaps my empty glass for a full one.
 “Have I told you how much I love you?” I rasp, then almost double
over and hurl when the smell of her sister’s signature hangover remedy hits.
My stomach twists like a washing machine on full spin. This is fucking
brutal. “I hate this,” I tell them, but pinch my nose, chugging until there’s
nothing left.
This isn’t my first rodeo. Mia’s nursed me back to health more times
than I care to admit, and this magical, disgusting, ginger, lemon, and
something-or-other drink is a godsend. Combined with electrolytes, a hot
shower, and a big healthy breakfast, I’ll be back on my feet, fresh as a daisy
in no time.
“You always love me when you’re hungover.” Mia beams, setting both
empty glasses aside. There are four more waiting on a small tray. One pair
for Conor, one pair for Colt. “I better go save the other two. Meet me
downstairs in twenty minutes.” She grabs the tray, backing away, but pauses
by the door. “You might want to prepare for questions from your older
brothers. They’re annoyed the three of you got drunk last night without
them.”
With a deep groan, I fall back expecting the loveseat to cushion me. It
doesn’t because I’m not on the loveseat, and now my head really feels like
it split open.
Sitting back up, I look around, realizing I’m on the floor, crammed
between the foot of the bed and the loveseat. It turns out I used Blair’s
yellow dress as a pillow, crumpled up and reeking of alcohol and cigarette
smoke. My heart sinks, unpleasant memories filtering through my foggy
brain.
Pushing them away, I focus on what I can fix.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Ana, feeling genuinely bad.
Not only have I invited her here as my last resort, but I also neglected
her the entire evening, then woke her up in the middle of the night, barging
in almost black-out drunk.
It doesn’t look like I’ll be in any better shape throughout the wedding,
so sorry is the very least she deserves.
Dressed in her cozy flannel pj’s, her pretty face eyes me with a
concerned look. “I know you probably don’t believe me after everything,
but I really am over you, Cody. I didn’t come here expecting anything could
happen. I came because you sounded really broken. You’re a great guy, you
know? I hope one day we can be real friends. I guess...” She inhales deeply,
her eyes full of sincerity. “What I’m saying is that if you need to talk, I’m
here. I’ll listen.”
“We won’t be real friends, Ana. We already are. You know why I
called you of all people?” The pounding in my head slowly lessens, the pain
not as invasive now.
She chews her lip before replying, “Because I’m the only person
who’d drop everything and come over?”
I laugh at that. She’s a great girl, fun and caring. Just a little lost. The
fact we saw each other naked, that we had a sexual relationship for a few
weeks doesn’t matter. It was fun, but from my side, there were no feelings
involved. Us shifting into the friend category isn’t all that hard. I don’t
think Ana had real feelings for me, either. She just needed a friend.
Maybe I would’ve had a harder time admitting I want to stay in touch
with Ana if Blair showed any signs of jealousy.
She didn’t. She sat beside me when Ana explained why she acted like
a lunatic. The only emotion I picked up from Blair that day was sympathy.
She probably could relate given her past, the mistakes, blame, and regret.
“I called you because you may have done some crazy things, but you
had the guts to apologize. We all lose our way sometimes, Ana. It takes a
great deal of courage and character to admit it.” The headache ebbs away
further as I carefully gather myself up to sit beside her. “I’ll tell you the
same thing I told Blair.” Draping my arm across her shoulders, I pull her
into me. “Forget what you did but remember what you learned.”
She nuzzles her cheek into my shoulder, her words thick with emotion.
“Can I give you a piece of advice, too?”
“Sure. Go for it.”
“If Blair comes to talk, don’t send her away. Listen, okay? She
must’ve had a reason to leave you at that airport, Cody. If she comes to
explain, don’t dismiss her, because you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
I can sense the pain as she speaks, and I intuitively pull her in closer.
She’s speaking from experience, the regret of not listening to her brother
when he needed her most still evident.
“She won’t come,” I say on a heavy sigh. “I’ll find her first.”
“Good for you.” Scrunching her nose, she moves away from me. “You
need to take a shower. Seriously, you stink.”
“Yeah. You know it’s bad when you can smell yourself,” I chuckle,
dragging my jelly feet into the en suite bathroom.
 ***

Showered and dressed for the morning mayhem, I join my family in the
restaurant downstairs with Ana. The scent of bacon wafts in the air, making
my stomach grumble. Everyone, except the bride and groom, are there,
enjoying breakfast and coffee.
Coffee.
The aroma hits me as I sit by the table most of my brothers are
occupying and reach across to snag Mia’s cup.
She’s faster, snatching the tall cup away with a stern look before my
fingers come anywhere near it. “Breakfast first,” she chides.
“So bossy this morning, baby,” Nico smirks, planting a kiss on her
head before lasering in on me. “Why weren’t the four of us invited to drink
with you last night?”
Theo and Shawn are at the other end of the room, chatting with our
parents. So, I lean forward, lowering my voice. “I didn’t want anything to
disrupt the wedding, but I can’t keep shit from Colt or Conor no matter
what it is. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, okay?”
Nico narrows his dark eyes. I can tell he’s plotting how to get the story
out of me sooner. Thankfully, with the wedding starting in three hours, and
the groomsmen tasks we both have to complete before, he has no fucking
chance.
With a tight nod, he leans back, wrapping his arm around Mia’s
shoulder and pulling her in for a kiss, as if it’s the only thing that can calm
him down right now.
Which, honestly, it probably is.
“I want the recipe for that ginger thingy,” Vivienne tells Mia. “It’s
disgusting, but it sure works. Conor was ready to party half an hour after
you left.”
“Disgusting?” Colt protests. “It’s delicious.”
The waiter brings my breakfast, and I abruptly turn to ask him for a
cup of coffee as he struts away. Pain shooting down my side reminds me
what I saw in the en suite mirror. “Anyone know why my ribs and back are
bruised?” I ask.
“You fell down the stairs,” Conor answers, stuffing his face with a big
bite of avocado toast.
 “Yeah...” I bob my head up and down like a bobblehead on a
dashboard at a rally race. “I don’t remember that.”
Shortly after breakfast the photographer arrives, his camera equipment
strapped to his back like a backpacker’s survival kit, and I head upstairs to
change into my tux, before joining the wedding party downstairs.
Beneath the same canopy of live flowers we got shitfaced under last
night, the photographer starts clicking away, directing us into different
poses. Whenever the camera isn’t pointing at me, my eyes follow the bride
and groom. They’ve been together over two years, but still look as in love
as the first time Logan introduced us to her.
The photo session takes an hour, and once we’re dismissed, I go inside
to grab a glass of water. The temperature outside is scorching, and the staff
are setting up big fans that will hopefully cool the guests down during the
ceremony.
Ana sits at the restaurant bar in her summer dress, looking a little pale.
She’s not in the wedding party, so she didn’t pose for the pictures, hiding
away in the airconditioned building. Lucky her. I feel like I’ve sweated my
balls off out there and a change of tux would be good.
I pull my phone out like I’ve done every chance I get since I woke up,
but no messages from Blair wait on the screen.
With a peculiar, indecipherable look, Ana touches my arm as soon as I
stop by the bar. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Sure, what is it?”
“I’m a little lightheaded. Could you grab my purse from our room? My
pills are in it.”
The bartender stops beside us, so I order two glasses of water,
simultaneously pressing my hand to Ana’s forehead.
“I’m not burning up,” she says with a smile. “It’s a side effect of my
antidepressants.”
“Okay, I’ll grab your purse. Drink your water, and...” The bartender
hands over two glasses and I say, “Keep an eye on her for me, alright? She’s
not feeling well.”
“Sure thing, sir.”
I climb the stairs, phone in hand, as I send yet another text to Blair
while I have a moment. I’ve already sent her a dozen similar messages
since I woke up, but one more won’t hurt.
 Me: I hate you, baby girl.

I ignore the breakup napkin stashed in my inside pocket as I fish out

the key card, pushing the door open as soon as the lock clicks. It closes
softly behind me and I stop.
Moving, breathing, fucking thinking.
Sounds familiar? Good, because the girl standing in the middle of the
room looks familiar, too.
Her skin has a ghastly ashen tint, dark shadows under her beautiful
eyes rimmed pink from crying. Her hair is a mess, tangling down around
her face, and her shoulders are hunched forward as if she’s shielding herself
from harm. She looks up at me, pinching the fabric of the hoodie she’s
wearing.
My hoodie.
My heart somersaults back in time with my stomach, and a wave of
relief knocks out my breath. Jesus... she’s here. Tears well in her eyes.
Some spill while I stand frozen in place. Her usually bright, lively aura
seems dimmed, replaced by an air of sadness and defeat.
How did she get here?
When?
Who let her in here?
Ana. It had to be.
The silence between us is suffocating, the tension palpable.
“I hate you more,” she half whispers, half wails. “So much more,
Cody. I’m sorry.”
That’s when I start moving. The key card slips from my grasp. I’m
three steps away, already charging at her, the emotional turmoil I’ve been
wrestling since she left me at the airport evaporates in an instant.
She’s here. She came back.
Whatever pushed her away didn’t win the battle.
I crash into her, gripping her by the waist and hauling her into my
arms. Our lips meet in a frenzy, hers salty from tears, mine urgent,
determined, demanding. The mere sensation of her this close again is
enough to make me feel I might burst at any moment. She parts her lips,
opening up to me and I delve deeper as her fingers lace through my hair,
tugging me closer.
 “I’m so sorry,” she whispers every time we come up for air, her voice
shaking. “I hate you so much.”
“Shh, it’s okay, B. It’s okay. You’re here now. Just... give me a
minute.” With that, I take her mouth again with the same desperation that’s
consumed me for the last twenty hours.
“What happened? How did you get here?” I ask, scanning her face for
clues, as I set her on the bed.
“It’s a long story,” she murmurs softly, cradling my face in her hands
as I shift her higher onto the bed, my knees sinking into the mattress. “We
don’t have time for that right now. I promise to tell you everything
tomorrow, or even tonight if you’re not too exhausted after the wedding.”
I kiss her again, savoring the taste of her lips as my hands explore her
body. My fingers skim her legs, caress her waist, cup her breasts, and trail
down to her hips. I’m fucking drunk on having her back in my arms. Every
inch of her missed me as much as I missed every inch of her. It’s clear in
how she reacts, arching into my touch.
“Cody, we’re wrinkling your tux,” she mutters, gently pushing me
away. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
Talking isn’t exactly what I have in mind, but she’s right, we don’t
have time.
“Tell me you love me,” I whisper, closing my teeth on her bottom lip
and pulling until a soft moan escapes her.
“I hate you.”
I shake my head, looking down into her deep blue eyes. “No, baby.
Tell me you love me. Tell me you’ll never leave me. Convince me I’m all
you want, and maybe... maybe I’ll agree to wait for your story.”
More tears brim in her eyes, threatening to spill, but she swats them
away, then gently cradles my face. “I gave up everything for a chance to get
you back. You showed me I’m worth more than I thought possible. You
showed me I deserve love and happiness. For those things alone, I will
always love you, Cody.” She lifts her head, catching my lips with hers, the
kiss slow, soothing, delicate. “But there is so much more there. Things I
can’t name, and probably won’t ever be able to.”
She pauses, wiping her eyes again before inhaling a deep, sharp breath,
and when she speaks again, her soft voice is full of conviction. “I love you.
I hate you. I feel everything for you. I feel alive, happy. I’m yours as long
as you want me. I won’t leave.”
 It’s that one line, ‘I feel everything for you,’ that shatters all the doubts
I’ve had since I read that damn napkin.
I love that line because it’s real.
It’s not a fairy tale, not a happy-for-now situation. No, this is more. It’s
everything. She’s mine, she’ll be mine through the good and the bad
because life isn’t just the good moments.
Relationships aren’t just the good moments.
There are ups, downs, twists, turns, and so many different emotions
that make a relationship worth fighting for. So that one line injects a new
sense of hope into my veins.
“I love you more,” I tell her before crashing my lips to hers again, the
kiss dominating and soothing the way she loves most.
She gave me a sneak peek into her past with her schizophrenic mother,
and I did a bit of research into the illness, but I’m pretty fucking sure she’ll
knock me off my damn feet with whatever else she’s hiding.
It doesn’t take a genius to realize she went through hell to come back.
She looks like fucking hell right now, but as much as I want to hear every
single detail, we have a wedding to attend.
No matter what she says, what other demons from her past she’s
hiding, she’s mine. Always mine. I can wait for an explanation a little
longer and be there for my brother.
Pulling her up with me, I comb her hair over her ears. “You need to get
dressed, baby girl. The ceremony starts in less than two hours. We don’t
have much time.”
She immediately shakes her head. “It would’ve been okay to show up
with me yesterday during the rehearsal dinner, considering Logan had no
issue with Conor borrowing the spotlight to propose, but today is all about
them. We both know that me walking in on your arm will cause a rift,
Cody.”
Brushing her thumbs under my eyes, she stamps a sweet, affectionate
kiss on my forehead. “I haven’t slept since we woke up together yesterday. I
got in the car at three in the morning and drove here because I couldn’t wait
to apologize. Now you know, now that you’re willing to wait for a proper
explanation... I’m exhausted. I wouldn’t last ten minutes outside.”
She drops her hands to grip the lapels, pulling me closer. “You have
Ana—”
“Baby, the only reason Ana is here—”
 “It’s okay,” she interrupts quickly, her fingers playing with the buttons
on my shirt. “I’m not jealous. Who do you think helped me sneak in here
unnoticed?” She cups my face again. “Enjoy the wedding. Have fun, okay?
I’ll take a nap. We can talk when you’re done downstairs or maybe
tomorrow.”
“I don’t want you locked in here all day. You don’t know my family
that well, but believe me, they’d understand if I brought you to the
ceremony. Logan and Cass would never consider it as me trying to steal the
spotlight.”
She smiles gently, her hand resting on my chest. “I’m sure you’re
right. I’ve heard so many stories about your family that I believe you when
you say they’re supportive, caring, and loving. But it’s time to return the
favor, Cody.”
Here I was thinking I couldn’t love this girl any more, and she says
this and proves me wrong. Who would have thought Blair Fitzpatrick could
be so considerate?
I had this girl figured out all wrong.
When she inches away, falling back on the pillow, I move with her. I
want to hold her, kiss her, rip her clothes off and drive myself home inside
her to remind her who she belongs to, but she needs rest, and I need to be
downstairs.
“Go down there and enjoy it,” Blair says softly, her hand running
through my hair. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise we’ll talk. I promise
I’ll be here when you’re too tired to dance, and I promise I’m not jealous of
Ana. If anything, I owe her.”
We both do.
Pulling the sheets aside, I tap the mattress, urging Blair to get under
the covers. “I’ll wait until you fall asleep.” I curl her into me, her back to
my chest, my lips on her head.
It doesn’t take long. While I battle inside my head, wondering which
question I should ask first, she falls asleep before I can voice any. Tucking
her in, I kiss her head, and leave the room, hoping I can clear my mind
enough to enjoy my brother’s wedding.

OceanofPDF.com
THIRTY-SIX
Cody
“IS ANA FEELING OKAY?” Nico asks once the best man, Theo, is
delivering his speech filled with jokes and gags.
“She’s fine. Why?”
“She’s been disappearing upstairs every half hour since the reception
started. I thought she might not be well. A stomach bug or something.”
She’s been checking on Blair for me so I can get send her something to
eat when she wakes up. It’s almost five in the afternoon, and she’s still
asleep.
Colt’s the family’s resident Poirot, but he’s too preoccupied with
Abby’s babbling to pay attention to anything else. Nico, on the other hand,
has way too much time, considering his fiancée is spending most of the
evening at the piano as per Logan and Cassidy’s request.
“She’s fine,” I say, hoping I sound convincing. “Powdering her nose.
She feels a bit out of place here.”
Too bad it’s not Theo asking. It’s easier to lead him astray than Nico.
He’s way too fucking perceptive, and I’m pretty shit at coming up with lies
on the spot, so that doesn’t help the situation as Nico drags his gaze to Ana
chatting with our grandmother. She’s all smiles as she sips her wine.
Yeah... she hardly looks out of place.
His burning gaze moves to me, one eyebrow raised like he’s calling
my bluff. “Out with it, Cody.”
I heave an exasperated breath, knowing damn well I’ve already lost the
fight before it began. Nico won’t stop. He’s a bloodhound when it comes to
family matters. He’ll push for details until I tell him exactly what’s
happening.
“The reason Colt, Conor, and I had a drink last night without you four
was that my girlfriend dumped me... and this morning she turned up to
apologize.”
Nico leans in with a look of genuine concern as he rests one arm on the
table, turning his body my way. “What happened, man? You didn’t tell us
you had a girl.”
 “I had a few good reasons not to. The main one is that the girl I won’t
leave, no matter what you all say is—” I pause, quietly chuckling under my
breath. “I’m starting to sound like Logan, aren’t I? He had a point, though. I
love you all, but I’m not letting Blair go.”
The muscles in Nico’s shoulders tense on cue and his jaw clamps tight.
I can almost hear his brain working overtime. It takes a long, tense minute
of him processing, rationalizing, or using whatever information he already
has to answer his own questions before he looks at me again.
“Blair Fitzpatrick,” he states for the record, then falls silent again,
probably recalling everything Mia told him about the abuse she suffered at
my girlfriend’s hand.
“There’s more to this story than you know, Nico, I—”
He raises his hand, shutting me up with that and a pointed, furious
glare, then takes another long moment to think.
I like that about him. He usually thinks before he speaks.
Although right now, I’d rather have him lash out. The tension’s
growing so fucking taut I’m uncomfortable in my own skin.
“Nico—”
“Shut. Up,” he grinds out, clenching his fists on the table.
So I do. I wait, the clock inside my head ticking as if counting down
my last seconds on earth.
“I was nine when you were born,” Nico finally says, his tone level,
though far from light. “I remember when you took your first steps, when
you said your first word... I watched you grow up, Cody. You lived under
my roof after you graduated high school. I saw you with countless girls and
friends... I saw the kind of people you let close and I know the kind of
person you are.” He inhales deeply, raking a hand through his hair before he
looks me in the eye. “You wouldn’t be with a girl who was vile just for the
sake of being fucking vile. Give me some credit. The fact you love her tells
me—”
“I never said I love her. I just said I won’t leave her.”
A truly amused chuckle rips from his chest. Still a rare sound even
now that Mia lightened his life. “That’s the same thing. You’re forgetting I
watched Shawn, Theo, and Logan fall in love before it was my turn.” He
drops his heavy hand on my shoulder, squeezing tightly. “You’re in love.
Don’t fucking deny it. Out of all of us, you have the biggest heart, Cody. If
you love this girl, you don’t have to prove to me that she’s worth it. I know
it. And Mia will too, so instead of hiding Blair upstairs, bring her down here
to meet the family.”
I didn’t realize how scared I really was of his reaction until now. He’s
once again proved there’s nothing in this world that can tear our family
apart. I pinch my lips, swallowing the wave of intense emotions burning my
throat.
“Thanks, Nico. I meant it. I love her, but it means a lot that you’re not
throwing punches right now.”
The corner of his lips twitches. “You thought I’d hit you?”
“At the very least. I knew you’d support me after you’d calmed down,
but I thought the calming down would take longer.”
“It would probably be different if Blair hadn’t apologized to Mia a few
weeks ago.”
“I didn’t know about that until last night. We weren’t a thing when she
did that, so don’t think it was because of me.” I lift my glass, draining half
the whiskey. “I wasn’t ashamed to bring her out yesterday like I planned,
but tonight’s about Logan and Cassidy. B can meet everyone tomorrow.”
“Well, at least you’re smarter than Logan,” he says with a smirk. “I’m
still annoyed he thought we’d abandon him.”
I laugh at that. “So am I. Conor said last night that the three of us
turned out better than the four of you. We learned from your mistakes.”
“That’s how it’s supposed to be. It rarely happens, so I’m glad you
paid attention.” He pats my back, exhaling a deep breath when Mia
approaches, the adorable sweet and stern act she’s got going on aimed
directly at her man.
“It’s been half an hour since you promised to dance with me,” she
says, holding her hand out to Nico.
He grabs it, kissing her knuckles, then passes her hand to me. “We
have the whole night, baby. Now grab Cody and distract him. He’s been on
edge all day.”
Dancing is the last thing on my mind, but Mia’s cute smile convinces
me otherwise. I take her delicate hand, leading her into the middle of the
couple-filled dance floor.
I wrap my hands around her, pulling her close as I dip my head to
speak in her ear so nobody can eavesdrop on our conversation. “I love you,
Bug.”
 She laughs softly, gliding along the dance floor with me to the sound
of “Swim” by Chase Atlantic.
“I love you too. And I know, Cody.”
“I do say it a lot,” I agree.
“No, I mean I know you’re in love with Blair,” she explains with a
cheeky smile. “I saw it coming from a mile away. Every interaction you
ever had, even when you were rude, there was tension between you. It was
a long time coming.” She twirls away, flashing me another smile before she
comes back, wrapping herself around my arm. “Once she moved across the
hall from you, it was just a matter of time.”
My hands tighten around her as I pull her in closer. “I never meant for
it to happen. I’d never intentionally hurt you, Bug.”
“I know. I love Conor and Colt, but you are the best friend I ever had.
Which is why...” She twirls around my finger with a beaming grin before
she leans in. “I’m happy you found what I have. Don’t let it go.”
“I won’t. I don’t know what Blair told you, but I’m sure it wasn’t
much. She’s so careful not to sound like she’s making excuses, but it would
mean a lot if you could give her a chance to explain. There are some things
in her past that might give you a little bit of perspective.”
Mia smiles, stepping three steps away from me, our hands
outstretched, fingers locked together. “Remember how worried you were
when Nico told you he was going after me no matter what you said and how
we turned out just fine?”
I nod, pulling her back and dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
“That’s different, Mia. Nico never hurt you.”
“No, he didn’t. However, you knew what kind of man he was but still
allowed him the benefit of the doubt. That’s what I’ll do for Blair.”
How this girl fits her big heart into that tiny body will forever remain a
mystery. We glide across the dance floor until we bump into Theo and Vee,
and switch.
Then I switch again, and again, until not many women in the room are
left that I haven’t danced with. Cassidy is in high demand, so it takes almost
an hour, two cigarettes and one drink before I steal a dance.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her, holding her close.
Not close enough to risk Logan knocking my teeth out. I wouldn’t put
it past him. His irrational temper tantrums rival Nico’s. While he trusts me,
he’s absolutely obsessed with his wife, so a safe distance is a necessity.
 Cass beams at me, the white dress hugging her curves in all the right
places as it falls to the floor, trailing two feet behind her, making it
impossible to effortlessly glide around.
“Do you think I’m snobbish, Cody?”
My eyebrows meet in the middle. “Far from it. Why? Did someone say
something?” I quickly scan the crowd, gauging who’d have the audacity.
“Who?”
“No one said anything. Do you think I love you?”
“Well, you better,” I laugh, playfully pushing her away before pulling
her back in. “Yes, I think you love me...” I glance around, searching for
Logan, “...in a very appropriate way,” I add, louder. “You think I love you?”
“Yes, but that’s not my point. Do you think I’m a bridezilla?”
“Hell no, you’re a very mellow bride. Where are all these questions
coming from?”
“So you don’t think I’m a snob, you know I love you, and you don’t
consider me a bridezilla,” she lists, as she spins away and back in. “Then
explain one thing. Why the hell do you think you’ll steal my spotlight if you
bring the girl you love downstairs?”
My step falters and then I all-out stop dancing in the middle of the
dance floor, holding the bride in my arms. “Who told you?”
A satisfied smirk quirks her lips. “Logan.”
“And how the fuck—”
The words fall off my tongue when I look over and spot Logan’s shit-
eating grin that morphs into two eyebrows punched in the middle as soon as
he catches my evil stare.
“Colt, Conor, Nico, Mia... they all know. Did you really think you
could keep it a secret for the whole weekend? I mean, yes, it’s my wedding,
and—” She pauses, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Mine and Logan’s wedding.
The spotlight should be on us today because this is the best day of our
lives...! Or so everyone tells you.” She twirls away, her dress swishing in
the air. “You know what the best day of my life was?”
I could guess at a few, but Cassidy doesn’t let me get a word out.
“The day I slapped Logan’s stupid face in Q.”
I don’t know the story, but I sure want to. It’s always fun when my
brothers get slapped around by their girls. It brings me so much joy. And
it’s fun to give them shit for it, too.
 “That’s when I found my worth,” Cassidy continues. “I realized Logan
treated me badly because I treated myself badly. That day our relationship
took a turn. I realized my worth, and so did he.” She twirls away again,
beaming. “I always wanted an amazing wedding, but seriously, you really
think anything can overshadow me in this dress? Do me a favor. Turn
around and ask your girlfriend to dance.”
She pecks my cheek, then spins me around. My chest tightens and my
heart contracts until it hurts. But it’s a satisfying pain.
I wish I could say it’s because Blair looks spellbinding in her navy
dress, but it’s not that. It’s the fact my brothers went behind my back and
brought her downstairs without me knowing. It’s because Ana, Rose, and
Mia stand beside her without an ounce of tension in the room.
How did I get so lucky?
“Thank you,” I tell Cass.
“Oh, stop it,” she whispers, holding back the tears welling in her eyes.
“Don’t mind me. I’ve been like this since I got pregnant with Noah. Too
emotional.” She pushes me forward a step. “Go before you ruin my makeup
and Logan ruins your face.”
As I start walking, crossing the room toward Blair, the girls make
themselves scarce.
“They wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Blair mutters, her cheeks pink.
“Even Logan came upstairs.”
“I told you they wouldn’t mind.” I dip my head, pecking her lips. “You
must be starving. Come on, you should eat something and then we’ll
dance.”
She bites her cheek, looking up at me. “I can’t dance.”
“What do you mean you can’t dance? What about all those banquets
and balls you went to?”
“I wasn’t there to dance,” she says, something dark marring her
features before she blinks it away, shooting me a coy smile. “Can you teach
me?”
She’s deflecting, pivoting my attention from the sadness in her eyes.
While all I want is to drag her back upstairs to talk, I think we could both
use a few hours of not thinking about the hard things.
“I’ll teach you.” After I stamp a kiss on her head, we knot our fingers
together, and I take her to our table, where somebody’s added another chair
between me and Ana.
I have the best family in the world.

OceanofPDF.com
THIRTY-SEVEN
Cody
IT’S ALMOST FIVE IN THE MORNING before I make my way
upstairs after spending two hours answering my brothers’ questions about
Blair. Their drilling skills would be an asset in the forces, for sure. Some of
the questions they came up with tripped me over big time.
Together with Ana, B disappeared as soon as the band stopped playing.
As much as I wanted to follow, I had to relay the story to the older four
like I had to Colt and Conor the night before. At least this time, I wasn’t on
the verge of a mental breakdown and it was easier to talk, knowing she was
asleep two floors up.
Colt was considerate enough to invite Abby into his room for the night
so Ana could sleep in a bed rather than on the loveseat in our room.
I gently push the door open, careful not to wake B, but I step inside to
find her sitting on the bed smiling at me, the night lamp bathing the room in
a soft, orange glow.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” I ask, pulling my tie off. “You didn’t have
to wait.”
“I thought you’d want to talk, so I stayed up, organizing my head. Are
you sober enough to listen?”
Stripping down to my boxers, I climb into bed, resting against the
headboard, my heart picking up speed. “I barely had a drink all night, B.” I
had more than my share last night and didn’t feel like waking up with
another hangover. “I’m sober.”
She makes herself comfortable, sitting cross-legged as she pinches the
comforter between her fingers. “Just please... don’t get all worked up,
okay?”
“When has a line like that ever calmed someone down, baby?”
She nods solemnly, inhaling deeply as if bracing for something nasty.
“That man...” she starts, looking up from picking her nails. “The one who
was there when I smashed the glasses, the one I wore the red dresses for, the
one who screamed at me... he’s my father.”
“Your father? But he’s... he looks really young.”
 “He’s very proud of that fact,” she admits. “He’s forty-two, but that
doesn’t really matter. He’s a very greedy man. Money is all he cares about,
and—” She pauses, taking yet another deep breath and when she starts
talking, my skin fucking crawls.
She tells me about the work she’s been doing for years, about the men
she had to flirt with, about those who touched her, and I’m reeling. With
every word, my blood boils further. She tells me about every threat her
father used to keep her in line, every time she watched her mother
hallucinate because the fucker confiscated her meds, every time she
surrendered to his orders.
She’s not crying, but her voice breaks like eggshells when she gets to
yesterday.
“You know what the worst part is?” she asks quietly, still sitting in the
middle of the bed.
I’ve tried to pull her into my arms countless times, but she keeps
saying she won’t get the words out if I touch her.
“Everything about this is the fucking worst, B. Jesus...” I get up, too
jittery to stay still. “You should’ve told someone, baby. You should’ve told
me when I asked, I—”
“I did this to myself,” she whispers, avoiding my gaze. “He called
when I was waiting for you in the departure lounge. The things he said... he
fleshed out my every insecurity.”
She relays their conversation word for word, then proceeds to tell me
about the banquet and Archibald fucking Duke pushing his fingers up her
dress.
“He’s a dead man walking, B,” I seethe, shaking all over. “Him and
your sorry excuse for a father.” Ignoring her protests, I climb onto the bed,
and pull her in, cradling the back of her head, caging her in my arms.
“You’re safe with me. I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”
“Cody—”
“No, don’t even start telling me you deserved any of it!”
“It’s not that,” she whispers, moving away. “You made me realize I
couldn’t keep punishing myself. I don’t want to dig over the past. I want to
look forward, and that means letting go of everything I’ve done, and
everything those men did to me.”
“They should all rot in fucking jail, Blair.”
 “Maybe, but neither they nor my father are worth our time. I told him
I’m done. I told him I don’t care about money, and...” she pauses again, the
first tear sliding down her cheek. “He said the condo and car are mine. He
folded so fast I realized he’s used me all this time only because I let him. I
didn’t fight hard enough.”
It absolutely guts me to know what nightmare she willingly put herself
through, thinking she deserved nothing but pain. I didn’t think I could love
her more than I already did, but I do, and my new life mission’s just become
making her happy. Making her believe she’s worthy and making her realize
what an incredible woman she is.
“Next time I see your father—”
“You’ll do nothing,” B interrupts, darting away from me. “Please,
Cody. He’s spiteful, he’ll do something to get back at you or me, maybe
mess with Nico’s business or worse. Leave it, okay? All I want is for him to
disappear from my life.”
“He wouldn’t dare start a war with Nico, believe me. He’d feel the
repercussions for years to come.” I kiss her head, trying to soothe her
agitated mind. “You love me, B. And that means you trust me.”
She falls silent, the weight of her confession dawning on us both. I
replay every word she spoke, and the knowledge rips me to shreds.
She really never did have a voice. Couldn’t say no, couldn’t ask her
parents for help, couldn’t tell her friends...
I hold her even closer, my lips almost permanently glued to her head as
I stroke her hair, waiting for her to drift off, but instead, she moves away
just far enough to kiss my lips.
And that kiss is as far from a simple peck as it can be. She wants me,
needs me inside her.
My first instinct, after everything I just learned, is to push her away.
My mind screams that she needs time, until I remember she’s already had
years of dealing with this, months of therapy, and weeks in my bed.
“Promise me something,” I say, dragging her onto my lap.
“Anything.”
“Promise that you’ll never lie to me no matter what you think the truth
will do. Not even a tiny white lie.”
She narrows her eyes, contemplating my face while her fingers skim
up and down my pecs. “You’re worried about my head,” she muses, a small
smile curving her lips. “You think I’m traumatized, correct?”
 “In a way, yes. If you need time, we have plenty.”
“I don’t need time. I dealt with the mental damage before we
happened, and you helped me get over the physical constraints.” She leans
in, kissing the tip of my nose. “I love you, and I love our sex life. I’m not
coming on to you because I’m trying to forget. I’m coming on to you
because I need to remember what it feels like to be truly happy, calm, and
safe.”
So I remind her, flipping her over, I quickly hook my thumbs over the
elastic of her panties and slide them down her legs. I don’t bother with the
night dress. There’s something devastatingly arousing about her wearing
clothes when we fuck. My t-shirt works best, but the night dress will do. I
grip her thighs, watching her blue eyes hood over, the wanton look on her
something to behold.
Taking my sweet time, I kiss the inside of her thighs, nose a line from
her pussy to her navel, and not until she squirms, jutting her hips, do I suck
her into my mouth.
A satisfied gasp falls from her lips, launching a brand-new flavor of
desire straight to my aching cock. I can wait. I need her orgasm more than
my own.
“Cody...” she tuts, weaving her fingers through my hair. “A little faster,
please.”
I lick her, increasing both the tempo and pressure. She tastes fucking
divine. I push two fingers inside, my cock pulsing in time with her pussy.
She’s on edge within minutes. Her breathing pattern changes, her moans
become louder, and that’s when I stop and move back. Her eyes fly open in
an accusatory stare.
“You’ll make a mess of the bed, baby, and I’m not spending another
night on the floor,” I explain, hooking my arms under her back and knees to
haul her up. “We’ll finish in the shower.”
“I don’t care where,” she sighs, clinging close enough to brush her lips
along my neck.
I stand her in the walk-in shower, turn the water on, and adjust the
temperature before I kneel. Draping her right leg over my shoulder, I latch
onto her clit, slip two digits inside her, and get to work. The pace is
nowhere near as mellow as on the bed. I’m done teasing. I want her to
come, then come again, then over and over again on my cock until she can’t
move her legs.
 She squirts a minute later, biting her hand to muffle the squeals. Hotel
walls are paper-thin, and it’s already six in the morning. I’m not as
ostentatious as Conor, who didn’t mind Colt and me hearing Vee scream
down his bedroom while we lived at Nico’s. They were loud enough to
wake me up sometimes.
I’m less inclined to such theatrics. I’m possessive as fuck over those
sweet sounds B makes. They’re for my ears and my ears alone. All of her is
just for me. No one can watch or listen.
“One more, then—”
“Later,” she pants, her thighs quivering. She unhooks her leg and
gently tugs my hair, signaling she wants me to stand. “Let’s see how strong
my man is.”
With a graceful hop, she’s in my arms, her legs wrapped around my
middle, arms holding onto my neck. “Press me against the wall and have
your way with me.”
I smirk, tucking a few wet strands of dark hair behind her ears. “You
need a hate-fuck, baby?”
She nods, biting her bottom lip. “I want to feel you every time I sit
down tomorrow. Maybe even the day after.”
No more encouragement is necessary. I press her against the tiles, my
hand cradling the back of her head to break the impact. I slam into her as
soon as she’s pinned to the wall. She yelps a resounding “Yes!” and sinks
her nails into my back.
“Remember your safe word, B, and don’t let anyone overhear us. I
won’t be happy if you wake anyone up.”
“I promise I’ll be quiet.”
“Good girl. Lean your head on my shoulder and bite down if you can’t
keep it in.”
Pulling my hips back, I drive myself home, sinking balls-deep in one
sharp thrust. Then again, and again, harder, and faster, spurred by Blair’s
almost soundless mewls in my ear, and her nails carving long lines down
my back.
She does a beautiful job of keeping quiet, and an even more beautiful
job of branding me with a big, stinging hickey when we come in sync. I bet
it’ll be sore as long as her pussy.
Still wet, and now utterly boneless, she clings to me as I carry her to
bed and tuck her into my side. It’s light out, the clock showing half-past six
in the morning.

***

Sunday passes in an utterly uneventful blur. By the time we dragged

ourselves out of bed it was past lunchtime, and most of the guests had
already left. Dressed, packed, and fed, we got on the road in Blair’s
Porsche, with Ana tucked in the back. Six hours later—thanks to a lot of
restroom breaks—we arrived home and spent the rest of the evening in my
condo.
It’s Monday that brings a sliver of closure.
Logan wasn’t at all surprised when I texted him late on Sunday, saying
I needed a day off after Blair slipped up and told me about her father’s
imminent visit.
I was itching all morning, hoping he’d give me a reason to break his
jaw. While we waited for the fucker to show up, I reviewed her condo
purchase documents to ensure the place was legally hers. Once that was out
of the way, I called two guys to replace the locks in case her father had a
copy of the key.
“Did he call?” I ask B, watching her unpack a suitcase. “It’s getting
late.”
Just as she opens her mouth to answer, a faint knock resonates in the
hallway. It’s not on Blair’s door, though, it’s on mine.
My muscles seize painfully as I cross the kitchen, flinging the door
open. Instead of Gideon, like I expect, Nico turns to look at me. He hasn’t
casually dropped by since... ever.
He never arrives unannounced, and never for chit-chat, so the cold
shiver sliding down my spine is warranted.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Invite me in, Cody. Your girlfriend’s dad left my office twenty
minutes ago. He was... disturbed, to say the least.”
I refrain from pointing out that it’s seven in the evening, and he
shouldn’t be working at this time. Instead, I hold the door open to let him
in.
Blair’s in the bedroom doorway, her cheeks pale as she takes the bulk
of my brother in. “Hey,” she says. “Is something wrong?”
 “Your dad stopped by Nico’s office,” I explain, gesturing for her to
come closer as Nico props himself against the breakfast island. “Go on, bro.
What did he want?”
Blair grabs two Coronas from the fridge, popping the caps, her hands
trembling softly.
“First, he apologized for Blair ‘crashing’ Logan’s wedding. Said he
understands how much distress it must’ve caused me and Mia, and tried
promising he’d deal with her in due course.”
“How did he know I was there?” Blair asks, pouring herself a glass of
wine, her voice small, face flushed.
“Logan’s socials are full of pictures from the wedding. People were
posting all weekend, tagging him and Cass. You and Cody were caught on
quite a few.”
“What did you tell him?” I ask, pulling a barstool out for B to sit.
There’s a slight pause, and when he speaks again, a rare note of humor
coats his words. “That the past is just that. Past. It doesn’t matter now you
two are together.”
“I’m guessing Dad wasn’t happy about that,” B says, already halfway
through her wine.
“No, he wasn’t,” Nico confirms. “To cut a long story short, he spent
over two hours trying to belittle you, your relationship with Cody, your
feelings, and your remorse, all while adding in quite a lot of shit to try and
piss me off.”
I smirk, imagining the situation. Nico has a very short fuse wherever
Mia’s involved. He’s opinionated and snaps faster than the naked eye can
register when anyone disrespects his family but, despite that, he can be
surprisingly well composed when he knows he’s being manipulated.
“I guess it didn’t work.”
“You guess correctly. However, Gideon worked himself up rather
quickly, and instructed me to cash in his largest portfolio and deposit the
money in a Swiss bank account.”
Blair stills beside me, wide-eyed. “That makes no sense,” she
whispers. “You’re the only person he respects and the only person he trusts
with money. Why would he—oh,” she gasps, suddenly enlightened as she
whispers, “Punishment...”
“Punishment?” Nico questions, one eyebrow raised.
 “He closed my portfolio. The one he promised I’d get for my twenty-
first birthday. He’s threatened to do this for years,” she explains
absentmindedly, a tiny, disbelieved chuckle escaping her. “He really thinks
I’m like him. He thinks leaving me high and dry will somehow hurt me, and
I’ll come crawling back.”
A moment of deafening silence ensues, my older brother mulling her
words over, either reading between the lines or recalling whatever Gideon
told him. I can almost hear his brain working. He pierces Blair with
unyielding eyes, trying to coalesce something solid. While he’s thinking, I
top B’s wine glass up.
“He blackmailed you with that portfolio,” Nico finally says, all humor
gone from his voice. “I guess the rumors were true.”
“What rumors?” Blair whips her head up, peering at him over the rim
of her glass. “What have you heard?”
“That you were interested in the old, rich, influential men your father
worked with.” He runs a hand down his face. “I guess it was never a matter
of preference or choice.”
Blair doesn’t respond, but I feel her demeanor shift as shame and dread
take over.
“So? Did he say what his plan was now?” I ask, but Nico’s not looking
at me. He’s focused on my girl.
“Blair,” he urges and waits until she lifts her eyes. “Your father set up
your portfolio during our first meeting. It’s in your name. Only you can
withdraw the money and...” He pauses, something dark and heavy passing
over his face.
It almost looks like pity. Blair’s not as hung up on the and as I am,
she’s shellshocked by only you.
“It’s mine?” she asks quietly, eyes big, round, and tearful. “He didn’t
take it away?”
“He can’t,” Nico insists, letting out a long sigh. “You’ve had right of
access since the day you turned eighteen.”
Her stool scrapes the tiles as she springs to her feet, spilling her wine. I
reach out to grab her, but she shrugs me off, shaking all over, eyes full of
tears.
“I’m okay, I just... I need a minute,” she chokes, rushing into her
bedroom.
 The door closes with a click and Nico zeroes in on me, the quiet
intensity of his gaze like an invisible pole probing my brain.
“Did she tell you what Gideon made her do?”
I bob my head, chugging the last of my beer.
“How bad was it?”
Everything Blair told me about her work resurfaces. She didn’t go into
detail, but it was enough to draw a bone-chilling picture.
“No one was there to help her when she faced her own version of
Asher and Jake,” I say, knowing damn well Nico will understand rape
without me having to spell it out.
His hands ball into tight fists as he regains his composure, squashing
the memories of his girl’s sexual abuse.
“You should go see how she’s doing,” he finally says, pushing away
from his casual lean against the cabinets. “Call me when she decides how to
proceed with the money. And tell her Gideon’s set on moving to Europe by
the end of the month.” He squeezes my shoulder, a silent gesture of
reassurance. A nonverbal confirmation that he’s available if we need any
help. “I’ll let myself out.”
With a tight nod, I turn the opposite way, finding Blair in bed, curled
under the comforter, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes are
shut tight, a clear indication words aren’t what she needs right now.
The first night she spent crying in my arms comes back to the forefront
of my mind. I loved how she curled into me and held onto my t-shirt while
silently falling apart.
Despite our mutual hatred, she trusted me even then. She embraced her
emotions and let her tears dry at their own pace.
I sneak under the comforter, pulling her into me, ready to put her back
together when she’s done crying.
Her tears dry much faster tonight than they did all those weeks ago.
She clings to me, no longer afraid I’ll push her away, and feeds off
whatever calmness she finds in my arms.
“Can you promise me something?” she murmurs a while later, her
fingers drawing little hearts across my chest. “Don’t go looking for my
father, okay? He’s not worth it.”
I clench my jaw, the cogs in my mind whirring. Since we came back
yesterday, I imagined breaking the fucker’s nose a thousand times. Holding
back all day wasn’t easy, but he was supposed to show up at some point.
 But he’s not coming and B’s making me promise I won’t go looking...
And that goes against my reflexes. He hurt her. Intentionally used her
as bait. His own daughter. A few broken bones are the least he deserves.
“I don’t want him anywhere near you, B. I’ll just talk to him. Let him
know he should stay the fuck away if he values his life.”
She smiles. Fucking smiles into the crook of my neck. “He will stay
away. Now he knows Nico doesn’t mind us being together, he won’t risk a
scandal. He knows he can’t intimidate me anymore. That if he tries poking,
I have enough stories to bury his reputation.” She sighs heavily, rising on
her elbow to look me in the eyes. “Why do you think he’s moving to
Europe? It was always his retirement plan, but now that he’s facing a
backlash, he’s removing himself from the picture.”
“Coward,” I mutter, wrapping one arm around her back.
“He always was,” she admits, then stamps her lips on my forehead.
“When I wake up in the morning, I want it to be the first day of the rest of
my life, Cody. A life I fully intend on spending with you. I want to draw a
line and start over but I won’t if you can’t start with me.”
A part of me screams hell to the no. Gideon should hear a few hard
truths. He should fucking hurt, but... at the end of the day, what will
screaming and throwing fists accomplish? Nothing much. He’s too rotten
for any of the things I’m dying to tell him to make an impact, and bruises
heal.
What won’t change is the weight on Blair’s shoulders. Not until we
start moving forward instead of looking back and standing still. She
deserves smiles. She deserves to feel safe and loved and that will make a
difference.
I take her face in my hands, pulling her in for a soft kiss. “Okay. I
won’t go looking for him.”
The smile she gives me has my heart squeezing like a sponge. It’s the
most genuine smile I’ve seen on her to date; I want to give her reasons to
smile like this every day.
“I love you,” she whispers, maneuvering us back into a tangle under
the sheets.
“I love you more.”

OceanofPDF.com
EPILOGUE
Cody
“B! BABY, I KNOW YOU’RE BUSY, but if you don’t move that sweet
butt we’re gonna be late!” I shout from upstairs.
She said just five more minutes twenty minutes ago. Most other days,
I’d call off whatever we had planned so she could indulge her passion, but
that’s not possible today.
“I’m coming!” she huffs back, her soft footsteps padding up the stairs.
“Why the rush? We still have almost an hour.”
“It’s an important evening.”
“So you keep saying.”
She doesn’t bother asking why. She’s tried a few times, but my reply is
always the same: it’s top secret, B. Patience.
While I rummage through the closet for my favorite t-shirt, Blair locks
herself in the bathroom. The shower starts running making me groan for
two reasons.
One, she’s not exactly quick in the shower with all that long hair and
we don’t have much time. And two... she’s there, all wet and lathered up,
and my dick hasn’t seen action for five days.
Two years together and she still doesn’t let me touch her while she’s
on her period.
I busy myself picking out a watch to match... nothing, really. I’m all in
black so any will do, but looking over each and every one keeps me from
barging into the bathroom and stroking my cock while I watch her soaping
down that body.
Two years and I’m still out-of-control hungry for Blair on a daily
basis. I can eat her out first thing in the morning, sink my cock into her tight
ass after she orgasms and I’ll want her again by lunch time.
Madness.
Perfect, addictive, blissful madness.
Twenty minutes later, when we should be leaving the house, B
emerges from the bathroom. She’s dressed, dry hair up in a ponytail, and
delicate makeup done.
 “You look beautiful, you know that?” I say, my eyes roving her from
head to toe.
She rolls her lips, biting back a smile. “It’s the dress.”
“Yeah, the dress is pretty, but you’re prettier.” I cross the room to
where she’s putting her earrings on.
The summery, spaghetti strap dress—Blair’s very first design in the
flesh—rolls up her tanned thighs. Not on it’s own. My finger might’ve
helped a little.
Since the day her father disappeared from her life, shortly after
Logan’s wedding, B started living to the max instead of merely surviving
every day. Once she graduated, she immediately started a fashion design
company. Twelve months, endless sleepless nights, and a lot of
determination later, she’s wearing a dress she designed.
And it’s gorgeous. Something I’m sure Mia will want in her collection,
though not in black. Delicate, flowy fabric swishes around Blair’s knees.
Tiny, cherry blossom patterns tone down the black fabric, making it look
cute but edgy. Modest neckline, perfect fitting, and a bow under the bra
line.
Once B’s business operation outgrew her condo, I bought a house and
converted the double garage into a studio. We only moved in last month,
but Blair’s already filled the shelves and racks to the max: while I
painstakingly unpacked the rest of the house.
Oh the joy.
Thankfully, the Hayes came on a rescue mission and we were done
inside two days.
“You haven’t kissed me today,” Blair says, angling her head.
I have, but apparently a simple peck after work while she was busy
sewing doesn’t count. Or maybe she didn’t even notice.
I don’t mind. I love finding her by the sewing machine after I come
home from work. I love the smile on her face when she shows me her new
designs or tells me about the independent boutiques emailing her about
selling her work.
She’s determined to make a name for herself in the fashion industry
and I couldn’t be prouder. A girl who two short years ago didn’t believe she
deserved a meaningful life, now spreading her wings and living to the
fullest.
And I get to watch. I get to share that life with her.
 “Let me fix that.” I dip my head, sealing her lips. Nothing aligns my
mind as fast as B’s kisses.
She sighs softly, leaning into me as I slip my tongue inside the silk of
her mouth, our breaths mingling, mouths coming together, bodies pressing
closer and—
I pull away when she bites my lip. She knows that gets my cock
begging for attention.
“You want me to drive to Mom’s house with a boner?” I ask, brushing
a few stray locks behind her ears. “Or would you rather I get my fill really
quickly?”
She trails her hands from my neck, down my chest, and lower still.
“Just letting you know we’re in the clear.”
“My dick sure got the message, baby.” I grip her wrists in one hand
before she makes the situation worse. “Stop teasing. You should’ve said
we’re in the green zone before you got in the shower, baby. Fucking you
was all I could think about while you were in there, but as much as I want
to, we don’t have time. We’re in for a treat tonight. I don’t want to miss
that, so behave.”
She puts on a fake pout. “Whatever’s happening must be ridiculously
important if you’re forfeiting sex.”
“See? You get it.” I stamp a kiss on her forehead. “Now, can we please
go?”

***

My father, together with Mia’s and Vee’s, takes charge of the barbeque.
It’s not uncommon for Mom to invite them over for a get-together. It’s also
not uncommon for three grown-ass men to burn the meat. Instead of
committing to the task, they chat and bicker like teenagers, and the cooking
part slips their attention. One time, we ended up ordering pizza because the
meat they cooked was inedible.
I don’t bother offering my help. Blair and Vee already have me on
kitchen-to-garden food-transfer duty along with Conor and—if he gets his
ass here on time—Colt. The girls are setting the table and Theo’s in charge
of the makeshift bar while Shawn and Jack entertain the kids.
“Shit,” Conor huffs, looking out the living room window. “I need to
get out there. Too many kids, not enough adults.”
 The ratio is about three and a half adults per kid in this family, but
Conor’s eight-month-old twin boys require constant supervision. There’s
only two of them, yet they’re everywhere.
“Yeah, go on. I’ve got this,” I say, hugging two crates of Corona to my
chest. Food can wait. We need fuel first. “Imagine what it’ll be like when
they start walking.”
Conor lets out a half laugh half pained groan, hurrying outside to
where the twins have attached themselves to Jack’s legs.
I get back into the kitchen, eyeing the last case of beer. One trip
outside is better than two, but no way I can stash it on top of the two I’m
already holding.
Shit. Two trips it is. Colt’s getting a whack across his head as soon as
he shows up. Not only should he be helping me, but Mom’s already jittery
he’s late. Logan’s not here yet with Cass and the boys, but Logan being late
is not news. We’d be more concerned if he showed up on time.
Colt being late, on the other hand, has everyone on edge. He’s not
particularly punctual when we go out drinking, but he’s always on time for
Mom. And he fucking knows tonight’s important, so he should be here by
now. It’s already well past four and he’s a no-show.
“What’s wrong?” Blair asks, following me into the kitchen as I return
for the third case. “You look tense.”
She doesn’t realize how important tonight is. Technically Colt doesn’t
either, but I did hint at it. You’d think he’d take that hint and get here on
time. It’s a rarity we need to spell shit out to one another. Conor figured it
out no problem, though given the looks he’s been sending my way since I
got here, he might’ve misunderstood.
I think he expects an engagement announcement.
It’s probably overdue by now, but B and I have chatted extensively
about our future plans. We will get married. And we will have kids, maybe
not next month but it is happening and we’re both in agreement. I could pop
the question right now, but I know B’s main focus is her career, so for now,
I’m supporting her along the way by giving her all the time she needs.
“I’m fine, baby,” I say, opening the fridge to check how many trips it’ll
take to transport all the damn food the women in this family have prepared.
“Just pissed off at Colt. He’s skipping the helping part—again.”
B laughs softly, pulling two salad bowls from the top shelf. “There’s
twenty people here, Cody. I think we can manage without him.”
 She’s right and wrong at the same time. Sure we can set up the table
without his help, but he’ll miss the news if he doesn’t get a move on and I
know he’ll fucking regret it.
“I know,” I say, catching her wrist to tug her closer.
One kiss before we get back outside where the whole family—minus
Colt—is already by the table. Even Logan’s made it, with his two and a half
kids; Cassidy’s pregnant again, her four-month bump proudly displayed.
Logan hides all her baggy clothes whenever he knocks her up so everyone
can immediately see she’s a two-pack. Fucking caveman.
Colt gets another thirty minutes to show up, but once we all finish
devouring the first round of grilled meat, time’s up. Nico rises from his
chair, a flute of champagne in hand like he’s about to make a toast.
“While we’re all here, I have some news,” he says, pulling Mia up.
“We’ve decided to call off the wedding.”
A chorus of gasps rises over the table, and to be perfectly honest, my
stomach sinks too. I didn’t expect that.
They’ve been planning the wedding for months.
Blair grabs my hand under the table, gouging her long nails into my
skin. I gently flex my fingers around hers.
“You’re not getting married?” Logan asks, eyebrows drawn together.
“Why?”
“We are getting married,” Mia corrects. “Just not this year.”
“Jimmy,” Nico urges, grabbing the attention of his soon-to-be father-
in-law who doesn’t look one bit pleased. “As promised, she finished
college,” he says, setting his flute aside.” So I hope this...” He moves Mia
in front of him, his big hands flattening her swing dress to reveal her small
baby bump. “...is good news.”
Endorphins hit, obliterating that sinking feeling in my stomach. I’ve
known for three weeks and keeping this a secret was fucking torture. Same
as not holding my hand across Mia’s tiny bump every time I saw her.
Everyone is silent for the first three, maybe five seconds. My mother
reacts first with a quiet elated whimper that snaps everyone out of the
shock.
“I’m going to be a grandpa?” Jimmy asks first.
“Surprise.” Mia beams. “And... it’s a girl.”
“No fucking way!” Logan booms. He’s trying really hard to look
pissed off, but he’s smiling so wide his mouth’s not far off splitting in half.
“How far along are you?”
I chuckle under my breath. Him and Cass are still waiting to find out if
baby number three is a boy or a girl because the baby was facing the wrong
way during the last scan.
“A couple of weeks behind you two,” Nico admits.
While everyone gets up with congratulations, I remain seated. Once I
get my hands on Mia, there’s no way I’m letting her go quickly just because
someone else is waiting in line.
“You knew,” Blair whispers, angling her head to speak in my ear.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
I stamp a kiss on her temple. “I found out by accident and promised to
keep my mouth shut.”
She smirks, bouncing her eyebrows. “It’s killing you to wait right now,
isn’t it?”
“You have no fucking idea,” I huff, dragging my hand down my face.
“Nico doesn’t let me hold her anymore. He’s gone off the rails but he won’t
shove me away in front of everyone.”
Blair chuckles, nestling her head on my shoulder. “You’re both off the
rails about Mia.”
Yeah... that’s true. I love my real sister, Rose, but Mia’s more. She’s
my best friend. And when she went above and beyond to give Blair a
chance two years ago, our friendship grew that much deeper. We’re living
proof that platonic friendship between men and women is possible.
The doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of the last missing piece of
the Hayes family. Colt’s the only one we’re waiting for and with the beeline
for Mia still six people deep, I make my way across the lawn, inside the
house, and to the main door.
But when I yank it open it’s not Colt standing outside with a solemn
look on his face. It’s a friend of Shawn’s from work in full police uniform.
A squad car is parked behind him, another cop standing ground by the
hood.
“Tim, hey, man. You looking for Shawn?”
He pinches his lips together, an uncertain gloom in his blue gaze. “No,
actually, it’s you I need.” His jaw works for a moment as if he’s battling
whatever he needs to say. And that’s enough for anxiety to invade my mind.
Uncomfortable silence, lack of eye contact and a heavy, threatening
atmosphere is never a bearer of good news.
 “There’s been an accident, Cody,” he eventually says, the sentence
leaving his mouth slow and heavy.
Everything inside me seizes. Everything apart from my heart that
hammers so hard it’s fucking painful.
“Colt,” I rasp, my voice distant, hands clammy. I immediately know
it’s Colt because I’m his emergency contact. “Where is he? What
happened?”
“Car crash. High speed from what I gathered so far. He was airlifted
into the hospital half an hour ago. It’s... it’s bad, Cody. He’s in critical
condition. They’re operating as we speak, but—”
“What’s going on?” Theo’s voice comes from behind me, his heavy
footsteps clapping like tiny thunder in the empty entryway. “Hey Tim,” he
adds, stopping on my right and I must look like absolute shit because his
face falls immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“Colt’s in the hospital,” Tim reiterates. “They’re operating, but it
doesn’t look good. The steering wheel crushed his chest, damaged his lungs
and heart...”
The world tips on it’s fucking axis. Shatters around me as the news
rips me apart.
Critical.
Damaged heart.
Critical.
Damaged heart.
I don’t realize I’m sitting on the floor, my back flush with the wall, my
hands shaking until I see Blair’s tear-stained face before me, people rushing
about in the background.
“Baby, you need to get up,” she says, her warm hands on my cheeks.
“Come on, he needs you. You need to keep it together.”
A big hand grips my arm next and Blair’s gone. Then another hand on
the other arm and I’m up, barely holding my own weight.
“He’ll make it,” Nico says forcefully, his fingers digging into my
bones. “Say it, Cody. Say it and you better fucking mean it.”
I swallow hard, closing my eyes briefly to get a hold of the scorching
sensation burning through my veins.
“He’ll make it,” I say and make myself believe it.
I have to believe it.
OceanofPDF.com
 Too Long

Thank you so much for reading Too Hard Please spare a few moments
to leave a review or a rating. It helps me immensely.
I hope you enjoyed Cody’s story. Colt is next, and last in the Hayes
Series. Fake dating on a luxury yacht...
You can pre-order it here.

Love,

I. A. Dice

OceanofPDF.com
 Other Books by I. A. Dice

Broken Rules (Broken #1)

Broken Promises (Broken #2)

The Sound of Salvation (Deliverance #1)

The Taste of Redemption (Deliverance #2)

Too Much (Hayes Brothers #1)

Too Wrong (Hayes Brothers #2)
Too Sweet (Hayes Brothers #3)
Too Strong (Hayes Brothers #4)
Too Hard (Hayes Brothers #5)
Too Long (Hayes Brothers #6)

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