The Replacement: A Reverse Harem Bully Romance (The Thorns of Rosewood Book 1)

by Cassie James

  “I’m so fucking sorry for her. I’m pretty sure she’s losing her damn mind,” she whispers fervently as she passes, and I’m at a loss for words as I slam the door behind her and turn to watch her pause in front of Izzy. Have I ever heard 2.0 curse before now? My sister considers her with a long, hard look, and I’m truly afraid that I’m going to have to intervene until 2.0 holds her hand out to her. “Hi, I’m Piper.”

  “We’ve met.”

  My gut wrenches at the sight of Piper’s face falling. Izzy’s tone is snotty, and I rub my hand over my face to hide the fact that I’m absolutely horrified by the way she’s staring at 2.0 like she’s shit on the bottom of her shoe. I love the twerp, but she’s way too sassy for her own good sometimes. And if Mom catches wind of Izzy being a brat to 2.0, I’m sure I’ll somehow be the one to get the blame.

  “I don’t remember,” 2.0 admits quietly, wrapping her arms around her middle as she stares down at my little sister with something in her eyes that I can’t quite make out from where I’m standing. I recognize the arm-folding trick, though. There wasn’t an insecure bone in Piper Hawthorne’s body, but insecurity runs rampant through her replacement. It shows in the way she constantly wraps her arms around herself like that will actually protect her from the shitty way people treat her.

  My feet are moving faster than my brain, and it’s only seconds before I’m standing beside 2.0. I drop my hand on her shoulder, and she tenses under my grip. I try not to let it bother me—reminding myself that I haven’t given her a reason to trust me... and that Jude has given her plenty of reasons not to trust any of us. I glare over her shoulder at Izzy and understanding finally sparks in her eyes.

  A blush of her own covers Izzy’s cheeks as she crosses her arms over her chest, imitating 2.0’s stance, however poorly. “I forgot about…” she says, and I’m sure she’s remembering whatever warning Mom gave her before 2.0 showed up. I widen my eyes at her until she adds, “Sorry,” even though the word sounds like an afterthought, and not at all like she actually means it. At the moment, I’ll take what I can get.

  “It’s okay. I know it takes some getting used to—having me around. I’ll grow on you, though,” 2.0 reassures her. I drop my hand from her shoulder. Fat fucking chance.

  “Really?” Izzy cocks her head to the side like some kind of adorable puppy. Piper nods, a smile stretching across her face, and I’m left feeling a little breathless at the sight of seeing her smiling, really smiling, for the first time since she’s been back. Shit, back isn’t really the right word, is it?

  “Then why doesn’t Brennan like you?” Izzy blurts out, and my gut twists as 2.0’s face falls.

  “Izzy,” I warn, and she turns curious brown eyes up at me. She looks innocent, but I know the devious little asshole knows exactly what she’s doing.

  “What?” She asks innocently before narrowing her eyes in Piper’s direction. For fuck’s sake. It wasn’t a secret that Piper wasn’t well-liked by my family, but her replacement didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. They’re not the same person.

  “Why don’t you go help Mom with dinner?”

  “But—”

  “Now!” I command, making her scowl at me before she gives in and prances across the room. She scoops up the trashy romance novel she was reading and sticks her tongue out at me one last time before flouncing into the kitchen.

  “Mija, what are you doing in here?” I hear Mom ask her with fondness in her tone. I fight the scowl on my face. If I didn’t personally know Izzy’s dad, I would think she was the spawn of the Devil himself.

  “Brennan kicked me out of the living room so he could hang out with his girlfriend!” she calls loudly, and I’m resigned. I have a bright future ahead of me, an early acceptance letter to my preferred college pinned above the desk in my room, but I would sacrifice all of it in this moment to murder my sister.

  I run my hand down my face with a grunt before searching out Piper in my living room. She’s settled herself on the couch, fingers twisting the frays of fabric hanging from the holes in her jeans. Her shoulders hunch under the skintight black tee she’s wearing, and I try not to stare at the way it strains over her chest. That’s not a real girl, I remind myself as I pace toward the couch.

  “Sorry about Izzy,” I offer as I sit in front of my laptop, closing the coding project I’m working on. 2.0 doesn’t immediately respond, so I continue, “She’s not always a complete asshole. We’re just lucky today.”

  “It’s okay,” she says, but there’s a quiver in her voice, and I know the interaction hurt her feelings more than she’s letting on. “I get that a lot, you know? People treating me in a certain way because of who I am... Or who I’m supposed to be, I guess.”

  I shift away from her slightly, uncomfortable with the obvious emotion I can hear in her tone. We didn’t ask for her, and I’m not going to apologize for anything else. I know she’s not my Piper, and I don’t treat her like she is. It’s not my fault if others don’t manage to see those differences, too.

  Uncomfortable silence stretches between us as I pull up the assignment Dr. Charles gave us for the long weekend. Letting out a long breath, I try—and I think, succeed—to keep the bitterness out of my voice as I explain to her what exactly he’s looking for in the answers to these questions. She nods along silently, jotting down notes in a notebook she brought with her. I lean forward to get a better look, and it throws me off to see the way her writing is an exact replica of Piper’s. They probably used writing samples for that.

  I play a clip on my computer, hovering just over her shoulder as she attempts to answer a question about it afterward. I don’t really realize how close we’ve gotten until she turns her head to ask me a question, and we’re so close I could kiss her if I wanted.

  I wrench my head back as she looks wide-eyed up at me. That same pretty blush from earlier fills her cheeks, and damn if my breath doesn’t catch in my throat for half a second. Why the fuck are you looking at 2.0 like she’s a real person and you want to kiss her? Get your shit together! I scold myself internally before correcting something on her paper and then leaning as far in the other direction as I can without making a big deal about it.

  When Mom finally calls us to the dining room for dinner, I jump up quickly, happy for any excuse to put some distance between us. Then maybe I can stop picturing what it would be like to run my tongue over 2.0’s lips.

  2.0 follows me to the dining room slowly, and when I reach the threshold I’m surprised to see Izzy sitting primly in the seat next to Mom. I glare at her as she grins to herself. This means the only two open seats are the ones across from them, right fucking next to each other. So much for putting some much needed distance between us.

  Izzy is such a goddamned brat. I slump into my seat with a glower, and Mom shoots a sharp glance in my direction. I straighten my posture but still reach out to kick Izzy under the table.

  “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Diaz,” Piper offers politely as she settles herself neatly into the chair next to me.

  Mom positively beams at her. “You can call me Paola, Piper. We’re not at school right now.”

  “Oh.” There’s surprise in 2.0’s tone, and I can see her tilt her head slightly to the side as she considers Mom from across the table. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Paola. I appreciate you opening your home to me tonight. Brennan has been very helpful with my homework.”

  “Wonderful,” Mom beams. I sink back into my seat as they fall into an easy conversation.

  Happy to not be the center of the conversation with the stiff girl beside me, I eat in silence and simply listen. Over the course of dinner, Piper loosens up considerably, laughing along with Mom and Izzy as they twitter on about girly shit I don’t ever have a snowball’s chance in hell of understanding. By the time I’m ready to take Piper home, I have to practically drag her out of Mom and Izzy’s arms.

  “God, sorry for them,” I mutter as I jog to my car parked on the street of our subdivision. She shrugs, but a smal
l smile is pulling at her lips. “I don’t know what got into them. Izzy, especially.”

  She laughs and climbs into the passenger seat of my car. Piper drops her bag at her feet before reaching for the seatbelt to strap it over herself. My eyes drag to a patch of midriff that’s suddenly exposed, but I only get a quick glance before she adjusts the hem of her shirt, covering it back up.

  “It’s fine,” she says in a breathless sort of way. It’s hard to not smile at her as she straightens herself. “They were amazing. I’m glad Izzy warmed up to me—I really wasn’t sure she was going to.”

  Yeah, neither was I.

  The drive from my house to hers passes in comfortable quiet as the radio hums softly through the car. When I pull into her driveway and she offers me a quick, “Thanks!” before climbing out, I realize I’ve been half holding my breath the whole drive here.

  I don’t even manage to get the words you’re welcome out before she slams the car door and jogs up to the house. I surprise myself, remaining frozen until she gets her front door open and steps through. She leans back out for a moment to smile and wave at me one last time, and only then do I put my car in reverse. I’m juggling a lot of unexpected feelings as I take my time driving the long way home.

  I’m barely in the front door before Izzy’s all over me. “Oh my god, Bren!” she says with a giggle as she flings her paperback at my head. I catch it before it smacks me square in the nose. “She is amazing! Why didn’t you bring her over sooner?”

  “What?” I gape at her. “You’re a little psychopath, you know that, right? How the hell do you change your mind so damn fast?”

  I can hear Mom’s chuckle, and I glance around the wall separating the entryway from the living room and see her lounging on the couch with her feet propped on the table and a glass of wine in her hand. I toss Izzy’s book onto the coffee table and shuck my jacket, tossing it on the arm of the couch before slumping down next to Mom and pulling my laptop from the table.

  “She’s insane,” I mutter in Mom’s direction, and Izzy huffs. She stomps past, jerking her book from the table as she goes, and it’s only a few seconds later that I hear her door slam down the hall.

  “No, she’s not,” Mom offers diplomatically as she flips through the channels aimlessly. I don’t bother to turn my glower away from my computer screen, but I hear Mom chuckle nonetheless. “It’s just that this Piper...” My head jerks around to face her, and she shrugs as she reaches out to ruffle my hair. “She’s a lot different than the girl we used to know. You see that, yes?”

  I nod somewhat reluctantly, but I know exactly what she means.

  Still, she continues like I need more of an explanation. “Piper was so… She had a flare for the dramatic, and let’s be honest here, mijo, she wasn’t a very nice girl. Not like this Piper. This Piper is nice in a way that makes her very likable. At least for those of us with open minds.” She raises an eyebrow at me.

  I grunt but don’t offer a response. I know she’s trying to make me feel guilty about not being more open-minded about 2.0. I settle back against the couch and prop my laptop open. While I’m waiting for it to boot back up, I pull my phone out of my pocket to check it. I’m not sure if I should be surprised or not to find a text from 2.0 waiting for me there.

  Thank you for helping me, even though I know your mom forced you to do it. Please tell her I said thanks again for dinner. See you Tuesday.

  I stare at the message as if more words will magically appear if I keep waiting for them. I don’t know why I’m so weirdly disappointed when nothing else comes. It’s a polite message. It doesn’t have to mean anything. But something burns inside of me as I read it over and over again, stumbling over the word forced. Fuck, it makes me feel like a real asshole.

  It’s been close to ten years since I showed up here and made friends with Jude and Tyler, but I still remember those days before they accepted me into their small group, moving effortlessly from a duo to a trio so that I could be included. I was the new kid no one knew, the teacher’s kid who didn’t have a dad at home. I grit my teeth. I wasn’t the unwanted outsider for long, but goddamn, do I still remember that feeling well.

  Tyler and Jude were such assholes at first. The only reason they took me in was because I was a sneaky little shit with sticky fingers. They’d get their crap taken away in class for being little dickheads, and then as soon as the teacher turned her back I’d be swiping whatever they lost, returning it to them. It turned me into a little hero, in a way, and when Tyler and Jude stopped treating me like a social pariah—so did everyone else.

  I set my phone face down on the armrest of the couch, knowing I shouldn’t respond to 2.0. What would I even say? You looked hot as hell tonight and I thought about kissing you more than I care to admit? That would go over real fucking well.

  Shit, I don’t know why I’m being like this all of a sudden. She’s right, I only helped her because Mom made me. Except, if I’m being honest, I could have made our little tutoring session short and sweet, but instead I dragged it out for longer than I really needed to. Why did I do that?

  I grab my phone and read her message again. Slowly, I type out a short reply and read back over it.

  I want to take you out.

  God, I can’t send this. So what if it’s the truth? So what if I want to take her out properly, prove to her I can be nice even when no one’s forcing me, and then drop her off at home with the kind of kiss I’m certain she would never forget? I can’t do any of those things—can I? What’s stopping you? I inwardly taunt myself. I can feel my loyalty to Piper warring with this sudden onset of feelings towards 2.0. But when the hell did Piper ever really care who I was spending my time with? Fuck it. I send the message.

  Her reply is almost instant.

  Is this a trick?

  I know she’s probably thinking about Jude. Fuck. Jude’s going to kill me. And even knowing that, I can’t seem to stop myself now. It would be so easy to backtrack, to tell her I’m just fucking around, but then I remember how pretty she looked when she blushed and I’m answering before I can think better of it.

  No, it’s not a trick. I want you to go out with me.

  I suck in a breath and hold it as I wait for her to respond. I’m not gonna beg for it, but damn do I want her to agree now that I’ve put it out there. Those three little dots that mean she’s typing appear across the screen, then disappear and reappear several times before her answer finally comes through.

  Okay.

  16

  Piper

  I’m nervous as hell at school the week after fall break, waiting for the moment when Brennan pops out and tells me that asking me out was only a joke. Another gotcha moment just to hurt me.

  I’m thankful it’s only a four-day school week because otherwise I’m not sure I would have survived all the awkward eye contact and sort-of truce otherwise. I spent all four days avoiding The Pricks like the fucking plague, figuring it would function two-fold. If Brennan really was just messing with me, I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing I’d fallen for it. And if he was being sincere, I wouldn’t put him in a position to have to defend me to his friends.

  Somehow, I avoid telling Macie anything about it. I didn’t consciously decide not to tell her at first, the time just never seemed right. Especially when I remembered her reaction when I had to tell her I fell for Jude Alton’s bullshit. So, when she asked if I wanted to spend Saturday lounging around the pool with her… well, it wasn’t really a lie to say I already had plans for the day. That part was true. It just wasn’t exactly a fancy-schmancy realtor’s function with my parents like she automatically assumed.

  And that’s how I find myself standing half-dressed in my walk-in closet, beating myself up over not having anyone available to ask about what I should wear for my first real date.

  My hand skates over a black dress, but I remember this is Brennan. A fancy dinner date doesn’t really sound up his alley. I play around with the idea of dark wash jeans and a cu
te top, but then what shoes do I wear and what if it looks way too casual for whatever he has planned?

  My fingers trace the smooth material of a knee length, olive t-shirt dress, and my mind races with what feels like a hundred different possibilities. Classic Adidas will be really cute paired with the dress, and I can shove a strappy pair of sandals in my bag along with a cute, long necklace or two. That way, if I need to look like anything other than hobo-chic, I can change my shoes and accessories and voila. Instant cute outfit.

  I shrug into the dress quickly, fully aware that I’m really pushing it on time. I spent longer than I meant to internally searching tutorials until I learned the perfect ways to style my hair and make-up. I know all the ways Piper would have done it, of course, but this time something told me I didn’t want to just recycle one of Piper’s go-to styles.

  I’m just shoving my sandals into my bag when I hear the doorbell. I breathlessly yell, “I got it!” as I sprint through the house, desperate to beat Mom to the door. I would die if I had to endure a repeat of last week, with Mom awkwardly grilling Brennan about getting me home.

  Despite my yell, I still hear someone else shuffling toward the front door before I’m even halfway down the stairs. To my utter mortification, Dad is reading Brennan the riot act by the time I skid to a stop behind him at the front door. Mom’s peeking around the corner leading into the living room, with what might be tears shining in her eyes, so I make a face at her and motion to her to please get the hell back into the living room.

  She rolls her eyes a little but throws me a wink before disappearing back into the living room, probably to work since I’m not sure she actually knows how to relax. Dad is still glaring at Brennan when I slide across the floor to put myself in between them.