Bestselling Bastard : A Hero Club Novel

by Nicole Rodrigues

  I scoff.

  "Oh, I'm sure it has," I answer sarcastically. "What's a while? A week? Two weeks? Month tops?"

  "Since before we met each other," Lorenzo deadpans.

  My smile drops as I freeze, unable to clean my ears out because I'm pretty sure he said…

  "You heard me right. I've just been...busy. When's the last time you…"

  What is happening? The calm, cool, collected, cocky bastard that has become my best friend just jizzed in his pants from a ten second handjob and now he's stuttering like an inexperienced teenage boy.

  "It's been…'round the same, maybe longer. You know my failed dating history, Enzo, and I know for a fact you've gone out with plenty of women the past year," I retort, hands on my hips.

  What game is he playing right now? The innocent good guy act? I'm not buying it.

  "Dates that lead nowhere, apparently just like yours," he replies back, his voice stronger as he gains his composure back.

  He smiles, shaking his head as we both take our seats again, glancing at the chapter we're working on.

  The tension is suffocating and I have an idea as to how to break it, typing out the scene, a smile on my face.

  She nods frantically, unbuckling my belt as she slips her hand down the front of my pants and grips my hard cock in her hands. Fuck that feels good. She feels so good. How long has it been?

  I groan, feeling her small hands wrap around my girth and squeeze as she pumps her hand up and down my shaft and I feel my release rush to the tip of my cock.

  “Fuck!”

  “Oh my God,” she whispers. “Did you just…”

  “Hilarious,” Lorenzo snaps, interrupting my typing and backspacing what I just wrote. I finally let out the laugh I’ve been holding onto. “He’s a dominant alpha male, he can’t cum his pants in five seconds.”

  “So are you saying you’re not a dominant alpha male?” I laugh, arching an eyebrow.

  In seconds, Lorenzo’s demeanor changes as he stands from the table and rushes toward me again. I stand too, quickly taking a few steps back until my spine hits the corner of the wall. Lorenzo slams a hand above my shoulder, his nose touching mine as his hand roughly slides down the front of my yoga pants, connecting with the small wet spot by the crotch of my underwear.

  I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut and grab his wrist, shaking my head.

  “What are you doin’?” I whimper.

  “Proving a point,” he grounds out, not letting up as he furiously rubs my clit over my thong as I arch my back and lean into him.

  “Enzo…”

  I’m breathless, on the edge of exploding and my nails dig into his wrist, silently begging him to keep going and never ever stop.

  He latches onto my neck, planting rough kisses down one side as he roughly pulls down my t-shirt and bites my nipple through my bra.

  "F-fuckkk, Enzo. S-stop. Stop."

  "Not a fucking chance," he growls.

  He presses harder into my clit, moving down as he tries to push a finger inside me, my thong still the barrier.

  “Yesssss,” I sigh, feeling my legs tighten and the familiar tingle shoot down to my toes.

  I drop my head back with a sigh, slowly opening my eyes to a smug smirk on Lorenzo’s face. I growl, pushing him away from me as I adjust my thong and pants back in place, the wetness now making me uncomfortable.

  “Anything to say, Watson?”

  “I can’t believe you just did that,” I snap, pushing past him to walk to the sliding back door.

  He grabs my bicep, spinning me back around and the embarrassment in my cheeks can’t be hidden.

  “I didn’t even touch your skin, Jenna. You can throw stones in a glass house all you want but—”

  “I need air. If I keep writin’ right now, the story may turn into a murder mystery. Spoiler alert: the heroine kills the hero with her bare fuckin’ hands.”

  I pull my arm from his grip and slip out of the back door as I take the rock steps down to the lake. When I’m on the dock, I take a few deep breaths and close my eyes, needing the brisk air to calm my heated flesh. I can’t believe I just let that happen. I can’t believe my body responded like that to him.

  I have to remember why we’re here, but a small part of me wants to do all of that again, only this time with less clothing. The little voice in the back of my head, the doubt I always feel when I’m starting to have these thoughts come barreling into me.

  People always leave, Jenna.

  I learned that hard lesson at six years old when my father left my mom and me and never came back. I asked for milk, which we didn’t have, so he volunteered to go get some from the store. He kissed my mother goodbye, gave me a hug and I never saw him again. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and then those turned into years. I was told he died, told he got into a car accident on the way back home and lived with the guilt of “killing” my father for so many damn years. When I was ten, my mother told me the truth. He left us. He didn’t want us and he told her he moved on with a new wife and children somewhere out West.

  I still felt the guilt, and when my mother left me when I was eleven years old, all of that guilt shifted to anger. I did this to her, to him, to myself. Maybe if I listened more, maybe if I helped around the house more, maybe...but it was no use. I was thrown into foster care with no way out. No one wants the older kids; we’re used toys cast aside for the brand new shiny ones. Day in and day out the younger kids got homes and I got another year crossed off my calendar until I turned eighteen and was on my own.

  Luckily, I was smart, scarily smart and got a scholarship to Middle Tennessee State. I spent four years there, getting my business degree but also a minor in English. Writing was always my passion, and after years of getting by in the business world, Dear Raya gave me the spark I needed to do what I really wanted to do: write.

  Meeting Lorenzo was fate and I knew the second we talked, I was going to have a hard time keeping him in the neat little box he needed to stay in for me to keep him in my life. I wouldn’t let him suffer the same fate my first boyfriend did, my first love. If I don’t love Lorenzo, he’ll be okay. I sigh, remembering what he just did to my body, what he does to my moods, my emotions.

  “Shit,” I whisper, trying to keep my tears at bay as I remember Fynn’s broken body right next to me, whimpering that he loved me. Instinctively, I reach for the scar on my knee, the only physical reminder of the day that changed my life forever.

  “Hey…”

  I wipe at my eyes, taking a breath as I look over my shoulder and smile.

  “Hey…”

  “I’m sorry about what I did, what I said to you. I shouldn’t...that was a dick move. I was just embarrassed and…”

  Lorenzo rubs the back of his neck and I pat the spot on the dock next to me.

  “I won’t lie and say I hated it,” I say with a soft giggle, bumping into his shoulder.

  He lets out a relieved breath as he puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to him, kissing the top of my head.

  “I didn’t hate it either,” he admits, his voice low and raspy. "It's been a long time coming, right? Pun intended."

  "Yeah, I guess so," I laugh.

  I press my thighs together, knowing that this was only the beginning. I can try and deny it all I want but eventually this will come to a head. Lust is different than love though. Lust will allow me to keep him...I hope.

  Chapter 5

  Lorenzo

  I watch as Jenna bites her lip, typing away on her laptop at the kitchen island and I scramble up the eggs.

  “We worked through the night, why don’t you take a break and eat something?”

  She nods, finishing what she was typing out and then takes her glasses off her nose and rubs at her eyes.

  “I just...ain’t convinced she would be so eager to jump his bones after the past she had. It has to be more than just sexual attraction,” she groans, tipping her head back.

  “Sexual attraction is a po
werful drug, Jenna Watson, don’t forget it.”

  I smirk at her, scrambling the eggs as my gaze never wavers from hers. I see the bright emerald of her eyes darken to a hunter green and she quickly looks away, clearing her throat. She can deny it all she wants but sitting across from her at that table for hours last night, I could feel her squirming for another release. Rubbing her clit against the material of her thong was hardly my finest work. I’ve been holed up in my apartment for so long, trying to get my writing career off the ground, making sure I don’t fade out like a firework, I totally forgot I needed female companionship.

  I shake my head, dishing out her eggs and mine, putting a few pieces of bacon on our plates as I top off our coffee mugs.

  “This is delicious, thank you,” she mumbles, through a mouth full of food.

  “Want to head into town after breakfast? Get a little fresh air before we lock down in here to write?”

  She nods, not taking a breather as she continues to shovel food in her mouth like she hasn't eaten in days.

  “I promise the eggs won’t get legs and leave. You can take your time.”

  She pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth and gives me a sheepish smile, putting her fork back down on her plate.

  “Sorry. I’m just...starvin’.”

  The way she says the word has me thinking she means for more than just food. We’re at a standoff, staring at each other as she slowly brings her fork to her mouth and wraps her lips around it. My tongue comes out, wetting my lip and her eyes drop to it, her mouth parted.

  This is ridiculous. I know she doesn’t want any relationship more than friendship with me but she fucking wants me and hell if I let her deny whatever this is between us.

  I get to my feet quickly and I’m by her side in seconds, gripping the side of her neck as she whimpers, looking up at me.

  “Enzo this weekend wasn’t about this…”

  I close my eyes, bringing my nose to her neck and inhaling, feeling her shiver underneath my touch.

  “I know it’s not but maybe we should run with it. That slow burn scene we wrote last night wasn’t just a coincidence, Jenna. Maybe this is...inspiration.”

  I feel goosebumps erupt on her skin as I kiss her neck, underneath her ear. She lets out a soft moan, exposing her neck to me more as I continue to kiss her.

  “I promise I can do more than a half assed attempt at whatever the fuck it was I did yesterday. Let me make it up to you, Jenna.”

  “Enzo, we can’t…” she whines, gripping my bicep now to keep herself steady.

  “We can’t, or you won’t, because I’m pretty sure we’re both capable adults.”

  She groans, shaking her head as she softly pushes me away from her and I can see the fight in her eyes.

  “We shouldn’t,” she corrects. “No matter how badly I wanna, we really shouldn't.”

  She takes her empty plate, brushing past me as she goes to the sink and drops it inside. “Let me just get dressed, then I’ll meet you at the car.”

  I nod, watching her hastily retreat from the room and I run my hand down my face, sighing.

  “Jenna, Jenna, Jenna. It’s only a matter of time.”

  A half hour later, we’re in my car, driving into town, the car silent and suffocating. I know once we give into this, writing will be so much easier, but Jenna is stubborn.

  “Is the winter that much different up here than it is down by you?” I ask, hating that our once easy friendship has dwindled down to meaningless small talk.

  “A little different. It does get cold but rarely snows. It can be thirty degrees one day then sixty the next though, so you never know what you’re gonna get.”

  “Have you ever seen snow?”

  “A flurry, sure. Nothin’ more than that though.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. I think they’re saying we're supposed to have a white Christmas next week.”

  I glance over at her out of the corner of my eyes and see a smile pull at her lips.

  “Really?”

  “Looks like you may not get a choice in the matter. You’ll be having a Morgan Christmas this year. Flights will most likely be canceled.”

  I can see her hesitations and know that when my mother suggested it, she recoiled at the thought. I refuse to let her spend another Christmas alone though. This year I am going to give her one she will never forget.

  I pull the car into a spot on the street, knowing this isn’t the same Canada Street I know and love during the summer. It’s desolate, only a few stores open as they close for the winter season and don’t reopen until Memorial Day weekend.

  I smile, seeing the lights on at Playland’s Arcade and cut the engine, walking around to open Jenna’s door.

  “It’s much more alive during the summer months. I promise to bring you back. I feel like you’re not getting the full Lake George experience.”

  She shakes her head.

  "It's still beautiful. I'm enjoyin' it."

  Slipping her arm through mine, we walk together and when she sees where we are headed, her eyes light up.

  “No way!” she gasps. “I haven’t been to an arcade in ages!”

  I open the door for her and as soon as we walk inside, the familiar smell of cleaning supplies and metal seeps through my nostrils causing me to smile.

  “Ahh, the sweet smell of victory. You ready to get your ass kicked, Watson?”

  “Ha!” she scoffs, bumping a hip into mine. “You wish.”

  “Come. Let me show you something.”

  I grab her hand, dragging her to the prize counter and point to a plaque behind it on the wall.

  “What does that say, J?”

  She squints her eyes and then I see the moment of recognition as a grin spreads across her face.

  “I bet your Mama is so proud of you,” she taunts.

  “Oh, she is. Not everyone can be the skee ball champion.”

  A skinny teenage boy comes walking to us as I buy us 100 tokens and head over to the skee ball machines, motioning for Jenna to follow me.

  I watch as she cracks her knuckles then her neck, taking in deep breaths as she flails her arms to stretch.

  “I’m ready for you, Balboa. I hope they got room on that plaque for another name because I’m ‘bout to kick some Morgan ass.”

  I laugh, tossing my head back enthusiastically before I snap it forward, deadpanning her.

  “Bring it.”

  I furrow my brows as I slide the tokens into both of our skee ball lanes and go into automatic mode, gripping the small white skee balls and tossing them forward, never missing my slot. I have blinders on as I toss one then the other, the ramp unable to keep up with my speed, bringing the balls back to me too slow for my pace.

  “Come on,” I whisper, tapping my foot and waiting for the skee balls to come down the lane but then the buzzer sounds and I look up at the scoreboard.

  “Fuck yes!” I chant, punching my fist in the air, almost breaking my own record.

  I glance over to Jenna’s and my jaw drops, seeing she beat me by almost 1,000 points.

  “What the fuck?” I whisper, finally looking over at her.

  She sports a malicious grin, her arms crossed over her chest as I shake my head, sporting my own grin.

  “You played me,” I gasp.

  “The um...the orphanage had a skee ball machine. One of the benefactors cleaned out his arcade in his mansion and the older kids used it to their advantage. I learned early on that if I became the best, none of them could fuck with me.”

  She shrugs, taking a few tokens off the table behind us and putting more into the skee ball machine. I feel like I just got sucker punched. Picturing a younger Jenna, playing a game I always saw as fun, a means to...survive.

  “What do you mean, fuck with you?”

  The white balls slide down the tube and she grips them. Tossing them up the ramp so effortlessly and gracefully as every single ball makes it into whatever hole Jenna wants it to go into.

  “You lo
st to them and they got your snack. They bet you your pillow, you lost your pillow. They hustled whatever they could and eventually, I learned. I got back my pillow and blanket after two weeks, sneakin' down to the game room and playin' all night, figurin' out the perfect amount of force behind the toss, how to position my fingers so it would spin to my favor. Everything. I got back my friend Tilly’s pillow and blanket the week after, and soon they stopped, knowin’ anything they took from someone, I would challenge them and get it back.”

  The game beeps, signaling the round is over but my chin hangs open at her words as she turns around.

  “Please don’t do that,” she whispers, shaking her head.

  “D-do what?” I stutter, hating that she probably sees pity all over my face but how can I not feel some type of way after hearing this?

  “It could have been worse. I could have lived on the streets, been abused, raped, tortured. I had a roof over my head, food in my belly and I’m here now, right? Please don’t pity me, Lorenzo.”

  I shake my head, getting myself under control as I give her a smile.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just...that sucks. That really, really sucks.”

  “It did but it was a small blip. Come on. Do you suck at air hockey too?”

  She walks past me and I shake my head again, wondering how she could be so fucking strong after dealing with so much pain? I’ve had a loving mother and father, a sister, a beautiful house, a privileged life and she’s had...nothing. More than ever now do I want to protect her, do I want to make her mine. I want to shield her away from that and make sure she never has to go back to that place ever again.

  I have my parents to fall back on if this writing doesn’t work out any longer for us but what does she have? I’m determined to make this work, make our duo work. I know that what we wrote last night was gold and it was because we’re putting our hearts and souls into this novel, putting our real life tensions and cravings onto every single page. That’s the only way to do it this weekend and I won’t let her deny it. By tonight, Jenna Watson is going to be mine and then we’re going to sweat every single desire onto those pages, one sinful drip at a time.