by K. I. Lynn
“You looking to get counted tonight?” I’d be stupid not to notice the way his jaw ticks when he asks. Being counted in our game means you lose, but you also win, because your dick's getting sucked. Only way I’ll be counted is with Kira’s lips . . . damn it.
I adjust my dick again, then pour us each the equivalent of a couple shots and hand him one. “I just recently admitted to myself that I’m in love with a girl who knows a lot of the shit I’ve done. I’m not about to fuck it up more by screwing around while chasing her. Believe me or not, but Kira’s it, and I’m not my dad.”
Ryan nods, knowing how much I hate what my father did and is probably doing to his mom right now. There may even be a flicker of realization in his eyes of what that means: I’d never cheat on Kira. There’d be no need then, because I’d have the one I want. No substitutions needed.
He holds his cup up. “To my brother. Hopefully one day I’ll get to call him brother for another reason than the one today.”
The words don’t register until the burning liquid is in my throat and I start choking. “Whoa, let’s not get ahead of things.”
He cocks a brow. “You saying you only want her for a fuck, then? You just told me Kira’s it.”
I stare at him as it all sinks in. Married? That word isn’t in my vocabulary.
Love wasn’t until a month ago.
Yes, Kira is it, but I haven’t worked past getting her to be my girl. I'm only twenty-one, for God's sake.
Ryan snaps his fingers in front of me. “Hey, idiot, don’t break something.”
I smack his hand away. “Dude, I’m still learning this relationship stuff. You can’t just spring big shit on me like that.”
He smirks. “You ready to run, now?”
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m getting used to the beatings.”
That makes Ryan’s head tip back with a howl of laughter. Finally.
“Brayden, Ryan!” Jordan, one of our friends we met first year, hops down three steps, a red cup with beer sloshing out in one of his hands. “There is this awesome stair slip-and-slide going on next door . . . Bro, what happened to your face?”
My lips twitch into a grimace. “Ryan’s fist ran into my face.”
Jordan’s brown eyes flip between us. “Everything cool?”
Ryan nods. “Yeah, we’re cool. So, what’s going on next door?”
Beer starts sloshing again from Jordan’s cup as he swings his arms around. “They lined the stairs with plywood and plastic, covered it in jello and throwing buckets of water down. You go flying, landing into a baby pool of jello at the bottom.”
“Oh, this I gotta see.” I turn to Ryan who nods.
Jordan’s hands fly up as if to brace us. “Dudes, you don’t even know the best part. A lot of the girls are going down in almost nothing. One chick was only wearing a thong. Guys started drinking beer off her when she got to the bottom.”
Ryan lightly punches my arm. “It sounds like a cool ass slide, and whoever said you couldn’t look?”
I smile at him and turn back to Jordan. “Let’s grab some beers and go.”
“All right!” Jordan’s arm flies up, flinging the rest of the liquid from his cup onto a girl walking past. “Oh, shit! Sorry, sorry!”
She gives him the bitch glare and flips him off. “Watch it, jerk!”
“Sorry . . .”
Jordan’s never been very slick with the ladies.
I push him forward, into the other room. “To the keg!”
The entry to the keg room is packed, so we move back down to another route that also leads to the large living room. Not two feet into the hallway a high-pitched voice calls my name.
“Brayden!”
My eyes widen—well one eye does, the other opens a crack—as a petite, short-haired blonde in a tiny white dress stumbles into me. She grabs onto my arms, struggling to stay upright in her heels.
“Hey, Ella.”
Ella, a girl I was counted with last September before I started dating Amanda.
Her blue eyes are big and a little droopy at the same time. “Oh my God, it’s . . . it’s been sooooo long.” Her gaze narrows, then her expression morphs into pitiful concern as she reaches for my swollen face. “What happened?”
I pull her hand away and smirk at her. “Been drinking?”
She looks down at her hands, her brow scrunching up. “Heeey, where’s my drink?” Her expression quickly changes, and I chuckle at her drunk ass. “Oh my God, Amanda made these so good drinks. Fruity and yummy!”
“Amanda?” Shit. just what I need—to bump into my one and only ex.
“Yeah . . . Hey, I heard you aren’t together anymore.” She smiles at me, her hands moving down to my waist.
“Yeah.”
She licks her lips and grabs hold of my belt with one hand, my cock through my jeans with the other. “Maybe we can finish what we started last time.”
My cock twitches in her hand, the fucker reacting involuntarily to any touch, and especially when she falls down to her knees and nuzzles it. Three feet from me, I can feel the anger boiling up in Ryan again. I blow out a breath and grab her hands, pulling her back up.
A few months ago, I’d be happy to lose the game by having Ella’s little mouth on me again, then maybe have her ride me in the middle of the party—it wouldn’t be the first time that happened. But actually knowing I’m in love with Kira has changed my perspective.
I only want Kira on me. Her hands, her mouth, her pussy. Only Kira.
My poor balls.
“Sorry, I’m off limits.”
She pouts, letting out a whimper. “Since when? You just broke up.”
“She claimed me when I was ten. I was just too stupid to realize.”
Ella’s drunk mind can’t compute my words and she just stares at me. Then again, only Ryan would understand.
“Jordan’s available, though, if you’re looking for some fun.”
She looks over to Jordan, who has the biggest grin on his face.
“Hey, baby.” He winks at her, and Ella bites her lip before stumbling into him.
She pulls him down for a kiss, then slides down his body to her knees and works his belt open. Jordan shoots me a “Thanks, man,” with a thumbs-up and a smile.
A bitter scoff sounds out to my right. “You’re better off with Jordan, Ella. Trust me. Like Brayden said, his heart’s been taken. For years.”
Fuck my life.
Amanda steps around us and stops in front of me. Her entire body palpitates with anger. The bitterness I saw on her face weeks ago remains etched on her features. “You’re not welcome here,” she says.
“My boy wanted to hang, but no worries. We’ll find another house to chill at.” I finish my drink and turn to leave.
“Does that girl Kira know what an asshole you actually are? Or are you playing her for a fool too?”
There are moments in your life where you need to remind yourself to just keep walking. This is one of them. But I fail to remind myself because as much of a dog as I am with women, I do feel guilt toward Amanda.
That’s why my stupid ass decides to turn around and offer her yet another explanation, when I should know that telling her the truth is only going to make everything so much worse. “She does know, but I love her and I’m trying to show her how much I’ve changed for her.”
Her eyes flash at my confession. I expect her to lash out at me, to start screaming, letting everyone at this party know what an asshole I am.
“Fuck. You!” she cries, flinging her drink in my face, aiming straight for my left eye.
I hiss at the burn of the alcohol as it leaks through my swollen eyelid.
Amanda stomps away, but I’m too busy wiping the vodka and cranberry off my face to pay her attention. When I reopen my eyes, Ryan is shaking his head at me. “What?”
“You deserved that.”
I glare at him. “You know, I’m starting to wonder if you’re even my best friend anymore.”
He shrugs at
me and throws back his head to finish his drink.
“Fucking finally.” The mirror reflects my fully open left eye for the first time in a week. Bruises of varying colors still stain my skin, but they’re slowly fading away.
Now, all I have to do is keep from touching his sister until her birthday and not fuck up for the rest of my life, and Ryan’s fist will stay away from me. Not that it should be too hard; I’ll do anything for her.
My left eye is still a bit red from having my contact locked in by the swelling for days before I could get it out. Due to that, I wash my face, scratching at my scruff and deciding it can go another day, then put on my glasses.
The apartment is cold, and all I want to do is hide back under my blankets, but Ryan wants to hit the gym. I shouldn’t be lazy anyway. I’ve got a hundred pages to read today.
After walking back into my room, I pull off my shirt and dig around my laundry bag for my gym clothes. My phone vibrates on the nightstand, and I trip on some shoes, falling onto my bed to get to it.
I’ve been texting Kira everyday since I left, but she hasn’t responded.
Get your ass down here. Ryan's waiting for me.
With a sigh, I hold my phone with one hand and try to pull on my shorts with the other. Still no response, but it’s not going to stop me.
Morning, beautiful. Wish I was there to cuddle you and keep you warm today.
I stopped telling her I was sorry for all the shit I’ve done, especially for the bathroom, a few days ago. Saying it isn’t going to make it better; I need to show it. Being so far away, my only real outlet to do that is through text, all with the hope that it’ll break her down and she’ll talk to me again.
It’s unbelievably frustrating that she won’t talk to me, to hear what I have to say, but I also know I deserve her silence.
I may deserve it, but that doesn’t mean I have to swallow it. I’ll pay penance for the rest of my life, but each day she doesn’t respond, I get a little more pissed off.
Yes, I fucked everything up, but looking back, maybe some of that was how it had to go down. Reality is a bitch, and time puts a different perspective on things. An eighteen-year-old college guy and a fifteen-year-old high school girl wouldn’t have worked out in the end. As much as we wanted each other, as desperate as we were, it wasn’t our time.
This three-year age gap is a fucking killer. Being older, I’ve had to wait, make the hard decisions, hurt her—on accident and on purpose—even though it killed me to do it.
But I know it in my fucking bones, it’s our time now.
Maybe fate threw our parents together to put the brakes on us, to hold us up, give us the space to help us grow into adults who can handle this level of connection. Every cell in my body calls to be with every cell in hers. It never goes away, no matter the distance in space and time.
Girls with romantic ideas would call it soul mates. I don’t know if that’s it, but whatever it is has a hold on us so tight, I’ll never be right without her. I’ll do anything and everything to take care of her and protect her.
My phone vibrates on the table as I finish lacing up my shoes.
Yo, dickface, I’m going to leave without you.
I stand up and grab my coat, flinging it on as I type a response.
Coming.
I fly down the stairs and out the door, locking it as I go, then run down the sidewalk to the parking lot. Ryan’s waiting at the end, radio blaring, singing along to “Get Lucky”. With a shake of my head and roll of my eyes, I climb in.
It’s a short drive to the gym, but it’s a particularly cold March day and there’s no way I’m walking it. After parking and throwing our coats into a locker, we find two treadmills next to each other and start in.
Sportscasters are all over the TVs in front of us, the Ohio State University logo popping up in more than one. It sparks the other problem on my mind. Kira isn’t going to the same college I am.
“Did you know she’s going to OSU?” I ask Ryan a few minutes in.
He’s huffing it, almost all-out running. “Yeah, she told me a few weeks ago.”
I up my speed to match. “It’s too far. I’ve waited too long to be with her only to be separated for another year.”
“What else are you going to do?”
What am I going to do? With thirty credit hours left until graduation after this semester, I’m so close to being done and on my way to an MBA. But this year has been absolute torture and fuck-up after fuck-up. I can’t wait another year to see her every day. If I can’t get through to her, the anger will continue to stew, and she might actually move on.
Not going to happen.
I need her in my life, beside me. If I have to fucking transfer to Ohio State, then that’s what I have to do.
Oh, hell . . .
“I’m transferring.”
Ryan looks over at me like he didn’t hear me, or hopes he heard me wrong. “You’re what?”
I shake my head, trying to get the idea of her moving on out of it. “There’s no way I can wait another year. I’ve hurt her, and if my ass is going to fix it, three hundred miles apart isn’t going to help.”
“You’re crazy. We’ve only got one year left!”
“And then my MBA. I just started looking at schools, and OSU has a good program.”
Ryan’s eyes are wide as he stares at me. “You’re really fucking serious about this idea.”
I nod. “Yeah. I want to be with my girl.”
Ryan looks back ahead at the bank of TVs, and I can tell by his expression he’s thinking on something. Big thoughts always take him a while as that brain of his analyzes information.
While he’s doing that, I get caught up in the music, the beat fast, upping my pace.
“I’m going, too,” Ryan says after a few minutes, surprising me.
I trip, catching myself on the bars and frantically smack the buttons to slow the machine down.
“What?”
He slows his pace as well and turns to me. “I’m not going to be upstaged by your grand gesture to be with your girl.”
“Wait, what the fuck does that mean?”
A grin spreads on his face and he grabs his phone, then hands it to me. My brow scrunches as I look at Dana Marshall’s Facebook profile. Then I see it—In a relationship with Ryan Roth.
My head snaps up and I stare at him, wide-eyed. “What the fuck? When did this happen, and why didn’t you tell me?”
The grin spreads wider. “Spring break. And before you get all indignant on me, I was going to tell you, but you put me in a shitty-ass mood the second I walked in the door with that guilty look on your face.”
“Huh.”
“Is that all you’re going to say?”
I think on it for a minute before punching him in the arm. “Took you long enough, fucker. You’ve been all lovesick over her for years.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“Yeah, well, there were other issues in my way.”
“So, did we just make a huge, life-changing decision in about five minutes?”
I let out a laugh. “Yeah, we did.”
“To leave the life of a player to be with one girl?”
I nod as I up the speed again. “With Kira, why would I need any other girl?”
Ryan smiles and turns back to the front. “Hey, by the way, did you hear Jordan and Ella are dating?”
“What? Are you serious?” I ask and Ryan nods. “Well, isn’t that something.”
Life sure is getting interesting.
When you're my girl, we're going to spend every free second together.
This is how I've spent the last two days, deleting annoying text messages that won't stop coming.
I already planned out everything we're going to do when you're my girl.
I hit delete.
We're going to New York eventually and we're going to see that Lion King musical you've always wanted to see.
I hesitate . . . No. Can't pay attention to his lies. Delet
e.
When you're my girl, I'm taking you out every weekend. Show you off to everyone.
That just shows what kind of fantasy world he's living in. Even if I were stupid enough to agree to being his girl, he could never “show me off.”
Because he's my stepbrother.
Sighing, I delete the message. My phone vibrates across my desk one second after. Oh, for the love of . . .
When you're my girl, I'll make you breakfast in bed every Sunday.
I delete that one, too.
Again, I consider blocking his number, but he's already warned me he'll keep getting new numbers, and I believe him. Either that, or he'll use me blocking him as an excuse to come down here.
All it takes is my lids closing, one defenseless moment, and I'm back in that bathroom with him.
His groans had become my twisted religion, his fingers my sick, desperate absolution. The feel of his thick, throbbing cock seems branded into the palm of my hands. An addiction? Please.
Sex with him would be more dangerous than any drug. It would become more vital than air.
How would I survive living without it?
I wouldn't. I realize this now.
At least one good thing came out of that bathroom incident. No more question of whether I should sleep with him just once or not. I've been cured of my foolishness. I can't ever sleep with him. It would tether me to him irrevocably.
Another text comes in and I glare down at my phone.
When you're my girl, everything that I am is yours.
I . . . I . . .
When you're my girl, I'll never let you go.
My phone slips out of my shaking hand, falling onto the white carpet below my feet.
The familiar Skype jingle blasts through my laptop speakers, and I almost fall out of my seat. No, please, God, don't let it be him . . .
It's not. It's my brother.
The only person I actually do want to talk to. I accept the call, not even bothering to say hi. “Do you know what your best friend is doing?” Yup, I'm past the point of pretending with my brother. Besides, I've been starting to suspect that he might not be as clueless as I'd hoped he'd be.
Ryan exhales slowly. He doesn't even look surprised at my question. “I don't want to know. That's between you and him.”