Saving Brad (The Kennedy Boys Book 5)

by Siobhan Davis

  She sighs, getting up and walking over to the couch. She perches on the edge by my legs. “Look, I don’t want us to get off on the wrong footing, and I don’t want us to start arguing either, because, honestly, I can’t deal with that shit right now. Nothing is going on with Keven Kennedy, nor will it be. We’re friends, and that’s the end of it.”

  “Friends who had sex.” It’s like I’ve got word vomit. I just can’t help myself.

  “I never slept with Keven.”

  I sit up straighter. “What? But Ky said—”

  “That he stayed in my place one night during their Irish vacation? Yes, he did, and we slept in the same bed, and we did some stuff, but mainly we just kissed and talked. Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t sleep with every guy I come into contact with.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply you did. Not that there’d be anything wrong with it. I’m hardly in any position to judge, but I’m surprised.” Pleasantly so, but I’m not admitting that.

  “Anything else you want to know about Kev, because I’d rather he wasn’t a source of tension between us?” There’s a slight edge to her tone.

  “No, and I’m sorry for prying.”

  “No harm, no foul,” she says good-naturedly before returning to her seat. I miss her closeness instantly, but I’m in no hurry to analyze that. Steering clear of girls for the time being seems like the best plan of action.

  The next week goes by fast. Rachel and I are both busy with college, and she goes to yoga two nights a week with Faye, while I hit the gym most nights, but we always make it back in time to share dinner together. We’ve settled into a routine, and it’s much easier living with her than I thought it’d be.

  Yes, I still have inappropriate thoughts about her, and the morning I found her in the kitchen wrapped in only a teensy towel tested my control to the limit, but, so far, the friends thing is working out.

  I like having her here, and I know I’d be lonely without her.

  I’ve heard her crying in her sleep a couple of times. I’ve wanted to go check on her, but she guards her privacy fiercely, keeps her secrets locked inside, and I don’t think she’d appreciate me acknowledging I know her fears are disturbing her at night. I’m hoping, in time, she’ll come to trust me and let me in. Until then, I’ll respect her need for privacy, and I haven’t mentioned it.

  It’s my night to cook, and I’ve just put a pizza in the oven when the front door slams violently. Rachel storms into the kitchen, ignoring me and heading straight for the fridge. She grabs a bottle of white wine and pours herself a large glass. She drinks greedily from it before turning to face me.

  “Bad day?” I know she’s trying to abstain from alcohol, so something shitty must’ve happened to have her reach straight for the bottle.

  “I’ve just seen something I’d really rather not have seen.”

  I grab a beer from the fridge and pull her out to the couch. “Sit. Tell me all about it.”

  She takes another greedy gulp of the wine. “Oh, fuck.” I drink from my beer, waiting for her to calm down and tell me. “I just saw that bitch Callie hitting on Ky, and he wasn’t exactly pushing her away.”

  “Come again?”

  “They were outside the coffee place, and she had her hands all over him.”

  “I’m sure it’s not how it looked. I’ve been on the receiving end of that, remember.” I’m still getting funny looks on campus, and the rumor mill has been flying with all kinds of perverted crap about Faye and me including that Ky and I “share” her as our girlfriend. Anyone that knows Kyler Kennedy knows that shit wouldn’t fly with him. Kev took the post down straightaway, but online discussion boards have popped up, and plenty of students have been gossiping over the situation. A few comments have suggested her relationship with Ky is just a cover so that she can date me in private. Which is utter garbage, because lots of girls can attest to my reputation on campus. I’d hardly have a girlfriend in private and screw around so publicly. More malicious rumors have said we’ve been cheating behind his back for years. No matter how quickly Ky gets Kev on the case, the minute he removes one thread, another pops up. I say let them fly and run their course. Nipping them in the bud is only adding more fuel to the fire.

  “I know, but …” She trails off, picking at a loose thread on the bottom of her shirt.

  “But what?”

  She takes another glug of her wine. “Faye is fairly certain Callie was behind the YouTube video, and she’s made no secret of her attraction to him. What if she’s got her hooks in him?”

  I vehemently shake my head. “There’s no way Kyler would cheat on Faye. I’d stake my life on it. He loves the crap out of her.”

  “Didn’t he cheat on her with Addison?”

  No. That was me.

  I was the one who got crazy drunk the night I discovered my father was a fraud and let my best friend’s girlfriend seduce me. Although we discovered afterward that Addison had planned the whole thing—as a warped means of isolating Ky from everyone he cared about—it still doesn’t excuse the fact I slept with her while she was his. As long as I live, I’ll never forgive myself for hurting my friend like that. The usual guilt threatens to waylay me, so I shake all thoughts of Addison aside. No good ever comes from thinking about that time.

  “Not the same thing. He was protecting her, and it was before they became official. Kyler isn’t cheating with Callie.”

  “You didn’t see how cozy they looked.”

  I stand up as the oven timer beeps. “I don’t need to. Kyler isn’t screwing around on Faye.”

  If circumstances were different, I’d be on the phone straightaway telling him what Rachel saw so he could diffuse the shitstorm that’s about to come his way, but I can’t interfere anymore. I’ve got to stay out of their relationship, irrespective of how honorable my intentions are.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Rachel

  Now that we’re into the second week in October, the temps have dropped significantly. It’s a lot colder than I was expecting, although the familiarity of the cooler weather is reassuring on one level. I’ve always much preferred colder climates anyway. Brad is a pretty chill roomie, and the arrangement is working out far better than expected—notwithstanding the fact I want the rip the clothes off his back and jump his bones on a regular basis. We haven’t fought once during the two weeks we’ve shared living space, which has shocked the hell out of me. For the first time, I feel like I’m actually getting to know the real Brad. He’s a dedicated student and devoted to his family. When he focuses on something, he gives it one hundred percent. He works out religiously every night at the gym, and I virtually lock myself in my bedroom until after he’s showered. The sight of all that sweaty, glistening skin and rippling muscles cranks my desire to the max, and my trusty electronic friend is getting a thorough workout these days.

  Thankfully, Brad seems to have shunned his party boy lifestyle, and he’s at home most nights which I’m grateful for. I’m sure all the rumors floating around about him and Faye are contributing to his hibernation, along with the desire to avoid running into them on campus. Whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s here every night because I’m still jumpy, and the only time I can relax is when I’m here with him. When I feel safe. He may not know it, but he’s my protector, and I’m less on edge living here than I was in my own apartment. However, the thought of being here by myself still gives me the heebie-jeebies, and if I’m home before Brad, I’m on tenterhooks until he arrives. Kev is still on the case, and there’s been no further developments or further text messages, but it doesn’t reduce my anxiety much. He’s plotting something, and that thought is enough to bring me out in hives. I’ve lost more weight thanks to my vanishing appetite, but I can’t force myself to eat. My body’s in a constant state of flux, and it’s playing havoc with my health.

  We are both back late Friday night. I’ve just spent the
last hour chatting to Faye, relieved to hear that everything is hunky-dory between her and Ky. Not that I was ever truly worried— Faye and Ky are as tight as any couple can be. And that whole incident with Callie turned out to be exactly as Brad said it would be.

  “Hey, you okay if we get takeout tonight? My treat,” Brad asks as I flop down on the couch beside him.

  Kicking off my shoes, I massage my tired feet. “Sure, but only if you let me pay half.”

  “Rachel.” His tone carries an appropriate level of censure.

  “Brad.” I cross my arms over my chest and feign ignorance.

  “You can’t keep paying for everything. You’re wounding my male pride.”

  “Pfft. I’m not, and in case your ears aren’t working correctly, I only offered to pay for half. I’m all for women’s lib and equality.”

  “There’s no point arguing with you, is there?” He stretches a hand around the back of the sofa.

  “Nope, and I’m glad you’ve come to realize that.” I swing my legs up on the couch and lie down flat.

  He hovers over me a minute later, holding his hands behind his back, with an almost shy expression on his face.

  “What?” I’m immediately on guard.

  Drawing his hands around the front of his body, he thrusts a long-stemmed red rose at me. “This is for you.”

  I pull myself upright, bending my legs at the knees. I take it from him as if it’s some strange alien offering. “No one has ever given me flowers before,” I admit before I’ve had time to question the wisdom of it.

  “Well, technically it’s only one flower, but that’s a damn shame. I can’t believe none of your boyfriends ever bought you flowers.”

  I press my nose into the delicate petals, inhaling the soft, sweet scent. “I’ve never had a boyfriend.” I don’t know what’s wrong with my mouth tonight—spewing honesty without provocation. Usually, I’m tight-lipped and, even when drunk, you’d have to pry the information from me in painful slowness. But Brad and I have been casually chatting every night, and it’s becoming more natural to open up to him.

  “What?” He sounds shocked as he lands his perfect butt on the edge of the sofa beside me. “You’re kidding, right?” I shake my head. “Are all the guys in Ireland blind or braindead?” I shrug. “You’re gorgeous, Rachel, and I can’t understand how you’ve never had a boyfriend. Honestly, it makes no sense.”

  “I’ve never wanted or needed one.”

  He opens and closes his mouth. “And now?” His voice is clipped.

  “Now is no different. Relationships complicate things, and I crave uncomplicated.”

  “I don’t know, Rach. You’ve said that to me before, and I’ve been following your motto this last year, but it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Don’t you feel … empty? Lonely?”

  His words resonate with me. It’s only since I stopped screwing around and ceased all the drinking and partying that I’ve realized that’s how I feel too. Alcohol and boys were a temporary numbing strategy, but the rest of the time I’ve felt like a shell of a person on the inside.

  “Sure, but I’m used to it.” I sound as if I don’t care, as if my heart doesn’t ache with loneliness.

  After we’ve finished our takeout—and when I say “we” it’s more like “he” because I barely touched the food—we break out the wine and share a bottle. I’m not usually a vino drinker, but I’m trying to avoid vodka and Brad’s trying to stay away from beer, so wine it is. When the second bottle is emptied, I’m starting to feel buzzed. From the goofy, flushed look on his face I can tell he’s feeling the same.

  I hop up suddenly, swaying a little on my feet. “I’ve got an idea.” I bound off to my room before he can quiz me, returning a couple minutes later with a box under one arm and a gleeful expression on my face.

  I plonk the box down on the floor in front of him, sitting cross-legged. “Ever play Twister before?”

  “Are you implying I had a deprived childhood or something? Of course, I’ve played Twister,” he scoffs. “And you’re going down, babe. Prepare to watch the master at work.”

  We spread out the mat and twirl the spinner, and soon we’re both sprawled across the floor in extremely awkward positions. My head is presently under his body, and my butt is raised and virtually stuck in his face. Not that he’s complained about the view. His hand is on the yellow square, alongside my foot, and his body is angled over mine. I’m fairly certain he can see down my top from this position, but I’m not losing sleep over it. It’s not like he hasn’t seen the goods before. Reaching out, I rotate the spinner, cursing like a sailor when it lands on “right hand green.”

  “Admit defeat,” he teases.

  My face is scrunched up in concentration as I try to figure out a way to maneuver my body without falling. “Never,” I huff out.

  “I’m the Twister champ, and the champ always wins. Ask Kaitlyn. She’s never beaten me. Not even once.”

  “That’s because your long legs and arms give you an unfair advantage. I’m going to complain to the manufacturers and get feminist movements on the case.”

  He snorts with laughter. “I think they might have more pressing concerns.”

  I make my move, twisting around and balancing precariously on one hand. “Ugh! Shit!” I stretch my elevated hand across the space under Brad, but my arm isn’t long enough. I overextend, lose my balance, and fall backward. My leg swings around, taking his down, and we collapse in a tangled heap of limbs on the sheet. Brad is sprawled on top of me, and I’m practically crying tears of laughter.

  He roars with laughter too until he registers the feel of my body underneath him. Jerking his head up, he peers into my eyes, and it’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. My chest rises and falls as his gaze drifts to my mouth. Blood rushes south, and I’m instantly throbbing with need. There’s no way he doesn’t feel it. Not with the way his body is strategically aligned against mine. It’s like unknown cosmic forces have conspired to tempt us. Propping up on one hand, he runs a thumb lightly across my mouth. Fiery tingles dance over my lips from that one soft touch, and I whimper. His chest is visibly pounding, and my heart is hammering against my ribcage. Searing need rips through me, and my brain shuts off as he lowers his mouth to mine. Our lips mesh, and I groan when I taste his welcoming, soft caress. His mouth moves expertly against mine, and he lowers his body again, pressing flush against me.

  I think I could combust on the spot.

  I curl my left leg around his waist, and he rocks his hips into me. I see stars, and the world explodes in a colorful burst of lust. He flicks his tongue at the seam of my lips, and I readily open for him. He explores my mouth with frantic need, and I grip the cheeks of his ass through his jeans, pulling him closer to me.

  Visions of the hours we spent making love in his bedroom swim through my mind, and I’m more aroused than I’ve ever been in my life. His hand creeps up my shirt, his fingers caressing the expanse of skin, sending delicious tremors ricocheting all over my body. I arch my back when his mouth suctions to my neck, and he trails a line of hot kisses from my mouth to my jaw, down to my neck, and back again. I’m writhing and moaning underneath him, like some demonic lifeform has me possessed, and I want him inside me so badly. He palms my breast, rubbing the hardened peak of my nipple through my flimsy bra, and the sharp pinch snaps me out of my lust-fueled daze.

  Shrieking, I place firm hands on his chest and push him away. He stumbles, landing flat on his back alongside me. “What’s wrong?”

  I scoot over to the space beside the couch, drawing my knees in to my chest. My breathing is ragged. “We can’t do this.”

  He straightens up, sitting cross-legged across from me. “Why not?”

  “Friends. The deal was friends only.”

  “What if I want to change the terms of our arrangement?”

  I blink profusely. �
��What? Why?”

  “We’re attracted to each other, and we’re getting along really well. Why not take things to the next level and see what happens?” He slants his head to the side. “No labels, no pressure. We can keep this casual.”

  I’m unsure if he tagged that suggestion on for his benefit or mine.

  “I can think of one very good reason not to.” His brows knit together as I scramble to my feet. I need to put distance between us before I throw caution to the wind and fling myself back into his arms. I look down at him, with my body screaming in silent protest. “You’re in love with my best friend, and I want to be the champ too. I don’t want to be second-best.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Brad

  She went to her room after that. I should have followed her. Should’ve told her she was in pole position, but I didn’t. Because I don’t want to lie—to either her or myself—and until I work out exactly what my feelings are toward Faye, I owe it to Rachel to keep my distance.

  So why the fuck do I feel so miserable now?

  I’m still tossing and turning in bed, unable to quell the maelstrom in my mind, a few hours later when I hear her shout out in her sleep. A minute later, a piercing scream rips through the still night air, and I flip the covers off, racing to her room.

  Rachel is thrashing about on the bed, limbs flailing. “Stay away from me!” She lashes out at imaginary monsters as I cautiously approach the bed. “No! Stop it!” Very gently, I place my hand on her arm, and all hell breaks loose. “Don’t touch me!” she roars, rearing up in the bed, her eyes fluttering open in panic. “I’ll kill you. I will.” She thrusts her clenched hand in my direction, and her fist impacts my jaw, sending me tumbling backward onto the floor. She jumps up, eyes blazing, panic etched all over her face. A look of sheer confusion transforms her features. She whimpers, clutching her arms around her waist as her gaze darts about the room.

  Slowly, I scramble to my feet, raising my palms in a conciliatory gesture. “Rachel. It’s me. It’s Brad. I’m not going to touch you. I promise.”