by Jo Raven
I glance down at the rainbow unicorn dress I’m wearing. It says, “I’m 99% unicorn.”
“So… what about the rest of you?” Joel folds his arms and leans back against Jet who’s drawing something on his ever-present pad. “Any guesses?”
“Not sure… maybe godmother?” I say hopefully. “I love kids. I’ll be great, I promise.”
“Do you really want to?” Candy asks with a smile, and they both look her way, their faces softening. She’s been looking at baby stuff on her tablet, and we’re having cake to celebrate the news.
I made the cake. It’s supposed to look like a baby.
Jet has named it “Alternative Dick Cake,” so I’m guessing I wasn’t very successful. I’m working on my baking skills, okay?
I wonder why no one has tried it yet. I put marshmallows and chocolate and peanut butter in it. All the good stuff. My grandmother used to say if you use good ingredients, the food has no choice but to turn out good, too.
Then again, it’s rumored that my grandfather often suffered from food poisoning before he took off for places unknown.
Weird, right?
“Been baking a lot lately?” Joel asks. Something seems to be on his mind tonight. No clue what. “Lots of cakes?”
“And cookies,” I tell him.
Speaking of which, I wonder if Ryan tried the cookies I sent him the other day. It was supposed to be Stage Two of Phase Three of my plan, but I heard nothing from him, and I don’t know if I should change my tactics.
Or let go.
But for some reason, I can’t, and it’s not just about keeping a promise to myself like I told Riddick. That was at the beginning. Now…
Now I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.
But I’m not stopping. Can’t give up like this. I just…
“Earth to Brylee.” Jethro is waving a hand in front of me. “Anybody home?”
Given that I’m the one who found him stabbed in a back alley after his dad tried to kill him and called an ambulance and Candy to save him, he can be so annoying sometimes.
I’m sure I’d still have saved him, though, having known this.
Pretty sure.
“I said, you’ve been spending some time with Riddick,” Jethro says. “Is everything okay?”
“With me, or him?”
He rolls his eyes. They’re dark, unlike Riddick’s.
I prefer Riddick’s…
“With your plan,” he says. “I thought you wanted Ryan?”
“And?”
Jethro frowns. “You tell me. Candy says that Riddick answered your phone a few days ago. What was he doing at your place at five in the morning?”
Oh. I thought I’d heard the apartment phone ring, but only turned over and went back to sleep. I’m not at my best early in the morning, and we’d fallen asleep on the sofa, tangled up together.
Funny how an orgasm given to you by a man, as opposed to your own hand, can exhaust you so much.
My face warms up from the memory of that—of Riddick’s mouth moving over mine, his body pressing into me, his hard-on, the way he stroked himself, the way he came…
“Really, Brylee?” Candy is staring at me, a wide grin on her face. “You slept with Riddick?”
“Not exactly,” I say, choking on the words.
“Then what exactly?” Jet prods, frowning. “What are you doing with him, Brylee?”
“Why are you asking me all this?”
“He’s my cousin. He looked after me when I moved in with his parents like a big brother. His life hasn’t been easy. I don’t like the idea of you toying with him only to throw him away the moment Ryan fucking Prince bats his lashes at you.”
Riddick looked after Jethro when they were young. That fits with the impression I got from him. Strong, protective, with his past like a rock hanging around his neck. “Guys don’t bat their lashes like that.”
“You know what I mean.”
I shrug, and hope my confusion doesn’t show on my face. “Rid is an adult, Jet. And he knows about Ryan.”
Jet shakes his head. “Rid is falling for you. His heart is in your hands. It’s pretty damn fragile right now. You could break him if you’re not careful.”
He’s falling for me?
I look away, a sweet sting in my chest. I want to laugh and weep, because I wish I could swear I’ll stop thinking about Ryan and go out with Riddick.
I want to. I’m falling for Riddick, too. I can’t stop thinking about him.
Then why can’t I stop thinking about that arrogant asshole, Ryan, either? Something draws me to him, like the gleam of gold beneath the surface of the sea. The promise of something beautiful beneath the rust.
What am I going to do?
***
Well, I end up doing what I often do when I hit a wall:
I call my mom.
She’s watching TV when she answers the phone, at full volume, and she quickly lowers it. “Bry! What a nice surprise, baby girl.”
At least someone is happy to hear from me. “Hi, Mom! How are things?”
Immediately she launches into a full description of my cousin Ella’s wedding gown and how pretty she’s going to be, and that I should book my flight for the wedding now because I can’t miss this.
I make vague agreeing sounds.
My mom and cousin Ella live a couple hours flight from here, and although I’d like to go, I haven’t made up my mind yet. It’s in a few weeks. I still have time.
“Mom,” I cut through the running commentary on the gown, the flowers, the venue and the guest list. “I need your advice.”
“Man trouble again?” But she says it fondly, not in that exasperated tone I sometimes get from Candy.
Then again, knowing that Candy’s preggers, maybe that has something to do with her lack of patience lately?
“It’s this guy I talked to you about before. Ryan.”
“That fortress still hasn’t fallen?”
“It’s still holding.” I sigh. “I’ve tried everything, Mamma. I thought I had a breakthrough. He kissed me.”
“Ooh.” I can imagine the spark in her eyes. “Was it hot?”
“Yeah, pretty hot.” Incredibly so. “But then he stopped paying attention to me again.”
Hot and cold, time and again. This can’t be normal. A person with such personality swings has to be a psycho killer or something.
“Did you cook for him?”
“Well…” I hedge. “I baked.”
“That’s not the same, baby.”
We’ve had this conversation before. “It should be at—”
“—your home, your own turf, so you can control the atmosphere. Cook something simple but good, dress up, put on the lacy underwear and… rawr.”
Yeah, I know this is my mom. We’ve always been like sisters. It’s cool. “How can I invite him home if he won’t even talk to me?”
“So bad, is it? Was it something you said? What did you bake him?”
“Cookies and cake.” I go for honesty. “The cookies were a bit burnt. And I think the cake sagged too much in the middle.” It was like a volcanic crater. “Do you think that could be why?”
Though he rejected me before even taking a look at the cake, so…
“Okay, so maybe baking is out.”
“But, Mom! You said the way to the heart goes through the stomach—”
“Not always, baby.”
I lick my lips. “That was my plan. Now what should I do?”
“Well, every man has a weak point, an Achilles’ heel, a vulnerable point.”
I blink. “You want me to kill him?”
She laughs, and I grin. My mom gets my sense of humor better than anyone. “Only understand him. If you really want him, Brylee. I think you twisted my words a little. I never said you should find a man who doesn’t want you. A man you don’t want.”
“I want him.”
“Do you love him?”
I laugh. “Of course not.”
Fac
t is, I’m not sure what I feel exactly. About Ryan. About Riddick.
But it can’t be love.
No frigging way.
“Mom, listen…” I swallow, unaccountably nervous. “When Dad left, you said… You said guys aren’t worth the trouble. That when I grow up, I should choose one that can take care of me, not someone who’d steal my heart. I just thought to—”
“Oh, honey, that’s what’s on your mind?” There’s an uncharacteristic complete and total silence following this. I think she turned off the TV. “Those were… angry words. Yeah, I was so angry back then. I felt betrayed. That doesn’t mean there aren’t good men out there.”
“But Mom—”
“Men worthy of your heart.” She sounds fierce now. “Don’t be afraid to give it away, to take a risk on someone.”
“But—”
“This guy, this Ryan. If you really want him, if you love him, baby… find out who he really is. You can’t know a man living behind a wall. Break that wall. And then you’ll know once you really see him.”
She never said things like these to me before. “Mom… are you seeing somebody?”
It’s the only explanation.
“I have to go, baby,” she says. “Talk to you soon.”
Oh my God. She totally is!
***
Dressed to the nines, in my highest heels and my hair piled on top of my head in my most artful chignon, I enter his office with a box of goodly surprise.
It’s all about the package, right? At least I hope so.
I hope he likes the package. And not only.
God, I’m freaking out. I was supposed to be cool-headed and collected, following my plan, but all I care for right now is a smile from him, a heated look from those green eyes.
He doesn’t glance up immediately. He’s bent over an open folder, a hand buried in his short, blond hair, moving back and forth. His forehead is creased up in concentration, and he looks so serious, so hot in his fine blue shirt, stretched tight over broad shoulders, that my heart trips over.
Muscular guys seem to be my M.O.—and I turn away with an effort from that line of thinking that leads me straight to Riddick.
Focus.
I clear my throat, and his gaze snaps up, brows drawing together. “What are you doing here?”
Not exactly the opening I expected.
And also unexpectedly, my eyes sting.
I hide it, giving him a smile. “I brought you something.”
He stares at the pink box in my hands, still frowning. If that doesn’t give him a headache… and wrinkles. I hope he’s aware of that. “So that was you last time.”
“Who else would it be?” I ask, wounded to the heart. “Is there another woman bringing you super delicious sweets made with her own two hands?”
He got the box. And never mentioned it. Never even asked me about it.
After he kissed me.
And after… after I thought there was progress.
“Look, Brylee… I have too much work.” He turns his attention back to his folder. “And I don’t eat sweets.”
Ouch. “You could have said that before.”
“Why should I bother?”
I widen my eyes not to let any tears escape. It would ruin my makeup. At least he’s not looking at me. “Last time you wanted me to ignore you more.”
He says nothing. There’s a small dark bottle beside him on the desk—like a pill bottle, I think randomly—and he closes his hand around it.
“To ignore you more pointedly, you said. You said you liked that.”
His gaze flickers. “I can’t do this, Bry.”
I slam the box down on his desk. I hope the cake leaks out and ruins all his papers. “Fine. It’s over between us.”
His lips twitch, and I think he’ll laugh.
But he doesn’t. For a second, his eyes lift, meeting mine, and I’m rooted to the spot at the pain I see in them.
By the time I gather my wits and think of something—anything—to say, he looks away. “It was a kiss, not a fuck, Bry. Not like you had with Riddick. You should go back to him.”
I’m pretty sure I’m crying because the tears tickle my cheeks, but I feel nothing but fury. “Screw you. You don’t get to tell me who to be with. You know nothing about me, Ryan Prince Dawson. If you don’t want me, I will leave you in peace. There are more men in the sea. Fish, whatever.”
“Good,” he says, but his voice isn’t entirely steady.
And I’m not done yet.
“You swore.” I point at him with a pink fingernail. “You swore on your mother’s life you weren’t teasing me, that inviting me to your office the day you kissed me wasn’t a trap.”
“My mother’s dead,” he says quietly.
“Oh, I see.”
Turning on my heel, I march outside, wobbling a little on my super high heels and feeling like a fool.
It’s not until I’ve reached my own office that the real meaning of his words penetrates the fog of anger.
His mother’s dead.
Shit.
I sit down heavily in my chair and put my hands over my face. Breathe in, breathe out.
There it is: a glimpse behind his walls.
I wonder how his mother’s death has shaped the way he thinks. The way he acts. If mine died… it would shatter me.
But what does it change if he doesn’t want me? And why does his rejection hurt so much when I was sure until now I felt nothing for him?
Chapter Seventeen
Pussy Fudge Cake
Riddick
“There you are, man.” Jethro ambles into the dimly lit bar, shrugging off his jacket and taking the stool next to mine. He catches the bartender’s eye and points at my beer, then folds his arms on the bar and turns a level look on me. “Okay now. I’m here. Spill.”
I nod, fighting the warmth in my chest just because my cousin turned up. Not many people I can rely on these days. Or ever. Jet is solid, always has been, despite the nightmare of his past.
But I don’t say anything yet. I turn my bottle round and round. It’s my fifth—or sixth one? At some point I lost count. I know this isn’t a solution. I know I’m just putting off the inevitable shitstorm.
Hey, I’m tired. All the way down to my bones, and booze is blunting the sharp edges of reality even just for a while. I’ll take what I can.
A beer bottle slides across the bar, and Jet grabs it and takes a swig. His gaze is still on me, shrewd and maybe a bit concerned.
I can take some concern from my cousin, I tell myself, through my skin prickles and all my defenses stir like the spines of a porcupine. This is safe ground.
Relax, Rid. Drink your damn beer.
Jet huffs after a moment and takes another swig, slamming the bottle none too gently back down. “What happened?”
I shake my head and swallow hard. “Mom overdosed again.”
“Fuck. Is she okay?”
“She’s been in the hospital for the past couple of days.”
It’s the worst one yet. She may not make it next time.
The words remain unsaid, hanging between us, but I know Jet is thinking the same.
She’s as bad as a hard drug addict, and we both know it. Prescription drugs can mess you up just as badly, and she’s been on them for years. Almost since I can remember.
“Benzos?” Jet asks. “What was it this time?”
“Alcohol and Xanax, most probably. Maybe more drugs mixed together.”
A nearly deadly cocktail. I lift my beer, put it back down.
Goddammit. I should be used to this abject fear by now, the fear she won’t make it next time. Yet somehow it always gets my heart pounding like I’m the one about to die.
“Talk to me, Rid. Why is she still in the hospital? Is she awake? What did the doctors say?”
“She’s awake. A bit out of it, though. Docs said she’s lucky.” I swallow again, unable to push down the lump in my throat. “Damn lucky, but that her nine lives are almost use
d up.”
Jet curses quietly. I had to tell him this time, though. It’s not like my mom was ever like a mother to him—hell, she barely was like a mother to me and Xavier—but despite everything, my parents did take him in when his family went to hell. I kinda think he’ll never forget that.
He drinks, and I do the same, letting silence settle over us, threaded with the background din of the bar—the laughter, the voices, the music, the clink of glasses. I half-close my eyes, taking this moment to try and rebuild my defenses, one stone, one brick at a time, before I break open in front of my cousin.
But he doesn’t give me that much needed moment. Probably has no clue I’m one second from crumbling.
“How’s Xavier?” he asks, unerringly finding my weak spot and striking. “How is he taking this?”
My hand shakes as I put down the bottle. Struggle with it. “Not well,” I eventually say, surprised my voice doesn’t break down the middle.
Jet frowns. “What does that mean exactly?”
Yeah, good question. “He left.”
“Left where? The hell, Rid.”
“A friend’s house, he said.”
“What friend?”
“How the fuck would I know? He wouldn’t say. He never does.”
“Never?” His eyes narrow. “Rid, Jesus. You’re telling me this has been going on for how fucking long?”
I shrug. “A while.”
Jet grunts. “Is he doing drugs?”
“Probably.”
“Fucking hell.” Jet takes a long swig from his beer, grimaces. “We need to get him into rehab.”
“I can’t force him, Jet. Or Mom.” I swallow bitterness. “You think I haven’t tried to convince them both?”
“What did Xavier say?”
“That I could go fuck myself with a rusty fork.”
Jet’s brows go up. “Creative.”
My brother, the firecracker. He’s funny as hell, and he’s a good guy. The kind of guy who helps old ladies cross the street and remembers people’s birthdays.
That was before the drugs. Now he’s a fucking asshole. And I know this isn’t really him. I practically raised the kid. But how can I get my real brother back?
How the fuck do I keep him from dying?
***
Jet says he’ll talk to Joel and Candy about this, try and find a solution, and we part ways. What else is there to say? I just hope he has more ideas than me. I ran out of solutions long ago.