Bad Boy's Baby

by Frost, Sosie

  Besides, she wasn’t ready to talk to me. Why would I unload on her? Obviously she didn’t trust me yet.

  Christ, that hurt worse than the headache.

  Didn’t matter. She was scared. It wasn’t worth fighting and frightening her more. If she wanted space, she’d get it. If she wanted fucked…

  My cock stirred as she bent to grab her shoes.

  There it was. Back from its fucking slumber.

  That was a scare I didn’t need. The headache pulsed harder, but at least if Shay wanted comfort again, I’d give it. Then maybe she’s realize what a fucking mistake she made by not letting me actually help.

  I surrendered. I needed a nap and a stiff drink. I waved a hand.

  “Have a good time,” I said. “I won’t wait up.”

  “Didn’t ask you to.”

  No, she hadn’t. Whatever.

  I turned, but she called to me before I made it to the door.

  “Zach?”

  “Yeah?”

  She twisted her purse in her hands. Her curls bobbed, and her almond eyes widened.

  “Never mind,” she said. “It’s nothing.”

  I didn’t believe her, but I wasn’t arguing. I nodded and let her dress in peace.

  The headache kicked my ass. I crashed in my room as it shifted from annoying to agonizing.

  If I had told her about the pain, she probably would have stayed.

  I wasn’t ready for that pity-party yet. I’d sort out my own problems first before heaping them on a girl who filled a thirty-five thousand square foot mansion with her own troubles. No sense scaring off the best thing that happened to me since the injury. I was lucky enough to be alive. Now, I was lucky that she let me comfort her.

  If only she’d let me do more.

  Chapter Fourteen – Shay

  The fruity drink stashed more umbrellas in the goblet than alcohol. Zach made a better martini though he’d sooner toss a couple olives in a bottle of vodka and call it a day. I liked his style.

  And I think I was starting to prefer his company.

  Azariah didn’t notice that my drink still sloshed with the peachy-strawberry mixture. She ordered another and waved to the three late-comers to our gals night out. Layna, Heaven, and Nikkole screeched their hellos and bounded to our table.

  Layna flicked her manicured fingernails—complete with blue gems imbedded in the paint—at the passing waitress. “Cosmo and a water, thanks.” She scooted into the booth and pulled down her oversized sunglasses. Her dark eyes scolded me with a single glance. “Girl, how’d you piss off Sweeten that bad?”

  Azariah mouthed a silent apology and scrunched her nose. She pretended to pass a menu to Heaven though Nikkole wasn’t having any fries or any of my excuses.

  “Know what you do?” Nikkole said. “You take all that money your daddy left you, and you buy yourself new a hairdo and find a man.”

  Nikkole had a bad habit of picking my greatest insecurity and blabbing it loud enough for everyone around to hear. The rumble of conversations quieted as she waved a hand over my outfit.

  “Look at this shit. Button up blouse? Knee-length skirt? Christ, Shay. Let the girls get some air. Plenty of fine looking men on campus would be willing to play teacher with you.”

  Heaven studied the menu, dispassionately. She cracked her gum and twirled a finger around her curls, interrupting the conversation in her usual style. “I’m getting a salad.”

  We ignored her. Azariah and Layna usually agreed with Nikkole, but Azariah had the tact to phrase it better.

  “You’re better than this stress, Shay,” Azariah said. “Go buy yourself some fancy clothes, a new car. Hell, travel to Europe. What do you need school for?”

  I shrugged, sipping my drink instead of answering. It wasn’t about the money. It was about what I wanted to do, how I wanted to help people.

  “She needs to get laid,” Layna said. “Sit on some big ol’ cock and forget all her troubles.”

  Nikkole snickered. “But Azariah said—”

  Azariah cleared her throat, pushing her drink at Nikkole. “Here. Take this. Shove something in that fat mouth of yours.”

  Oh, Christ. She didn’t. I stared at her. “You told them?”

  Heaven still flipped through the menu. She arched an eyebrow. “That you’re banging your brother? Way to go.”

  “I’m not—”

  Banging him? I stopped myself, but that didn’t make the words any less true.

  It was twice now. Twice I spent the greatest nights of my life in his arms, cuddled to his chest, slamming on his cock.

  I had no idea what happened last night, and so I panicked. I didn’t talk to him. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t explain. I…froze.

  And when Zach came to talk to me?

  I retreated so damn fast I was lucky I didn’t fall on my ass and reveal everything that clutched at my heart, fluttered in my stomach, and scared the ever-loving hell out of me.

  “He’s not my brother,” I said. “He’s my step-brother…if it even counts since our parents are dead.”

  “Still fucking weird,” Heaven grumbled.

  “Heav, shut your mouth.” Azariah threatened her with a drink umbrella. “It was only once. She didn’t know who he was.”

  I took another swig. It wasn’t as casual as I thought. I should have stood in the booth, crashed my glass to the floor, and shouted to the masses Incest is Best!

  “Oh, shit, Shay,” Azariah said. “You didn’t.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “You fucked your brother again?”

  “Really, it’s not—”

  Nikkole snorted. “I told you to live a little, girl.”

  “Can we not talk about this?” I asked. “Please?”

  Wasn’t going to happen. My friends cackled with the great and juiciest piece of gossip since Nikkole’s brother accidentally knocked up his girlfriend and her best friend—at the same time.

  Well, they weren’t getting any details about my night. I needed to figure out what happened before I could explain it to them. They didn’t know Zach.

  Yes, he was sexy, but he was also the type who knew it.

  Yes, he was a man-whore, but he sounded so sincere when he reassured me.

  Yes, he was my step-brother, but we didn’t grow up together. Our parents only married a short time ago, and we were two consenting adults.

  My friends waited for the dirty details, but the person I should have talked to waited for me at home. He was probably looking for an explanation…or a sequel to last night’s events. And the way my body still buzzed? He’d get both.

  But I expected him to make a fuss when I brushed him off. Zach usually fought to the death over a choice of pizza toppings. Pissing me off was his favorite damn sport. He came to me, and I freaked, but instead of calling me out on it—like he did everything else—he said he…wouldn’t wait up?

  The hollow exhaustion in his voice pitted my stomach more than the judgmental glances that passed between my friends.

  Maybe Zach…didn’t care?

  “Are you still graduating? Shay?” Layna drew my attention. “If you aren’t student teaching, can you finish school?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “What about your party?”

  Seriously? Professor Sweeten ripped my heart out, and they worried about the damn graduation party?

  “I don’t know.”

  “We need that party!” She spun the straw in her water. “Fine. We’ll move it up. Screw graduating. We’ll have a Shay Is Free party.”

  I didn’t want to be free. In fact, I wanted to be so layered in school work, chalk dust, and demerit slips I’d be dreaming the ABCs when I got home.

  “Maybe?” I frowned. “I’m not feeling like partying.”

  Layna huffed. “You mean to tell me you have a giant ass house, pool, tennis courts, and gold fountains, and you don’t want to party?”

  “It’s not that. Of course I want to celebrate.”
/>
  Maybe.

  “Good. We’re on. We’ll have a big blowout. Fuck graduating. You’re rich. What do you need an education for?”

  I didn’t need a degree, but a hell of a lot of other kids did. How would I help them now?

  “We’ll figure something out,” I said. “Can we order dinner?”

  Heaven dropped the menu and flashed me a glance that practically layered Atlanta in ice.

  “Look, Shay. I love you, but get your head out of your ass.”

  The table quieted. So did the tables surrounding us. Two booths away, someone broke a breadstick with a crack. She was immediately hushed.

  “You’re a fucking billionaire. You have a car, a house, a future. You never have to worry about a goddamned thing ever again. So don’t sit here and pretend to be humble.”

  “Pretend?”

  Heaven’s lips pouted even when she was happy. Now that she scolded me? Disapproval was her superpower, and we hadn’t found any kryptonite to throw at her.

  “You’ve always pretended that the money didn’t matter. Look at your purse. Your shoes. Your car. So you lived in an apartment with your mom before college. We all did, honey.” She scoffed. “I don’t know what’s sadder. You flaunting the money…or you pretending you never had any to begin with.”

  “Heaven, I didn’t—”

  “It doesn’t matter. Go plan your party. Live in your estate. Fuck your brother. God knows someone as rich as you can get away with whatever you want.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “I don’t even know why you’re sitting here with us,” Heaven said. “You’ve been checking your phone every ten seconds since we got here. Do you have somewhere better to be? Bank’s closed, sweetheart.”

  “Holy Christ, Heaven.” Azariah frowned. “What climbed up your ass?”

  Heaven returned to scouring the menu. She gave Azariah a pissy glance. “Just ask her what you wanted. Tell her why we came out tonight. Go on, Zar. Ask her.”

  I swallowed. “Ask me what?”

  Azariah was in no mood. Even I never riled her up that much. “Drop it, Heaven.”

  “I’ll tell her if you don’t.”

  Azariah’s nails were too sharp to risk getting her angry. I laid a hand over her wrist.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Azariah’s gaze lowered. Something told me she wasn’t really reading the advertisement for the double fudge brownie sundae.

  “I meant…to ask you for a loan.”

  “A…what?”

  “My car’s in bad shape. I need a new alternator and breaks.”

  I swallowed. “Oh.”

  “Just a loan. I’d pay you back.”

  My best friend of fifteen years should never have looked that ashamed to come to me for help. “Of course.”

  The rest of the table shifted, taking awkward sips of their drinks. Azariah shrugged at the other girls.

  Layna was the first to speak. “Books this year were expensive. I was going to ask too.”

  I stilled. I suddenly understood. Layna nudged Nikkole with an elbow into her side.

  Nikkole smiled. “Trey is getting married. I have to buy a dress.”

  I didn’t know what to say. “You…all want loans?”

  Heaven showed me her broken phone. “My screen’s cracked. I need a new cell before this one dies.”

  “Oh.” My stomach twisted. “I mean…I don’t know.”

  Azariah’s voice softened. “I don’t think the car will make it through the week.”

  “Well…I want to help, but—”

  Heaven snorted. She tossed her phone into her purse and muttered to Layna. “Told you she wouldn’t do a damn thing.”

  “Wait!” I said. “Why didn’t you think I’d help? You know that I’d do anything for you.”

  “Would you? Now?” Heaven’s tone was too sharp for a girl I let copy from my homework all freshman year. “You don’t need us. Why would help out your so-called friends when you could sit up in your mansion and fuck your brother?”

  “Don’t you dare!” I groaned. “Look, I’ll do whatever I can, but you guys know my trust hasn’t kicked in yet. I don’t have the money.”

  “How do you afford the house?”

  “My dead father’s estate pays for the upkeep.” I gritted my teeth. “You really think I’d deny you guys? Well, Heaven, you can screw yourself, but you three…” I swallowed. Azariah, Layna, and Nikkole had the decency to look away. “When you said to come out tonight…you weren’t trying to help me with Professor Sweeten at all. You just wanted…money?”

  Heaven sipped her water. “Told ya’ll.”

  “Know what?” I dug through my purse and found two crumpled twenties. I tossed them on the table. “There. That’s everything I have on me. Divvy it up. I’ll sell off a fucking rug or something tomorrow. You can have whatever you need.”

  Azariah tossed her purse to Layna and tried to follow. “Shay, wait.”

  “I gotta go,” I said. “Thanks for the invite out, but I should get back to my brother.” I eyed Heaven. “Make sure he survived our fucking last night.”

  Yeah, that wasn’t a good thing to shout in a crowded restaurant. People stared, but I was too mad to be ashamed of my behavior.

  None of this made any sense. I didn’t do anything wrong. Did they really think I was flaunting my money by not flaunting how fortunate I was?

  Did they even know how ridiculous it felt to get my father’s fortune? It was random—like a lottery I didn’t enter. I hardly knew Dad, and what I remembered wasn’t great. He was a man who lost his temper with Momma most nights at dinner and a father who missed his child’s every recital, school function, and birthday.

  And maybe they were right. Maybe I shouldn’t have cared where the money came from.

  Except the ache in my heart was a loneliness that cash and investments couldn’t heal. Momma was gone. Dad had never been around. I had no real family, and my friends couldn’t understand just how deep the scars ran.

  Only one person ever saw through my pretense. He’d felt the same way, tried to comfort me, and was either my last bit of family or the beginning to a scary and exciting relationship.

  So why did I keep running from him? I wouldn’t blame him if he gave up on me. He asked for a chance to make something happen, moments beyond shamed nights when I needed comforted. He came to talk to me, and I hadn’t listened. I took what I needed and left.

  I wouldn’t do that to him again.

  Zach was either my step-brother, which made him family, or he was…

  I didn’t know what else he could be, but I hoped for something amazing.

  I drove home and braced myself for the relationship talk of all talks. Epic levels of mushy-stuff, heart-to-hearts, and every cliché the French ever discovered. My stomach twisted. This was the one conversation I couldn’t afford to mess up.

  I parked in the garage, checked my makeup, and hurried into the house. Zach wasn’t in the gym or theater. I dropped my purse on the kitchen counter. A bottle of aspirin overturned on the island. I tucked it in the cabinet.

  And froze.

  Two wine glasses rested in the sink.

  One smudged with the barest pink of lipstick.

  My heart knotted itself into a pretty little bow of innocence and naivety.

  Was I that much of an idiot?

  Her voice carried from the parlor. I didn’t know what I expected to find or why I didn’t just turn around and walk out of the estate.

  I rounded the corner into the parlor. Zach laughed on the couch—fully-clothed, a goddamned miracle. He spread his legs wide, and the pretty little blonde who owned the red Porsche sat on the coffee table. She smiled and patted his knee.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised, but my heart pounded itself into a million flaking pieces.

  It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since I hopped into his arms, and he was already sexing up some other little tart the instant I left the house?

&n
bsp; Her smile faded as she spied me in the doorway. She gestured to Zach.

  He turned, those striking green eyes capturing me in a wide-eyed blitz of panic.

  “Shay!” He swore. “I…didn’t know you were back.”

  Chapter Fifteen - Zach

  Son of a bitch.

  What was she doing home so early?

  “Shay.” I stood. “I thought you’d be out for a bit longer.”

  “Imagine that.”

  Shit.

  She was pissed, and her anger was another vice trying to crush my head from the inside.

  I called to her when she retreated from the room. “Shay, it’s not how it looks.”

  She tried to be mad, but her words trembled instead. Her lip quivered. Fuck. I’d kick my own ass for hurting her.

  “Save it,” she said. “I should have known better.”

  “Let me explain.”

  “There’s nothing to explain,” she said. “It’s not like…like we were…”

  Dating. Exclusive. Made for each other. Fucking perfect together.

  “Shay!”

  And she was gone. Storming upstairs.

  Why was she back so goddamned early?

  And how was I supposed to reveal who Gretchen was without fucking everything up?

  I groaned. I’d paint the bulls-eye on my ass now. Shay would kick me to the curb, and I didn’t want her aiming too low.

  “The little missus is jealous.” Gretchen leaned on the coffee table. It didn’t help that she was all fucking leg in the skin-tight cocktail dress she wore for the house-call. “I’m assuming you haven’t told her about me.”

  “What’s to tell?”

  Gretchen shrugged. “I’m always trying to drum up business.”

  “Stick around. She’s loading a shot gun. You can stitch me up.”

  She stood, tucking a blood-pressure cuff into her bag. “You’re lucky I like you, Zach. Please promise you’ll take care of yourself. No more working out for four hours a day.”

  “Two.”

  “Zach.”

  “Three and a half.”

  “You’re healing,” she said. “I know you refuse to believe it, but you aren’t one hundred percent healed yet. So use your brain and be glad it still works right.”