by Layla Frost
“Don’t finish that sentence, Steph. There’s more.” I shook my head. “Shit, I’m not getting into the details of my sex life with my sister.”
“Well, thank God for that. This is a mess as it is, I don’t need mental scarring.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “She’s pretty. Her hair was a little big and her makeup was a bit much, but if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“She works at a bar,” I half-lied.
“Oh, that explains it.” She grabbed another crab rangoon from the bag and ripped at it, popping the pieces in her mouth as she stared off. After a minute, with a full mouth, her eyes darted to mine and she mumbled something. She held up a finger and downed some wine before trying again. “Was this the girl you were mooning over months ago when we were at dinner?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I outright lied, though I had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting away with it.
“Yes, you do. She was on a date! Was it with this same kid? You growled when he kissed her.”
“Have I told you lately that having a lawyer for a sister is annoying?”
“Yeah, you said that when I called you out on lying to mom a couple weeks ago about why you couldn’t make dinner. And I’ll remember that next time you have a speeding ticket that needs to disappear.” Her glare softened. “Still, Damey, that girl is pretty but clearly young. Which, you obviously know, being her professor and all. It doesn’t matter why she was here because nothing’s changed. You backed off to protect her. Maybe her and him are for the best.”
All Steph’s points were valid.
Eden was still my student. I was still a controlling dick, asshole, and whatever other multitude of names she’d likely called me.
Crosby was a good kid who followed her like a loyal puppy. He’d worship her.
I’d break her.
And it was true, nothing had changed.
Because I hadn’t truly backed off.
And I’d never let her go.
Chapter Sixteen
* * *
Mental Mirror
Eden
“I’m drunk,” I declared, laughing as I looked up at Brooks.
“You are. I think you drank half the liquor cabinet.”
I tried to look as offended as I could while swaying. “Hey, I paid my share for it.”
Brooks raised his brows. At least I thought it was both of them. His swoopy hair blocked the left one. “Eden, you made it rain dollar bills all over the living room.”
“Exactly. I paid my share.” I climbed into his bed, drunk and… not happy.
Numb.
Pretending.
No, no.
Acting.
That sounded better.
And I’d had a lifetime to perfect my craft, so even though it was fake, I was so good at it, I could allow myself to pretend it was real. My life was a TV show, and I was getting sucked in even though it was a sham.
“You were so entertaining tonight, I don’t think anyone cared if you paid or not.”
I smiled at him before turning serious. “Do you want me to go home?”
“Do you want to?”
Shaking my head, I tried to phrase things correctly, which was hard with no filter. “With the whole… Before…”
“I know we aren’t gonna happen. I knew that long ago. I’m not hanging out with you to get into your pants.”
“I do like you,” I emphasized.
“I know, I know. It’s not me, it’s you. You think of me like a brother. You lost my number.”
“Nooo,” I drawled dramatically, getting up on my knees so I was eye level with him standing next to the bed. “It’s just—”
“I’m kidding.” His boyish smile faded. “Inside and out, Eden, you’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever met. Going for you was like shooting for the stars, so I can handle the rejection.” He cupped my cheek. “I can’t take the pity, though.”
“Sorry, I swear, I don’t pity you. I just don’t want to hurt you.” In my first bit of realness since I’d arrived, I shared, “My life is a mess.”
“I’m a big boy. You were upfront with me early on, and I know where we stand. You don’t have to worry, okay, gorgeous?”
God, he’s a good guy.
Way better than the asshole who’s probably in bed with the bombshell brunette.
I wonder if she’s the same brunette he was with at the restaurant when I went with Brooks…
My own anger and hurt melded with the unsurmountable rage that stemmed from the sacred sisterhood-bond.
Has he been spending all this time toying with me while he has a girlfriend?
Or a wife?
I fought back the crushing wave of nausea and jealousy. Had I been sober, I may have driven back, confronted him, ratted him out to his boo, and then teamed up with her to kick him in the junk until it fell off.
But alcohol had managed to soothe the wrathful beast in me, acting more as an upper than a depressant.
Dropping to my ass, I stored my rage away for another day.
“I’m gonna crash on the couch,” Brooks said, taking a step away.
“No, that’s not fair. I’ll move to the couch.” I scooched over. “Or we can share the bed.”
“You sure?”
If I didn’t count work—which I definitely did not—shared personal space and physical contact were both things I wasn’t used to. Hugs and other forms of affection were in short supply growing up. The first time my friend Ashley’s mom had hugged me, I’d gone still as a statue. I hadn’t missed the sadness in her eyes she’d tried to mask, but I also hadn’t understood it.
But drunk and sad and numb and pretending, I found myself craving a hug. Comfort.
Scooching over, I flopped down and rolled my million-pound head to look at him. “I’m good. Really.”
After turning out the light, Brooks climbed in and laid on his back, staying as far to the side as he could without falling off.
I may have been drunk, but even I picked up on the tension emanating from him.
A few silent minutes ticked by before I heard a rustle. He must’ve turned toward me, because his breath fanned my face when he asked, “Do you, umm, want to cuddle?”
Just pull me to you, dammit.
Like when—
I was grateful for the darkness when my face twisted into a nasty sneer of disgust. At Professor Caine. But mostly at myself.
Why am I so fucked-up?
Way too drunk to even attempt that kind of existential crisis, I rolled to the side and put my head on Brooks’ chest.
Once I was settled, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. His palm moved soothingly along my upper arm.
“Night, Brooks,” I whispered, placing my hand on his stomach as I curled closer.
He continued stroking my arm, and with my hand placement, I could feel the way his muscles moved with the motion. Absentmindedly, I began rubbing along his abs, fascinated by the way the hard ridges bounced and tightened under my palm.
So absorbed in what I considered to be a very scientific study, it took me a minute to realize his path had changed, his hand trailing from the top of my arm down my back and then up again. His heart pounded in my ear—no longer a calm beat.
My chest tightened with teasing anticipation. It wasn’t sizzle or crackle, but I didn’t care.
Sizzle and crackle came before an explosion. And explosions hurt.
They fucking killed.
Filled with a giddy lightness that was far safer than sizzle or crackle, I copied his change. Starting at the top of his abs, I slowly ran my palm down to stop below his belly button—low enough that I grazed the waistband of his basketball short and the rough hair that tickled my palm. I only paused for a moment before returning.
His heavy breathing mixed with the even heavier pounding of his heart as we continued the same pattern. After a few more strokes, his path lengthened again, his hand rounding the curve of my ass.
Keeping with ou
r game, I trailed my hand down and barely passed his waistband before freezing.
What the hell am I doing?
Shame and a surprising amount of guilt replaced the giddy lightness that’d filled me.
Just as I was about to move my hand back up, Brooks’ fingers lightly encircled my wrist. Removing my hand from him altogether, he rolled to face me. “My dick is gonna hate me for this, but you’re drunk. As much as I want this, we can’t.”
He was right.
Even if I was sober, taking things any further was a bad idea. My life was a mess, and that included my emotions when it came to a certain asshole professor. Brooks wasn’t a consolation prize.
He was a great guy…
He just wasn’t my great guy.
Knowing that and sleeping with him anyway would make me a selfish bitch. There were enough negative adjectives I called myself. I didn’t want to add to them.
“I think it might be better if I went home,” I whispered to his chest.
“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”
“I’ll order an Uber.”
He shook his head as he released his hold on me. “I only had a couple beers before you got here.”
I thought back to the night and realized he was right. He hadn’t had a drink since I’d gotten there. I, however, had drunk enough for the both of us.
He stopped to take care of me.
“I’ll give you a ride,” he continued, “and have one of the guys follow in your car.”
“You don’t—”
He pulled his tee back on and shook his head. “I’m not letting you take an Uber in the middle of the night. I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt.”
Involuntarily, the image of being bent over Professor Caine’s lap filled my head. Phantom pain radiated across my ass at the vivid memory.
One guy doesn’t want me hurt.
One wants to be the one to hurt me.
And I really want him to.
The admittance, even in my head, was enough to shake me. Sober me. It was the closest I’d gotten to peeking into the mental mirror I hadn’t wanted to face.
Ever.
*******
“Have a good night?”
A yelp escaped me as I whipped around.
Professor Caine was stretched out on my bed, his hands behind his head and his ankles crossed. He looked casual, as if he often rested there. As if his long, built body didn’t look ridiculous on my twin mattress.
“What’re you doing? How did you get in here? Are you crazy?” I was pretty sure I’d shrieked the last part, but I couldn’t be certain over the deafening pounding of my heart.
“Have a good night?” he repeated, offering no answers or explanation.
After Brooks had dropped me off, I’d crept in quietly, not wanting to wake Tonia. When I’d gotten into my bedroom, I hadn’t even noticed him there as I’d moved to empty my pockets on my dresser.
If this was a horror movie, I’d be dead after the couple hooking up at makeout peak but well before the person who goes down into the basement to investigate the random noises.
My heartbeat slowed just enough for me to speak. “I did. Why’re you here?”
“Because you didn’t answer my calls or texts.”
“To a normal person, that’d indicate someone doesn’t want to talk to them.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not a normal person.”
I had noticed. And so had all the buzzing nerve endings in my body.
“And neither are you,” he rumbled, his insightfulness tugging at the cover that blocked my mind’s mirror.
I turned away in a desperate attempt to hide all my truths, lies, and secrets. Emptying my pockets, I waded through the thick, dense fog of alcohol and exhaustion so I could deal with the insanity that was my life.
So wrapped up in the impossible task, I hadn’t noticed Professor Caine had moved until his warm breath warmed the back of my neck, causing an eruption of goosebumps to spread across my skin, tightening my nipples. His fingers skimmed down my spine, a shiver following the trail.
Grabbing my hip, he twisted me to face him. He bent to kiss my collarbone, his lips barely making contact before he pulled away suddenly. Danger emanated from him, filling the small space and stealing the air. Even in the lowlight, I could see the barely contained storm in his thunderous eyes. Disgust twisted his expression. “You reek of him, liquor, and horny desperation. What’d you do, Eden?”
I pushed my shoulders back in a forced display of bravado. “That’s none of your business.”
“Wrong. What did you do?” he bit out, each word a sharp staccato.
“I already told you, it’s none of your business.”
“Did you let Crosby fuck you?”
“I know you’re smart, so what part of this aren’t you getting?” I snapped. “It’s not your business who I sleep with.”
His fingers laced through my hair, fisting the strands. “Answer me. Did you let him fuck you? Did you let him touch what’s mine?” he roared.
“Nothing is yours,” I screamed back.
“I want to prove you wrong so damn bad.” His face dipped to mine, his lips so close, I could almost feel them.
I wanted to feel them.
My breath caught, my lids fluttered closed, and I leaned forward, about to lift onto my toes.
But his hold on my hair tightened, tugging at my scalp in a not entirely unpleasant way.
Opening my eyes, I saw nothing but coldness in his as he released me, leaving me off-balanced—physically and emotionally.
“I can’t even stand to be in the same room with you right now.” Without another word, he turned and strode out.
By the time I got my bearings enough to follow, I caught up in time to see the door close. He hadn’t slammed it, but the sound still seemed to echo around me. Or maybe just in my head.
Gripping the knob, I wanted to throw it open and yell some more. To tell him to leave me the hell alone. To scream that I hoped I never saw him again. To vow to hate him until the day I died.
To demand the kiss his lips had promised before he’d cruelly snatched it away.
I turned the lock and put my back to the cool wood of the door. Dropping my head back, I slid to the floor and wrapped my arms around my bent legs.
Well…
Tonight could’ve gone better.
I choked out a laugh even as I blinked back tears.
Chapter Seventeen
* * *
Marionette Strings
Eden
“My sister,” I heard as I closed the curtain.
I turned and looked at Professor Caine. “Either I missed the first part of that sentence, or you just said the creepiest thing I’ve heard during a dance. And that would be saying something.”
“Yesterday. That was my sister.”
“Sure it was.” I stood with my arms crossed, not bothering to undress.
“Her name’s Stephanie. We have the same hair color, but she gets her brown eyes from my dad. She’s two years older. When I was born, she couldn’t say my name, that’s why she calls me Damey. Well, that and she knows it annoys me. She’s a lawyer—”
I held my hand up. “Okay, okay, I believe you.”
My tone was casual, but I couldn’t ignore the relief flowing through me, loosening my shoulders.
“And while I’m clarifying things, I never got a lap dance from that… jewelry woman.”
“Platinum?” I waved my hand. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, she wouldn’t shut up about the sexy man who just wanted to talk,” I emphasized with more than a little snark.
“Come home with me, and we’ll talk now,” he said, more order than request. His strong jaw was clenched, his muscles tight. He watched me with eyes that were neither dull nor disinterested.
Gesturing around us, I shook my head. “I can’t.”
He stood and approached, stopping before we touched. “You can.”
<
br /> That hidden part of me—dark and wrong—flared to life at his unyielding tone. It pulled at me, begging me to obey.
Which was why I turned and walked from the room, leaving before I could make a mistake.
I’d barely made it three steps when a regular stopped me and pulled me into conversation.
There was a rustle behind me followed by a wave of heat and anger and danger when Damien hit my back. He barely touched me, but just the graze of his fingertips along my skin was enough to steal my breath.
Although I had no clue what he was saying, I continued smiling and nodding at my regular as I watched Professor Caine out of the corner of my eye. Only when he’d slammed out the exit did I subtly reach back to feel the crisp, folded bill in my waistband.
A tip for a dance I hadn’t given.
But I wasn’t stupid enough to think it was free money. Everything had strings attached—including me.
Especially me.
Because I was a marionette…
And that very bad part of me wanted to hand Damien Caine my strings.
*******
Damien
“Did you fuck him?”
Eden’s eyes widen before narrowing to glare at me.
I bit back a smile.
She’d spent the entirety of Monday’s class with her mask in place, not even looking at me when she’d answered a question. I’d spent the entirety of class seeing her as she’d been a few nights prior—with wild hair and his scent on her. My anger and jealousy had grown, demanding action.
Since Ceaders was out for the day, I’d suggested we use the time following class to discuss her independent study work. We’d spent over a half hour reviewing her progress, but she’d remained guarded and wary, her mask never slipping.
A mask I was determined to remove and destroy.
Patience and civility had gotten me nowhere—it was time for a new tactic.
Which was why I repeated, “Did you fuck him?”