Just Love

by Prescott Lane

  JUST LOVE

  by

  PRESCOTT LANE

  Copyright © 2019 Prescott Lane

  Nook Edition

  Cover design by Michele Catalano Creative

  Cover image from Shutterstock by Dean Drobot

  Editing by Nikki Rushbrook

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Rose Icon made by Freepik from www.flaticon.com is licensed by CC 3.0 BY

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Part Two

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  PRESENT DAY

  RHETT

  I’m a good liar. Always have been. I could convince my mom I didn’t eat that cookie before dinner with a single look. The dog ate my homework actually worked for me.

  My lies were always meant to help myself. Never to hurt anyone else.

  But the best lies I tell—those I reserve for myself.

  The lies we tell ourselves are the most important we tell. You can lie to your boss, your partner, your friends—keep things to yourself, not share the whole truth. You want the day off, so you phone in sick when you’re not. You say you’ll call somebody, knowing you won’t. Conveniently forget that party you were supposed to go to, but didn’t really want to attend. The list is endless.

  All those are crappy, but it’s the lies we tell ourselves that define us, hold us hostage, give us excuses for doing what we do.

  Those are the lies that keep up the facade. The ones that keep our lives going. The lies I tell myself—those are the tape holding everything in place, and once you start to pick at it, it can all unravel.

  She’s better off. That’s what I tell myself.

  Ass in the chair, fingers tapping my leg, my eyes burn a hole in my phone. It’s the same every day. Every day since she left. Correction, every day since I forced her out of my life. Every day, I fight the same damn fight.

  Call her.

  Don’t call her.

  Falling in love is easy. Holding on to that love—well, that’s the real bitch.

  There’s two sides to every love story. The how you fell in love, and the how you fell apart.

  CHAPTER ONE

  EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO

  I can’t remember not loving you.

  A. Rose

  RHETT

  “There are women you should never, ever have sex with: your boss’ girlfriend, your secretary, a married woman, your friend’s ex, but the holy grail of women you should never screw is your best friend’s baby sister.”

  I look at Sadie, my golden retriever mix, for confirmation, but she simply licks my hand. “I’m a total lunatic,” I say, giving her a good scratch behind the ears.

  Ainsley is off limits. There are lines you don’t cross, and fucking your best friend’s little sister is one of them. But all I’ve been able to think about since I heard she was moving back to Charleston was the way she looked last time I saw her, her strawberry blonde hair flowing, her bright smile, and blue eyes.

  No matter how much I scold myself, tell myself it’s wrong, I know I’m thinking about her way too much. She’s a beautiful woman. I’m a healthy, red-blooded man. It’s just physical. That’s it.

  Bullshit.

  Fucking lie.

  Sometimes it’s best to lie. Like now.

  The lie of the day is: Ainsley’s sexy as hell, and my dick knows it. That’s all this is.

  Yep, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

  And now she’s back in town, living one floor below me in her brother’s old place. Brody’s condo and mine have the exact same layout. Two bedrooms connected by an open concept kitchen and living area. The only difference is, mine is one floor higher. Located in one of those great old buildings that used to be a chocolate factory or something before its conversion, it’s been a perfect setup, walking distance to our vet clinic right off the historic district in Charleston.

  But a few weeks ago, he and Skye bought their dream house and moved in together. They’re only here now to celebrate Ainsley’s move to Charleston.

  I’m completely screwed. God has a sick sense of humor sometimes. I am literally living right on top of her, which is exactly where I want to be—on top of her naked, making her moan, screaming out my name, her nails digging down my back, until her legs are trembling and . . . Jesus Christ, I have to stop this.

  Slipping on a pair of shorts, I head out of my condo toward the elevator. “Come on, Sadie.”

  “Little sister, little sister, little sister,” I repeat over and over again, drilling it into my thick skull, tugging at my hair.

  The elevator doesn’t move slow enough for my dick to understand that I’m supposed to think of Ainsley as my little sister, not my next screw. For God’s sake, I’ve known her for well over ten years, since I met Brody, her brother, our freshman year in college. Ainsley was only around twelve at the time, still flat-chested, wearing braces. Oh, how times have changed.

  Standing outside Brody’s door—well, I guess it’s Ainsley’s door now—I close my eyes then look down at Sadie. “Little sister,” I tell her one more time, opening the door.

  “It’s about time,” Brody says as his fiancé Skye hops up off his lap.

  They are the ideal couple. Everyone envies them. They’ve been dating since undergrad, and Brody finally asked Skye to marry him. The wedding is just around the corner. Not sure what took him so long. Aside from one brief breakup while we were in veterinary school, they’ve been inseparable. Skye is like a sister to me.

  “Nice date,” Brody teases, cocking his head to Sadie. “Best looking woman I’ve seen you with in a long time.” I affectionately flip him the bird. “Sadie’s the longest relationship you’ve ever had with a woman. In fact, she might be the only woman in your life besides your mommy.”

  Brody’s right about that. And it’s by design. Settling down, getting married, not something I’ve ever looked for. College, vet school, starting our own clinic—that’s been the pri
ority for me. Besides, I prefer to keep things carefree with women. I’m only thirty-one. I grab Skye, easily twirling her petite body around and dipping her. “What about this fine little thing?”

  “What about me?” Ainsley asks, coming out of the bedroom, wearing tiny black shorts, knee high socks, and a fitted Atlanta Braves t-shirt. Her hair is on top of her head in a messy bun. She’s the whole package—blue eyes, that strawberry blonde hair, funny, smart, curves for days, and an ass that is so perfect that it’s almost obscene.

  Little sister, little sister, little sister.

  “A. Rose!” I say as she wraps her arms around my neck, going in for a full-frontal hug. Having her tits pressed against my chest isn’t helping, but Christ, she smells good.

  “When are you going to stop calling me that?” she asks, her bottom lip pouting out just slightly. I shouldn’t be noticing that, but if it keeps my eyes on her face and not her gorgeous tits, then I figure it’s the lesser of two evils.

  “It’s your name,” I say simply. “A” is her first initial, and “Rose” is their last name. It just fits her and has stuck.

  Ainsley bends down to pat Sadie, who has rolled over on her back, panting heavily in demand for Ainsley to pay her some attention. Ainsley looks up at me from under her lashes, and I hope I don’t start panting, having her on her knees right in front of me.

  “Game’s on,” Brody announces, turning up the television for the Braves game, and pulling Skye down onto his lap. “Beer’s in the fridge.”

  Ainsley looks over at Skye and her brother smiling at each other. Skye fits perfectly in his lap. They look so in love, their brown eyes gazing at each other. I hear Ainsley sigh wistfully. She catches my eye for a second then gets up, taking a seat on a chair, and pats it for Sadie to jump up with her.

  “No dogs on the furniture,” Brody says.

  “You don’t live here anymore,” Ainsley says, patting Sadie with even more affection.

  “Don’t be such a hard ass,” I say to her brother then pat the chair, too, encouraging Sadie. “She’s older now. She has arthritis.”

  I still remember the day I found Sadie. It was Freshman year of undergrad. At the time, I thought I was going to be an attorney like my dad, so I was taking a criminal justice class. One of the class requirements was to do a police ride along. We got a call about some disturbance in a trailer park on the outskirts of Charleston. I wasn’t supposed to get out of the car, but I was eighteen and thought I knew best. Turned out in this case, I did. In the middle of an old tire, I found the saddest, skinniest runt of a puppy whimpering as she cuddled next to her dead mother. She was so small at the time I don’t think she could’ve gotten herself out of the tire. I picked her up, smuggled her into my dorm, and managed to keep her hidden there for the rest of the year. Feeding her with bottles and taking care of her made me want to be a vet.

  Ainsley Eskimo kisses my dog. Lucky bitch. “You’re still my sweet puppy-wuppy, aren’t you, girl?” Sadie’s normally flopping ear sticks straight up in the air.

  “Boner,” Skye calls out.

  “What?” I turn toward her, afraid my own dick is showing.

  “Sadie’s got an ear boner,” Skye says, laughing.

  “She’s a girl,” Ainsley says, flopping Sadie’s ear back down. “You’ve been a nurse at the fertility clinic too long. Now you’re imagining boners.”

  Brody’s eyes flip to Ainsley. “Watch your mouth.”

  Brody may be my best friend, but the dude rides his sister way too hard. Ainsley is the sweetest looking girl you’d ever see, but she can hold her own. She has a bit of wild child in her, although she doesn’t come out to play very often. I could do something about that.

  I know Brody means well. They lost their parents our senior year of undergrad.—house fire over Christmas break, leaving Brody the sole caretaker for Ainsley, who was only fifteen at the time. I’ll never forget that phone call—my best friend in tears. Guys don’t cry, especially in front of one another. I drove through the night to get to him. Brody wasn’t just my college roommate, but my best friend. We are like brothers. So there was no question that I would stand by him during that tragedy, even if that meant moving his little sister into our college bachelor pad. I wasn’t going to let him leave school, move home. We had plans. The vet clinic was one of them. I made a promise to him. Skye did, too. The three of us would help him raise Ainsley. And we did. So, Ainsley isn’t just my best friend’s little sister. She’s so much more.

  “Seriously, Brody, I spent my teenage years with you and Rhett. Every morning for years, I was greeted with morning wood,” Ainsley says.

  Skye elbows Brody in the side. She and I are constantly reminding him not to be so overbearing. He stills sees Ainsley as that teenage girl who cried herself to sleep for weeks after their parents died. He protects her with the love of a brother, but also the love of a mother and father. Most of the time, Ainsley lets it slide. They’re all they have left of their “real” family, so he can take it to the extreme. Another reason for me not to touch his little sister.

  I see Brody glaring at her, and Ainsley glares right back. Time to help her out.

  “How was your drive in from Atlanta?” I ask, motioning around the condo which is littered with boxes and huge plastic containers. “What’s all this stuff?”

  “Beads, lace, fabrics,” Ainsley says.

  “You must have hit every estate sale on your drive in,” Brody says.

  Ainsley is wicked smart, scored a perfect thirty-six on her ACT. I credit myself for helping her through Honors Biology II. But beyond being book smart, she’s got a creative side to match. She designs wedding dresses for a living. Her creativity and brains earned her a full scholarship to the Savannah College of Art and Design. It was hard for Brody to let her go away to school, but ultimately knew it was best for Ainsley. Before moving back to Charleston, Ainsley’s been working in Atlanta. Her dream is to own her own shop. She loves to take beading and lace from vintage dresses, and use them in her work. No one designs dresses like her. She hand-stitches every bead herself.

  “I can’t wait for you to get started on my dress,” Skye says.

  “I’ve already got some things sketched out,” Ainsley says.

  Wedding dress talk? That’s my cue for a beer, getting up to grab some cold ones out of the refrigerator. I take out three and hand one to Brody. I offer one to Skye, but she shakes her head. “Still trying to lose those last five pounds before the wedding,” she says.

  I roll my eyes. Skye is always on some sort of diet. In the years that I’ve known her, she’s been every size under the sun, but Brody loves her no matter what. I hold out the beer to Ainsley, who takes it with a smile.

  “Thanks, Rhett,” Ainsley says.

  Brody’s eyes dart to me. “Don’t give her . . .”

  Ainsley’s in her mid-twenties. Brody is really overdoing it today. “Sorry, I forgot. Can I see your ID, miss?” I snark. Ainsley busts out into a huge laugh, popping her top and taking a long sip, smacking her lips for good measure.

  “Got to love a woman who likes beer,” I say then bite the corner of my mouth, realizing that was a slip of the tongue.

  Skye elbows Brody again—harder this time. “Sorry, sis,” Brody says, and Ainsley throws him a smile.

  That smile. Her smile could melt any guy’s heart. I want her to smile at me like that. To make her smile like that.

  I try not to stare at her, but the combination of her shorts and those knee-high socks has me struck stupid. I can’t help myself. It doesn’t hurt to look, right? Truthfully, she isn’t dressed provocatively. She looks more like a college girl, but the curve of her neck seems to call to me. The way her lips linger on the bottle is driving me crazy. Something about the way she moves makes me unable to concentrate.

  “Where’s the pitching? You call that a slider!” Ainsley scolds the television. Skye looks at her like she’s an alien. “What? I spent my formative years with these two,” Ainsley says, pointing to m
e and Brody.

  “We raised her right,” Brody says, raising his beer to me.

  “Beer and baseball,” Skye says, smiling at Ainsley. “And a wedding dress designer. Interesting combo.”

  “That should be my personal ad. Hopeless romantic who likes beer and baseball . . .”

  “What personal ad?” Brody asks.

  “You better not be on some dating app,” I add, a wave of heat shooting over my body. “I don’t want to hear about you swiping right!”

  “She was kidding,” Skye says, smacking us both this time. “Ainsley, I don’t know how you survived being raised by us.”

  “The Three Stooges,” Ainsley says. “I laughed a lot. And snuck around.”

  “Don’t tease your brother,” Skye says. “He may have a heart attack. And I’d like to finally walk down the aisle after over ten years together.”

  Ainsley smiles again. She’s one of those people that smiles easily. Even after all the pain in her life, smiling is as natural as breathing to her. Smiling while hurting is a talent she and I have in common, only she does it to make the world a better place, and I do it to keep the world from looking too closely.

  The truth is, Ainsley was a good kid. Living with two twenty-one-year-old guys couldn’t have been easy, but it was often funny. Thank God, Skye had been there to provide a female influence. Brody was the hard ass. And I was the fun, laid-back one, who protected her from Brody. The three of us are bonded for life over raising Ainsley. My parents were a big part of the process, too. Brody and Ainsley became a feature at all my family gatherings. My parents love them both.

  Ainsley went to high school while we finished college and vet school. The day Ainsley left for college was bittersweet. I went from seeing her every day to only seeing her on the holidays, and somewhere in between all that, she went from being a girl to a woman, at least for me.

  Brody and I opened our vet clinic in Charleston, and Skye became a nurse at a fertility clinic. Life just moved on, no longer about who was carpooling Ainsley, who could help with her calculus homework, or teach her how to drive.