by Natalie Wrye
Or maybe it was just all a daydream—a piece, a fragmented part of the one that started the second I saw Brett Jackson again. Stepped into his shop. Smelled his cedar wood cologne.
Wearing his clothes before bed only made my nerves worse, turning my night into a nightmare, and at two in the morning, I slid into Brett’s bed, slipping beneath his expensive sheets. As I soaked in the scent of his sheets, my brain as cloudy as the sky, I wondered what it would be like to confide in my best friend, to tell her that of all of my worries… it’s her brother that’s the worst of them.
Not tomorrow. Or the day after. Not even the audition that brought me here to Manhattan.
Nothing but Brett.
Fortunately, I made it through the night, finally finding sleep somewhere around three. But the memories are back. When the last mover makes his way out of the small apartment, I flop back on my own bed, the one Brett bought for me, thinking his name… At last. And suddenly my fingers are floating between my legs, my teeth scraping the skin of my bottom lip. My body can’t help but to betray me, and it slides farther into Brett’s bought bed, squirming, my mind still stuck on last night, needing to relive it more than anything.
I’m swirling, circling, sinking into the past. My fingers do the same to the intricacies of my sex, and they find the edge of my new mattress, gripping. My heart hammering in a hectic rhythm as my fingers pulse, my body moves through the motions of what it was like to make love with Brett Jackson… years ago. I clench my eyes shut, feeling a sheen of sweat swath my body as my wetness squeezes around each digit, soaking my fingertips.
I climb towards my climax, Brett’s name working its way from my mind to my mouth. Everything below my waist quivers and just as my lips part to say the one word I haven’t allowed myself… I hear my front door open. My hands instantly freeze. I slide my ruffled skirt back down, fixing my top, as I rush to stand, my throat hoarse as I call out towards my closed bedroom door.
“Sophie?”
I wait several seconds before I hear a response. “Is that you, Elsie?”
I blink. Who else would it be? Was she expecting another roommate? God, I hope not. My ego can’t take another hit. I clear my throat.
“Yes, it’s me. Just, uh, getting dressed and ready. I’ll be out shortly.”
“Splendid!” she screeches in a high-pitched voice. “I’ll see you when you get out.”
I slink into the back bathroom, squeezing into my closet of a bathroom, grateful that I actually have one in my tiny bedroom. I strip out of my clothes, sending them across the floor before stepping into the scalding hot water, letting it beat my body—hormones and all—into submission, the steam soothing my aching senses. An ache that only one thing can fix. I try not to think about that one, scrubbing quickly, jumping out of the shower within six minutes. I towel off fast.
I slip into another skirt and camisole, my hair wild and crazy. In the foggy mirror inside my bedroom, I fluff the strands, separating them, noticing the inherent flush on my cheeks that refuses to leave. My lashes look longer than normal, my eyes still big from my experience on the bed. I flee from the wild-eyed woman in the glass, straightening my shoulders before reaching for my bedroom door, retching it open.
A dark-haired, hazel-eyed brunette turns to face me, and I am stunned by how gorgeous she is, her slender figure stalking towards me as soon as I walk out. Her irises seem unusually large and they expand as soon as they see me, their green-gold depths drawing me in.
“Oh my Gah!” she exclaims, a far cry from the curt “See-You-Next-Tuesday” she’d been on the phone all the times I tried to reach out to her. She rushes into me, her arms outstretched. They wrap around me, and I react reflexively, hugging her back, my mind touching on a million different thoughts as the glamazon in front of me crushes me into her thin body. She rubs my back with her hands. “It’s so good to meet you!”
I step back, smiling, my teeth threatening to crack with how tightly they’re clenched. I blink. “It’s, uh, really nice to meet you, too, Sophie.” My smile falters. “Finally.”
“Yes,” she hisses. “Yes. Of course. I’m so sorry about the mix-up. About all of it.” She grins again. “But I’m here now. Well,” she glances back towards the front door, “we’re here.”
My eyes crinkle at the corners. “We?”
“Yes.” She smiles, nodding slyly. “My boyfriend is right behind me. He had to check something in his BMW.” She says the sentence with a flounce, flipping a long curtain of black hair over her shoulder. My eyes fight the urge to roll, and before they can lose the internal war, a knock sounds at the front door and Sophie rushes towards it, her hands clapping together, and as she answers it, I head towards the fridge, wrapping my fingers around a beer bottle. I see tonight is going to call for a lot of alcohol.
“Elsie…” I hear Sophie sing from several feet away. “I’d love to introduce you to someone.”
I look up to find her arm wrapped in another. My gaze floats up to the face attached, and suddenly my body loses all feeling, the beer bottle in my hand dropping from my now-numb hand. My breath catches and I choke on the dry air, shock constricting around my throat and holding tight.
My head starts swimming. Fuck the beer. I need a brewery.
Because Sophie’s boyfriend—the gorgeous tattooed god on my new roommate’s arm—is none other than the man I just masturbated to. My dream. My nightmare. My savior. And my monster.
Brett fucking Jackson.
Chapter 15
BRETT
She thinks I'm a monster. And I don't blame her.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I'd been taking a slow tour up and down her legs, ready to lose between myself between them. And it's now, twenty-three hours later, that I'm meandering through her front door, another woman on my arm.
I'm the biggest dick in the world. And that's not a compliment.
If it helps my guilt... Elsie wont even look at me. Won't let me explain. I had no idea we were coming here.
At Marilyn and Reed’s insistence, I agreed to meet Sophie for early evening coffee, and somehow my stupid ass got suckered into stopping by her apartment for her to pick up her coat for a quick drink. I had no idea her new roommate would be here. Or would be Elsie.
It wasn’t until I was walking towards the already open doorway that Sophie had sauntered through that I realized the enormity of my fucking mistake and as I walked inside, swearing myself up and down mentally, the air inside the small apartment shifted, taking my heart with it.
Elsie turns towards me, and it feels as if an invisible fist is driven through my chest. She shakes my hand in greeting as if I were a stranger, and my heart sinks into my stomach, my body sick at the knowledge that I put such sadness into her brown eyes. Sophie, self-obsessed as she is, doesn't even notice the tangible tension, and she parades around the tiny bare apartment, pushing our "relationship" into Elsie's face.
Everything inside of me twists as I watch Elsie, hoping for just a peek. For her to meet my eye just once. But she won't. And I don't know how to tell her. To explain my "arrangement" with Reed Hutton.
And I don’t know if it makes me like less of an asshole. Or more.
I lean against the kitchen counter, imagining ways I can get Elsie alone when Sophie pipes up. She claps her hands together twice.
“I’ve just had a genius idea,” she exclaims to basically no one. “Why don't we go for a celebratory drink?”
Elsie's eyes widen with panic. And she glances from Sophie's face to the floor. “I don't know…” she mutters at last. “I still have a lot of unpacking to do and…”
My impulsiveness gets the best of me. I blurt out. “I think that's a great idea.”
Sophie whirls toward me. “You do?”
I glance at Elsie who hides behind her blonde hair. “Yes…” My voice trails. "I think it'd be a great chance to... talk. Get to know each other.”
I watch as Elsie's fists clench at her sides, and suddenly I'm eager for her to react. To
hug me. Hit me. I don't even care which. Just.. something. Anything but this reserved robot she's suddenly become.
I push at her buttons even more, praying I won't break them. “What do you think?” I turn. “Elsie?”
She finally glances up, her earthy eyes intense and focused. She fixes them on my face, and her stare sears me, splitting me into two. There she is. My fiery Elsie Carpenter. I know with every ounce in me that after her... I will never be the same. Hell, I have never been the same. Not since seven years ago.
Our gazes clash and electricity sparks in the air, filled with anger. Dread. Desire. A toxic mix of emotions that I couldn't explain even if I wanted to.
Sophie breaks the silence. “Great!” she shouts. “Elsie, you can pick the place.” She strides towards the front door, her hazel eyes unusually wide. “Shall we?”
Chapter 16
ELSIE
“Elsie!” Violet shouts over the loud speakers, heading in my direction. “Holy shit. I never thought you'd show up!”
I grin with a grimace. “Me neither.”
“This place is packed!” she continues to scream. “But there's space over at this end of the bar. I'll show you.” She turns on her heel, heading from where she came, a bounce in her high-heeled step, a shocking pep in her demeanor that I haven't seen until now.
At least that makes one of us.
I can feel Sophie Santellini at my back, can sense her long lithe figure. With black hair almost to her waist and a beautiful face, the long-legged woman who just talked my ear off in the longest taxi ride of my life doesn't just walk; she struts, and I can sense every head turn as she passes, her perfect clothes and even more perfect body drawing the attention of every man, woman and under-age child in this overcrowded Irish pub.
I should have never come here.
But it was the first place I thought of when put on the spot. And now that I'm here—excuse me—we're here, I'm almost hating myself for being so stupid, Sophie Santellini for being so perfect and Brett Jackson for being the prick that I always knew he was.
He had left me before. But then it was just physical, taking off to New York. This time? It was so much worse. He'd spent his days in my head and his nights in another's arms.
I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could make the pain in my chest disappear when Violet whirls towards me, pushing blonde-haired Hercules—built and broad—towards me, her smile bright as she slaps a hand on his arm, watching my eyes widen. They both grin.
“Elsie Carpenter,” she turns to the tall man at her side. “Meet Derek Hansley. Derek,” she winks in my direction. “Meet Elsie.”
“Decepticon”-built Derek looks at me. With a deceptively gentle hand, he grabs my own, raising it to his lips. He smiles as he bends at the waist. “A pleasure to meet you, Elsie.” He kisses the skin above my knuckles, and despite the fact that the man in front of me is built like a Transformer and probably bred to remove panties the world over, I feel nothing. No attraction. No pitter-patter in my girly parts. A fact that terrifies me.
I grin back at him, nodding. “Great to meet you, too.”
I step aside, making space for the goddess behind me. “Violet, Derek: Meet my new roommate, Sophie Santellini.”
Sophie steps forward. “Enchanted.” She shakes their hands.
I make even more room, careful not to touch the jerk just feet away who won't stop staring. I raise a hand, motioning towards his wide chest. “And this is her boyfriend…” I mentally choke over his name. "Brett Jackson."
Violet never misses a beat. Without blinking, she steps forward, taking Brett's hand, her blue eyes alive with some sentiment I can't pinpoint. Her smile is wide.
“Brett.” She grasps his hand. "Nice to meet you."
Brett returns her stare, just as cool. “Nice to meet you too.”
Violet smiles. “Ya know, you're the second Brett I've ever met.” She tilts her head. “Hope you're better than the last.” She laughs lightly, pulling him into her with a whisper. “’Cause he was a fucking dick.”
Brett blinks, his stare slanting ever so slightly. Silence stretches between them and before the moment can grow tense, a wicked glint grows in his blue-green eyes. Surprising me more than ever, he leans forward, his tousled hair falling, his woodsy scent overwhelming my sense. I watch as he licks his lips... and actually grins. He pumps Violet's hand ever so gently.
His voice is a quiet rumble. “Let me tell you a little secret... Rumor has it that this second Brett isn't much different.”
Chapter 17
ELSIE
“So, are you gonna poison his whiskey or should I?”
Violet nudges my elbow at the bar. The brick-built walls of what we now consider “our” Irish pub are packed from end to end with every drunk Manhattanite in the city. Or maybe it just seems that way.
One of the only places I know in this city is too damned crowded and it's not just because the man who kissed me last night—who loved and licked at my body and made me come—is here with his beautiful girlfriend, looking like two perfect wedding cake-toppers.
We really are at capacity. And the congestion drives me to drink. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I tell myself to stop, but I take another shot, slipping another ounce of tequila down my throat, the inherent bite making my entire tongue burn. I cough, squeezing my eyes shut as I swallow.
Violet slaps my back, her touch sharp and quick. “Good girl.”
I scoff, placing the glass back on the bar. “There was nothing good about that.”
“Sure it was.” She quirks one pretty red brow. “It’s keeping your mind off Mr. Dickhead, isn’t it?” She finishes the rest of her glass, scrunching her face before taking a squeeze from her lime. She licks her lips. “You should forget about the prick. Go ahead and have some fun. Dance.” She looks over into the corner of the bar. “You should dance with Derek.”
I turn, glancing over my shoulder. “You mean the blond Hulk?”
She laughs. “He’s nice. And handsome. And he’ll make that Brett of yours extremely jealous.”
I exhale. “Well, first things first. Brett is not ‘mine’ as you can see.”
Violet smiles wide. “Perfect then. Because Derek’s coming over here right now.”
I swallow another sip of my drink, coughing. “What?”
Violet whirls, turning her back to me, and as she does, I feel a heavy presence behind me, the smell of a spicy, smoky scent slamming into my nostrils. I spin on my heel to find the blond Hulk staring down at me, his blue eyes smiling down into my face. He pushes a chest that’s as wide as I am tall towards me, and I try not to back up.
“You look like you might be thirsty.”
I look back at the thousands of empty tequila glasses on the bar, shaking my head. “No, I, uh… I think I’ve taken care of my thirst a long time ago.” I glance into the corner of the packed pub and my eyes discover Brett back there, standing in front of an overly excited Heath, his hard eyes glaring at me and the Hulk. My heart slams at the look of pure fury in his stare, a glower that taints his blue and green eyes with envy.
I turn towards Hulk, taking in his kind blue eyes. “I’ll take a dance, though,” I say to the tall, towering man.
His large lips spread over perfect white teeth. “More than happy to oblige.” He takes my hand, leading away. He parts the crowd gently like the Red Sea, and as we sway towards the dance floor, I can feel the fire of Brett’s eyes on my back, burning—a fitting feeling, especially when it seems that everything I touch is slowly turning to ash.
The lime of the edge of my glass is tart. But the taste of regret on my tongue is even more bitter.
I regret ever touching Brett Jackson, ever allowing him into my life.
Anger and sadness together are a crueler concoction than whatever was in my tequila glass, and I’m suddenly glad I imbibed all three, using them to push away the impulse to scream at him, to cry and shout and beat my fists against his brick chest.
That impulse was stronge
r than the alcohol. But I knew I couldn’t.
Brett Jackson never belonged to me. Never could.
Because there was a special Hell for people who kissed, touched and lusted after their best friends’ brothers. And wherever that Hell was, I was definitely going.
BRETT
Hell had found me and taken ahold.
It’s impossible to get Elsie alone in this crowded pub, and with her redheaded friend shooting fire from her eyes and the blond Stallone-wannabe blocking my path to her, I lose her to the dance floor, my eyes flying over the crowd—scanning, skimming, searching. For her.
The words “Fuck it” find my teeth and I’m two seconds from leaving Heath when Marilyn squeezes through the mass of people in the pub, swinging her arms around me. She hugs me with a smile.
“Hey, hero!” she shouts, her red lips parting to reveal a ravishing smile. “You are going to be such a superstar. I am so, so proud of you.”
Heath turns, taking his attention away from whatever half-drunk blonde is on his arm. His gaze bounces between us.
“Proud of him for what?” My business partner leans in, not bothering to mind his business. I roll my eyes.
“Didn’t Mr. TV star tell you? He’s going to be the new star of Reed Hutton’s new show ‘Tattoo Gods.’”
Heath swallows the gulp of whiskey he was guzzling, nearly choking. His eyes widen. “You took it without telling me?”
I sigh. “I meant to. I really did.” I cross my arms. “I wanted to pass on that fuck-shit of a show, but two million dollars could turn our franchise into a reality, and I…”
“I’m not talking about that,” Heath interrupts, swinging his whiskey towards me. “I’m just saying that I could have gotten us more than ‘two million.’ I know how money works, ya fucker.”