War Hope: War Series Book Two

by Nicole Lynne

  "Fuckhole?" Kyan asks, turning around with a shit-eating grin. "I swear, treacle, we're soulmates." He brushes his fingers over her arm and she swats at him with her clutch.

  "Oh, fuck off with you, you slut. Anything with a gapping hole could be your soulmate. Don't take much." Her green eyes cut over to me and one side of her lips tilt up into a sexy smirk. "Bet he didn't have to bring you lasagne to get you here, did he?"

  Swiping my hand down my face, I groan.

  "Lasagne?" Kyan says, glancing at me.

  "Yeah, fucking lasagne," Hope says. "I take the ungrateful fuck food and he can't even play bloody-fucking-bingo without whinging."

  "Are you two fucking?" Kyan asks, his gaze shifting between us.

  "God," I groan and toss my head back.

  "No. He's too surly to be jabbing me in the vag."

  The line moves forward and I gladly take the opportunity to get away from that shit. I walk through the doors, Kyan and Hope behind me. I'm barely three feet inside the door before I hear Larry's twangy American accent. He's at a table right by the stage, a few of the other guys from The Pit and Lou, his wife, right next to him. This is going to be grand...

  "Aw, look, Lou's so fucking cute, coming to the cooter club with Lars," Hope shouts and I keep on walking. Sometimes if you just ignore her, she'll eventually shut up.

  "Cooter club?" Kyan says and Hope laughs.

  Larry lifts a glass of ale, smiling when he sees me and Kyan and—"Wee-doggy, red, look at you!" Larry whistles and Lou swats him. I place my hand on the back of the wooden chair and pull it away from the table before I take a seat. Kyan sits on one side of me and, of course, Hope sits on the other fucking side. The lights dim and a low bass begins to thump through the speakers.

  "Welcome to the stage,” the announcer’s voice echoes through the sound system, “for her first time, Crystal Chandelier."

  "Aw, hell-fucking-yeah," Kyan says. "Popping her stripper cherry."

  "Jesus, he's a fucking delight," Hope whispers by my ear.

  "Yeah," I laugh because, well, Kyan is a fucking dog.

  A waitress in spandex shorts and tittie tassles trots up and stops at our table. "Red Bell and vodka for all these fucks," Larry shouts with a jovial chuckle.

  I divert my attention to the curvy blonde strutting out on the stage, watching as she wraps her hands around the silver pole on the middle of the platform. She whips her hair around before hooking her leg on the pole and swinging around. Strobe lights flicker. The music thumps, and I settle back in my seat as I check my watch. An hour. I told myself an hour would be sufficient. Have a few drinks. Tip a few strippers and then book it the fuck out of here and back home to my routine. My control. My life.

  I feel a warm finger brush over my arm and my muscles tense. "You like the looks of that one, huh, Finnley?" She's such a creep.

  I don't say a word. Just stare at the stage. A drink's shoved in my direction. I glance over and Hope's holding my drink out with a smile. "Toss it back, you ungrateful fuck."

  I take the glass from her, watching as she sucks most of hers back in a single gulp.

  "That's Redbull..."

  "And," she shrugs.

  Jesus, the woman's going to have a fucking heart attack if she slams those back like that. She smacks me on the arm just as I bring my glass to my lips. "Don't be a vagina, suck it back."

  A vagina? Shaking my head, I snort into my glass before taking a sip.

  I watch Crystal finish her dance and toss a few quid on the floor of the stage for her. When she bends down to pick them up, tits out and all, she glances up at me and winks.

  "Aw, see," Hope places her hand on my shoulder and leans in close to my ear, "the ladies like you because you don't look like you'd be ungrateful. You look all sweet and nice and muscley..." She takes the last swig of her drink and slams the glass on the table in front of me. "Another round, Lars, this one's on me."

  "You aren't going to be able to walk out of here, and I'm not carting your arse out of here either."

  She throws her head back, laughing. "Oh, Finnley, you're cute." She grins. "I'm Irish." I lift a brow. "I grew up on whiskey. Hell, I've skinny dipped in straight whiskey. Who the hell can say that?"

  "Why did you—"

  "Brandon." She sighs and then smiles. "He always was a ripe cunt. Hell, he even got Poppy in that whiskey vat."

  Nodding, I take another swig of my drink and focus on the stage. I don’t want to focus on him or the fact that he’s gone.

  "Seriously, Lars. Another round," Hope shouts.

  Larry nods just as another girl struts out onto the stage.

  "Ah, look at that one in her sparkly shoes. I'd have a go at that one..." Hope snickers and I cut my eyes to her. "What? A little girl on girl never hurt anyone." The club lights bounce off Hope's face and her shiny lips. Kyan says something and she laughs, tossing her head back. The vodka must be getting to me, because for a split-second, all I can think about is grabbing those red locks of hers and running my hand through it.

  Two hours later and I'm shitfaced. Kyan's slobbering and Hope...Hope is, fuck, she's hot when I'm drunk. She's hot when I'm sober, but she's dangerously hot when I can't see straight. The song fades out before another, slower song starts. Hope slams her empty shot glass onto the table, falling against me. Her hand lands on my arm and her fingers spread out over my biceps, gently squeezing. "Shit, I'm hammered," she mumbles, covering her face with her free hand. She leans into me a little more and the top of her head brushes underneath my nose. She smells like...like...I take a deep inhale, my eyes closing for a moment. She smells like a fucking woman: soft and sweet and goddamn—

  "Finn!" Kyan shouts from behind me and I lazily turn to glance at him. "You two coming or what?"

  It's now that I notice it's only me and Hope still at the table and my hand is on her thigh. On her warm, bare thigh. I quickly snatch it away. Kyan's standing by the table with his jacket on, watching us.

  "Yeah," I mumble, rubbing my palms over the leg of my jeans before I stand. "Yeah, we're uh—I'm uh..."

  Hope staggers to her feet and grabs her purse from the table. There's this drunk glaze to her eyes and she wobbles a little as we stand here. She starts off toward the exit, stumbling and shoving men out of her way. I can only imagine she's mumbling cunt under her breath.

  Kyan punches me in the arm. "I'm going to get laid. Make sure treacle gets home okay, huh?" He smirks as he nods toward Hope, and then he walks off. I groan as I stumble toward the exit and throw the door open. The cool night air wraps around me and I shove my hands inside my pocket, wishing I'd brought a jacket. Hope's leaning against the outside of the building, one eye closed and jabbing at her phone. I walk over to her, grab her free hand, and drag her away from the building.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Taking you home."

  "Well, Finnley, that's a lot more forward than I expected from your surly arse."

  "Shut up, Hope." I laugh.

  Leaning into me, Hope wraps her arms around me and presses her cheek against my chest as I flag a taxi. "You smell good. Like Cherry and...man."

  I fight a laugh and wait for the taxi to come to a halt before opening the door. "Get in, Miss ‘I'm Irish’."

  She gets in and crawls across the back seat on all fours, flashing me her arse and her pink lace underwear. "I am Irish, you cunt," she mumbles, her arse still on full display. I try not to look, I do, but fuck, there's only so much a guy can do. All I can see is her long, toned thighs, my hands on her hips with that view. My dick twitches and I slam my eyes shut. She's crazy Hope...crazy, really fucking hot Hope.

  "Miss I skinny dipped in a vat of whiskey,” I taunt.

  She falls back in the seat and glares at me, slamming one hand over an eye. "There, now there's only one of you. I can't manage two cunts right now."

  I get in and shut the door. "Look," I say, pointing to a sign in the front of the cab. "There's a hundred quid fine for vomiting in the taxi, so if you thin
k you're going to spew, swallow it."

  Her mouth drops open and she holds up her hand, placing the other on her chest. She closes her eyes, swaying in her seat. "On my honour, I have never vomited from drinking."

  I fight a smile. "Never?"

  "Never!" She sounds a little like Golem with the precious.

  "Well then..."

  "And you’re taking me to your house."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Yep, I've got three flights of stairs and I'm not scabbing my knees up crawling up the fuckers." Dear fuck. "Besides, I like to cuddle when I'm drunk. I'll be the big spoon and you'll be the little spoon."

  "We are not cuddling," I tell her.

  She laughs, her body going limp as she falls against my side. "They always say that..." She hiccups. "You'll see, I'm going to spoon you, Finnley and you shan't do a thing about it."

  I'm not fucking spooning her. I've gotten a little attached to Hope in the same way you find yourself attached to a scabby stray cat that won't leave you alone. You feed it and pet it, but you don't let it sleep in your bed. Then again, the cat doesn't look like one of those chicks in a titty magazine. The taxi rolls to a stop in front of my flat. I pay the driver and open the door, dragging Hope across the backseat.

  "Come on, queenie."

  Hope groans something about dying before I finally get her out and somewhat to her feet. She leans against me, stumbling as we walk. "Don't drop me." She clings to my shirt and I can't help but to laugh.

  "Hope, I can't drop you. I'm not carrying you."

  "Well, look at me walking." And then she pats herself on the back.

  We manage to make it up the stairs and I prop her against the side of the building, holding her steady with one hand as I unlock my door. The second the door swings open, Hope's stumbling through, banging into walls on her way to the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and drop my keys on the counter. I hear her swearing, things dropping. Jesus, did she just fall into the tub? Then the toilet flushes and she comes wobbling out, not even bothering to look at me as she heads to my bedroom.

  "Wait!" I shout and she flips me the bird. By the time I get to my room, she's already under the covers all snuggled up to my pillow.

  "I'll just sleep on the couch," I sigh.

  "What? Why? You can sleep here, too. I won't rape you," she says, laughing to herself. "Cross my heart." She hiccups and waves her hand around in a pattern I think that was meant to be a cross.

  I can't even remember the last time I shared a bed with anyone. Normally I'd say I don't trust myself, but I'm drunk. Drunk enough to sleep like the dead.

  "Come on, Finnley. Climb in." She pats the bed, a drunk smile spreading over her pink lips. Her red hair is sprawled across my pillow and the duvet is pooling around her waist. She's still fully dressed, but that black dress leaves very little to the imagination. All I can see is her cleavage straining against the tight material, her milky skin rising with every breath. I drag my hand over the back of my neck and scrape my teeth over my bottom lip.

  I know I should walk my arse back out to the living room and sleep on the sofa, but I find myself sitting on the edge of the bed and then lying back on the pillow.

  "You sleep in all your clothes?" she asks between hiccups.

  I glance at her. She has got to be kidding. "I think it's best we keep our clothes on," I mumble. This is why I live the life I do, controlled, mapped out, the same shit every day. This...this feels complicated and strange, like something that could blow up in my face at any moment.

  "You can sleep in your clothes, Mother Theresa," she says, sitting up and shimmying her dress over her hips. She pauses to hiccup, then continues lifting the material inch by inch. It shouldn’t be sexy because she’s sloppy drunk and her movements are all jerky, but the second the dress pulls over her tits in that pink lace bra, my dick stands to attention. Huffing, she slumps over with her face still hidden behind the tight material. She sits back up and throws her arms in the air. Her boobs jiggle in her bra and my dick twitches again.

  “Help. Me.” she groans.

  Sighing, I grab the dress and yank it the rest of the way over her head, smearing her lipstick.

  “For fuck’s sake,” she mumbles as she falls back on the bed.

  “You want a shirt?” I ask, but she just waves me off, half attempting to flip me the bird.

  I allow myself one more peek at her perky tits before I turn the lamp off and roll over on my stomach to hide my raging hard on. Now I’m no better than fucking Kyan.

  I watch the headlights from the intermittent car bounce off the wooden headboard. Hope's breathing heavy next to me, the smell of vodka permeating the air. This feels weird. It feels really fucking weird having her next to me. She shifts and I don't move a muscle. She lets out a little groan and rolls over, hooking her leg over mine. Fuck me. Her arm snakes around my waist, her fingers trailing along my side. I glance over and she's still out. I roll over to my back and attempt to shift away from her, but she just tightens her hold on me. Her leg brushes against my already hard dick. Groaning, I roll my eyes. This is just fucking great. The harder it gets, the more uncomfortable it is. It ends up slipping out of the hole in my boxers and rubbing against the damn zipper and I hiss in a breath.

  She shifts again and I freeze as her hands slip beneath the hem of my shirt, her fingers playing over my stomach. Every muscle tenses under her touch and then she scratches her nails over my chest. My breath hitches and chill bumps work over my skin. And my dick gets even harder.

  She snuggles her face against my arm. I lie here, completely rigid with her warm breath washing over my bicep. My dick is aching and her thigh is so fucking close, barely an inch away from my cock. I need her leg off me. I go to move it and my fingers spread out over her warm, soft skin. I close my eyes and swallow hard, allowing my hand to inch up her thigh for just a second. Fuck, she feels good. She wiggles against me and I slowly move her leg away from me, and then she rolls back over onto her side, facing a way from me. I release a breath but my body remains tense. I can't go to sleep like this, I'll wake up fucking her.

  Carefully, I roll out of bed and stumble through the dark into the bathroom. I quietly close the door behind me and flip the lights on. I should feel ashamed, but I don't. It doesn't take much to get a guy's dick hard and a half naked redhead in a man's bed is definitely enough to do it. I drop my jeans and boxers to the floor and lean against the sink, the cold tile biting into my skin. I fist my cock in my hand and close my eyes and, I'll admit, I think about Hope and her smooth legs and her pretty lips. Guilt drowns me. I haven't touched a woman since Kiera, but every time I've beat one off, it's to the memory of her. I always picture what Kiera looked like beneath me, the way she'd throw her head back in pleasure, but now that image that’s so fucking engrained in my mind is blurring and distorting. All I see is red hair cascading around pale shoulders. Full lips parting on a breathy moan. I imagine what it would be like to have Hope’s thighs clamp around me with her moaning and squirming underneath me. I wonder what she tastes like, feels like. I frantically chase my release, my body jerking when the heat seers through me and I give into the fantasy, the feeling. Opening my eyes, I stare at the floor, panting. I give myself a second to come down from the momentary high before I grab a hand towel and wipe the come from the floor, balling the towel up and tossing it in the hamper before I go back to bed.

  When I crawl in beside her and that feminine smell of hers hits me, the guilt sets in. I just went into my bathroom and beat one out over Hope McGrath. Over a friend...over my stray cat. Shit. I adjust myself on the bed and, like a fucking magnet, she's right up against me again. She tosses her leg over me and moves to lay her head on my chest. She inhales and sighs, and all I can do is lie here wondering when in the hell I started looking at her like someone I wanted to fuck instead of someone that is tolerable at best. Inch by inch, she’s worming her way in and there are things about me I don’t want her to know. Things about me she’ll never understand. But fo
r right now, I’m just going to lie here and pretend that this could work. Because at this moment, it feels right. She gives me hope…ironically enough.

  14

  Hope

  I'm woken by my phone buzzing. I groan and grab a pillow, pressing it over my head. My ears are ringing and I swear to god the bed is moving. I think I might be dying. Fuck hangovers. This is bullshit.

  My phone stops vibrating and I sigh in relief. I shift and my hand brushes over smooth, hot skin. Slowly, I lift the pillow away from my face and squint. Tanned skin, hard chest. Finn. The titty bar. His bed. Aw, shit!

  He moves and his thigh presses between my legs. All at once I become very fucking aware of him, his broad body and tight muscles. His hand is resting on my thigh and my skin tingles under his touch. I shift slightly and I feel the sheets rub against my side and my bare stomach brush against his skin. I try to pull my thigh away, but all I manage to do is cause his leg to move right up against my vag. Even with my hangover, I still get hot for him. I mean, Finn is Finn. All hot and surly, and his body is like a work of art. My phone rings again and he lets out an agitated groan. Okay, this doesn't need to be weird. Just play it cool. I sit up and look around for my phone. Of course, it’s on the bedside table on his side of the bed. Leaning across him, I brace my elbow in the middle of his chest and reach for my phone. I refuse to even look at him and flop back onto the mattress.

  I swipe the screen and press the device to my ear. "What?" I snap. I feel the bed shift, and in my periphery, I see Finn sit up, swinging his legs off the bed and keeping his back to me. I feel like an ocean of awkwardness filled with awkward fucking turtles stretches out between us.

  "Hope," Poppy says. There's a rustling then a bang.

  "Did you die?" I ask, pressing my fingers against my eyelids to block out the sunlight drifting past Finn's curtains.