Prologue
Aubrey
Ten Years Earlier
Smiling, I finger the pale pink roses embroidered on the leather-bound cover of the most important thing I own. My diary. This book knows more about me than anyone. All of my secrets are inside—some I don’t tell Emma, my best friend, or Max, my brother. Well, there’s plenty Max doesn’t know about me—like how in love I am with his best friend.
I bite my lip and flip to a blank page. As the tip of the pen hits the page, a wave of emotion sweeps over me. I stare at the name scrawled over and over on the once empty page. Andrew.
I might be in love with him, but he’s never going to be in love with me.
He’s already eighteen and has girls lining up to date him. Girls with pretty hair and long, tanned legs that seem to go on forever. Girls with boobs and everything. I glance down at my flat chest and frown. It’s not fair. I should have some boobs by now; Emma does, but not me. Not even tiny ones I could pretend were bigger with the right bra like my mum does. Not that it matters, anyway. I’m pretty sure Max would kill Andrew if he ever tried anything with me.
I keep telling myself the age difference is too much right now, but when we’re older—well, when I’m older—it’ll be different. He’ll finally see how right I am for him.
The pen continues to dance on the paper—leaving his name, heart doodles and other random things—when I hear Max scream out from across the park.
“You’re dead!” Max hollers, and I look up, trying to see what’s going on. Andrew. Of course, he’s here. He’s laughing while Max is hanging upside down in a tree, his pants around his ankles.
I quickly toss my diary aside and sprint over to them. Anger fills me as I strike Andrew right in the chest, leaving a sting behind on my hand to remind me what I’d just done.
“Hey, watch it, killer,” he teases, baiting me into chasing him.
“You better watch out, Andrew. When I catch you, I’m gonna punch you right in the eye,” I threaten, running after him. His other so-called friends stand there and laugh; nobody bothers to help Max.
“Go home, Aubs,” Andrew says affectionately, ruffling my hair. I duck out of the way and scowl at him. I hate it when he treats me like a sister. “Better yet, why don’t you go play with Emma?”
“I’ll go home when you get Max out of that tree, you bully. Why’d you put him up there, anyway?”
“Because it’s funny.”
“It’s not funny!” Max yells, struggling to break free. “My arse is hanging out! Get him, Aubs. Punch him in the balls for me.”
I chase Andrew around a little while longer until I succumb to the realization he’s just too fast for me. Frustrated tears fill my eyes, and I’m about to lose it when Andrew saunters over to me with his ’I’m cooler than you’ attitude.
“I’ll get him down in a second, kid. Don’t get so worked up. This is just what guys do,” he offers, but it doesn’t satisfy me.
“I wouldn’t hang Emma upside down in a tree,” I state defensively. Emma would kill me if I even tried to think about putting her in a tree. She’d bring me back to life and kill me again if her arse was hanging out for the whole neighbourhood to see.
“Do you know why he’s in the tree?” Andrew asks gently. I shake my head. “Last night, Max and Sam decided to put unwrapped condoms all over my car. I didn’t get them cleaned off quickly enough, and now the paint is wrecked. It’s going to cost a few hundred dollars to fix it. Instead of making Max pay for it, I strung him up in a tree.” He shrugs as if it makes perfect sense, but it doesn’t. I’m even more confused now.
“Why did Max do that to your car?”
“Because that’s what guys do. We prank each other. It’s our job.”
“It’s stupid.” I cross my arms over my chest. “And he just got over being sick. What if that’s making the cancer come back?” I ask, pointing at Max, worry settling heavy in my gut.
“He didn’t seem too sick when he was trashing my car.” He grins, his face softening. “Aubs, I’m not hurting him, I promise. Just relax, okay? Go be a kid. You’re growing up before you need to.”
Leaning down, he bumps his shoulder into mine, and a familiar warmth floods my body. He and Max had been running around all school holidays; I haven’t seen them much. They’ll be heading off to Uni soon—well, at least Max will be. Andrew says he’s not going—that he’d rather start a job and make some money.
Without Max around, Andrew won’t be here, either. I’ll have nobody to distract me from my parents fighting all the time. With Max away, the fighting will get worse, and Dad will probably take that job in America. Who knows, maybe I’ll go with him. Mum doesn’t want me here; I’m just in her way. All I seem to do is get under her feet. I’ll miss Emma, but sometimes I feel like I’m just in her way, too.
“I’d better go,” I mumble, not wanting to leave. “Emma and I are going for ice cream with the money she got for her good report. You wanna come?”
“Nah, sorry, kid. Gotta get your brother down and take Sam and Cam home before their mum has a heart attack. I’ll catch you around, though.” He smiles a signature Andrew grin at me, stands up from the grass and walks to the tree to get Max.
I trudge back to where I was sitting to get my diary. Halfway there, I see Emma, hunched over and reading something. My heart races. She wouldn’t…would she? I break into a run, collapsing in front of her, out of breath.
“That’s not yours to read,” I cry, snatching my diary off her. Maybe she didn’t get far enough. But as her eyes gleam, my heart sinks. She knows. My heart races as I hug the diary to my chest protectively.
“Cat’s out of the bag, Aubriella,” she sings, using the nickname she’d given me when we were ten. I hate that name. I cringe every time she uses it, especially when we are out in public. “Is this why you’re always insisting sleepovers be at my house?”
“Please don’t say anything,” I beg her, my lip trembling. Please don’t cry.
“I don’t know…” Emma giggles. “I don’t keep secrets from my brother.”
“You do, too,” I retort angrily. “You’re always doing things behind his back.”
“You’re right,” she laughs. “Okay, how about this. So long as you address me as Emmerson—as I’ve requested before—I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“You’re being stupid. This is serious, Emma. Just promise me you won’t tell him,” I plead again.
“Emmerson,” she reiterates. I stamp my foot, annoyed that I have a best friend who is so weird. Whatever. If it keeps her quiet, I’ll call her whatever she wants.
“Fine,” I huff. “Emmerson. Can we go get ice cream now? I have dance at five. If I’m late, Madame Manohar is going to whack me.”
“Sure. Maybe we can plan your wedding and your big ballet debut while we eat.” She giggles and my eyes roll as I blush. It’s bad enough having to deal with a one-sided love affair, but to have someone else know about it…
This is going to be torture.
Present
“Where the hell have you been all week?” I demand. I throw myself down on the sofa, shocked that he actually answered his stupid phone for once. “God forbid your sister wants to talk to you about shit.”
A pang of homesickness stabs at me. The worst thing about living over here in the States is not being able to catch up with my brother. All the phone calls and emails in the world don’t make up for not being able to see him face to face. Especially when he goes AWOL, like he has this past week.
“Sorry, I did mean to call you back, but I’ve been so busy,” Max says. “Got a big account lined up with Coles. Can you believe they wa
nt me to do their new branding?”
“Yes, Max, I can,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’re the best, and everyone knows it.”
Max, or Maxwell as he’s known on the professional circuit, is the best damn graphic designer Melbourne has ever seen. His eye for detail is impeccable and second to none. I’m not surprised in the least that one of the largest retail chains wants him.
“You’re just saying that because you’re my sister, and you’re genetically programmed to love me.”
“No, remember, I’m dead inside,” I quip. “I have no emotions and love nobody. You just happen to be excellent at what you do; that’s all.”
“You’re still dead inside?” Max chuckles. My ability to give no fucks is a running joke between the two of us. “You haven’t fallen head over heels with that boyfriend of yours yet?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I retort. “And I’m not in love with anyone. You and dad are the only men in my life, and I’m okay with it. Nate, on the other hand, isn’t okay with it. He’s always talking about feelings and emotions, and I’m just over here like ‘can’t we just hang out, eat pizza and watch movies?’”
“You’re a heartbreaker, Aubs,” he laughs fondly. “I knew it from the second I saw you.”
“When you were six?” I scoff. “Bullshit. You were too busy thinking up ways to annoy your new little sister. Anyway, back to the fact that you’ve been avoiding me. Work doesn’t consume every hour of your day, so why haven’t you called me back?”
“I haven’t been avoiding you; I just have some stuff going on. Don’t worry about it; everything is fine,” he reassures me. Immediately, my guard is up. Whenever Max says not to worry, it’s usually a good time to start.
“If something was wrong, you’d tell me, right?” I ask. “Because I’m your favourite person in the entire world?”
“You are my absolute favourite person, but if I don’t get back to this design, they might fire me before I get a chance to cash in on this.” He’s avoiding my question, but I let it go. “You know how I hate working for free,” he adds with a snicker.
“Fine. Call me later this week? I’ve got back to back classes but should be free on Saturday. Unless Jacey drags me to the beach. Did I mention I love summer? You’re just coming up to winter, aren’t you?” I tease, knowing he hates the cold as much as I do.
“Shut up, or I won’t call you,” he replies. “Love you, Aubs.”
I smile into the phone. “Love you, too, Max.”
Chapter One
Drew
Me: Dude, I’m coming over tonight whether you like it or not. If you’ve got plans, cancel them.
Grabbing my jacket off the armchair, I grin as I walk out of my apartment and place the key in the lock to latch the deadbolt. It’s been a few weeks since Max has wanted any visitors. Today marks the end of that streak. It’s Friday night, the one night a week we all used to catch up—no matter what—before life got in the way. I’m not taking no for an answer, even if I have to bust the door down to get inside. As the lock clicks into place, the feminine voice of my neighbour fills the empty hallway. This is out of control.
“Drew, I’m so happy I caught you before you left. My dishwasher is broken again,” she says loud enough that any ninety-year-old granny who has her ear to the door, hoping to catch some good gossip to talk about while everyone else is working for a living, can hear.
I let out a slow breath and brace myself for the inevitable before I turn around and see Darla leaning against the doorframe of her apartment, opposite mine. She tosses her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and grins at me as she fingers the plunging neckline of her top, purposefully trying to draw my attention to her generous cleavage. It works. What can I say? I’m a guy with a dick. And there're boobs.
“Yeah?” I ask, knowing where this is headed. The same place it always does. To her bed. Or sometimes her shower. Or the kitchen counter. I glance at my phone, knowing I don’t have time for this now. “I’m kinda in a hurry—”
“It’ll just take a second, I promise,” she pleads, cutting me off. She takes my hand and drags me inside, slamming the door shut with her foot. No sooner than I’m over the threshold, she’s on me. I laugh because, at the very least, she’s determined. You have to admire the fact the woman knows what she wants and goes after it.
“Darla, you’ve gotta be shitting me,” I groan, trying to ease her off me without being rude. The first few times it wasn’t a big deal, but now it’s nearly every day she’s on me like a dog in heat. I grab her wrists and pull her hands away from my chest.
“You know you want it, baby,” she mewls, pushing her breasts higher by crossing her arms underneath them. She frowns at me with a full-on pouty lip, her heavily made-up eyes narrowing at me.
“You wanted your dishwasher fixed, not my dick,” I point out. I move toward the ‘broken’ appliance, and she steps in my way, her eyes pleading.
“Can’t I have them both?” she whines in a voice which almost makes me feel sorry for her. She’s a manipulative one; there’s no denying that.
“Not today, Darla,” I respond and shake my head. I gotta be tough, or I’ll be here all day. I move toward the kitchen and yank open the dishwasher, keen to get out of there as fast as possible.
For the last year or so, since I moved into this building, Darla’s been my only regular fuck. It started simple, and now she’s not taking a hint. It’s not that I don’t find her attractive; I’m just bored with it already. It used to be kind of fun—a little bit of a fantasy come to life. The repairman shows up to a bored, rich ex-trophy wife past her prime who’s wearing nothing but a matching lace bra and panty set and stockings to her mid-thigh. I’d fix whatever was broken and then accept a quick fuck in lieu of payment. It was a win/win for all parties, but recently, she’s hassling me to come over all the fucking time. I almost spend more time fucking her than I do working, and when it gets to that point, it starts to feel like a job.
I wouldn’t put it past Darla to be breaking shit on purpose just to get me over here. Or more recently, telling me something’s broken to get me inside and jumping me as soon as the door’s closed.
“I bet I can get you to change your mind.” Darla wraps her arms around my waist and her hands paw at my belt. She shoves her fingers down my jeans, wrapping them tightly around my cock. I groan and stop thinking with the head on my shoulders, letting the one in my pants take over.
“We’ve only got five minutes,” I say, taking charge. “I have plans with a friend. No time for this.”
I swat her fingers away from my belt and take control. Roughly, I spin around, taking her with me, and bend her slender frame over the dining room table. Without doing much more than dragging down my zipper and slipping on the condom she already has sitting on the table and sliding her panties to the side, I’m ready for duty. I push myself into her body, immediately regretting the lack of foreplay as her barely-wet pussy molds around my dick.
“Hold on,” I say, gripping her hips tightly and preparing for a marathon round of get in, get off, and get out.
Knowing that Welcome to the Jungle by Guns and Roses is only four minutes and thirty-five seconds long, I start humming the tune in my head while I hammer away at Darla. By my calculations, if I finish as the song ends, that leaves me a few seconds to clean up, zip my pants and leave before she starts begging for round two; trust me, she always does.
About halfway through the song, Darla cries out. Her pussy grips me tightly as she screams, her wetness dripping onto my balls. Mentally high-fiving myself, I prepare for the last half of the sexcapade, not holding back a single bit. My hips slam into her arse at a rapid pace. She climaxes again, and this time, it’s enough to pull my own orgasm from the base of my balls.
As the last bit of cum escapes the tip of my dick, I pull out, remove the condom and deposit it into the kitchen trashcan.
“All right, see ya later, Darla,” I call and head toward the door.
“You’re real
ly not going to stay?”
“Nope. Told ya already. Plans with a friend.”
“You really are an arsehole, Drew,” she retorts, her hand perched firmly on her hip. “What about my dishwasher?”
I shrug and turn my head long enough to flash her a grin.
“Next time, call a repairman.”
Out in the hallway, my phone buzzes. I dig it out of my jeans pocket and see it’s Max.
Max: Sure, it will be good to catch up.
I click call, barely able to contain my excitement as I wait for him to answer.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I laugh, balancing my phone between my neck and ear. “It’s been weeks, man. You missed a great party the other night. Nash got punched in the face by some chick for hitting on her girlfriend.”
“I heard,” Max chuckles. “I’m sorry I missed it, but I had shit to do.”
I start walking toward the lift but stop when I realise I smell like cheap sex. I need a shower to wash the Darla off me.
I shove the key in the lock of my apartment and yank open the door, throwing my jacket over the hall table. I’m still in shock he actually answered his damn phone. It’s good to hear from the guy because, honestly, I’ve been worried about him. I know he’s sick and all that, but the last few weeks it feels like he’s giving up or something. I’m not used to seeing him like that. Max doesn’t quit anything. We’re talking about the guy who hassled his mum for months to let him join us at public school until she finally caved. So much for the twenty-thousand-a-semester world-class grammar school he’d been on the list to attend since birth. Mornington High was good enough for my boy.
“How’s things?” I ask him, trying to keep my voice light. I’m not great with all that disease shit.
“I’ve been better,” he laughs. “But you know me. Mum is a bigger problem than anything else at the moment. She can’t look at me without crying. It’s doing wonders for my positivity.”
“Any updates?” I ask tentatively. Last we heard, he was doing the third round of chemo and radiation because the first two didn’t put a dent into the disease. His scans lit up like fireworks.
Slow Grind (Men of Mornington Book 1) Page 1