by Madison Faye
I’m beautiful.
And I’m crying.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you so much.”
“Anything, baby,” he murmurs. “Anything for you.”
* * *
Bear takes me back to his townhouse for drinks and dinner from the grill.
“You play dirty,” I tell him. “I should tell Sawyer you have an edge because you feed me.”
“Not the reason I do it, babe.”
I gesture to the grill and the patio table set for two with my wineglass. “So you’re saying this isn’t all so you can take the lead?”
He drops a kiss on me before he goes back to turning the chicken. “I like watching you eat.”
As usual, his words make me all glowy. I flirt with him through the main course, running my foot up his calf and suggesting he eat something sweet for dessert. I’ll get him worked up and then tell him there’s no way I can declare a winner in the competition. I’ll just have to eat his food and wear the clothes he buys me and ask his permission to come forever.
I’m helping him clean up when my phone rings. Mina. I step into the hall and answer it with a lazy, “Hey.”
“Hey, girl.” I straighten at the unusual greeting. “You still fooling around with Bear and Sawyer?”
“Why?”
“Is it serious?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. What did you find out?” I head to the bathroom and shut the door. “Tell me.”
“Sawyer’s photography has gotten some interest. He’s got a show in a gallery in San Diego, and there’s a space for him to be an artist-in-residence.”
“What?”
“I was hoping you knew. He’s leaving soon.”
I clear my throat. “Well, that’s good.”
“There’s more. I did more digging on Bear.”
“Don’t tell me has an ex-wife or love child,” I try to joke.
“Nope, just a profile on Fetlife. He’s been looking for a while. But he recently changed his status to ‘in a relationship.’”
“Oh,” I choke out. “Well, good for him.” I can’t stop the sinking feeling. I wanted to know whether this was for real or only temporary. I just got proof.
It’s just a game, and it’s almost over. No matter the outcome, I lose.
Still staring at my phone, I walk back to the living room. A big photo greets me. Another black and white of me laughing in the surf.
It must be a regular game they play: pick up a girl and fix her. I was fine playing along until they made it seem like I meant something to them. But I was just Bear’s project. And Sawyer? He took these photos because he needed them for a show.
Maybe he’ll let me keep one as a memory of when I was happy.
“There’s a game on. Figured we can watch that.” He stops when he sees the look on my face.
“Did you know?” I jerk my head toward the picture. “Did you know about Sawyer’s show?”
“Yes,” he says and frowns. “Did you?”
“No.” Suddenly my chest is seizing and there’s not enough air in the room. “I need to go.” If I don’t get out now, I’m going to break down. It’ll be like dressing room panic, but a thousand times worse. Cry-maggedon.
“Evie.” He comes close and cups my face. “Look at me.”
My eyes slide to the left, to the right, anywhere but to his.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
I scramble for the door.
“Evie,” Bear calls. I scurry to my car, slam the door and lock it. I waste no time putting him in the rearview mirror.
Over the next few hours, my phone bleats repeatedly. Bear calling, then Sawyer. I drive aimlessly.
I do send one text to Sawyer. Were you going to ask me before using my photos at your photography show?
I’m not in my apartment ten minutes before there’s a knock on the door.
“Go away,” I shout.
“Evie, come on.” Sawyer. He sounds broken, which only makes me angry. Why should he be broken up over this? It was only a fucking game.
I open the door with the chain in. “Game over. I call a draw.”
“Fuck, Evie, this isn’t about the competition.”
“Sure.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “We were stupid. You were running hot and then cold. We didn’t want to pressure you if you wanted an out.”
“Got it. And the photos?”
“I did need pictures for the show, but I wouldn’t use them without your permission. I swear. It’s up to you, it was always up to you.”
“Whatever. At least you got something out of this.” I start to close the door and he slips his fingers in the crack to stop it.
“Evie. We never meant to hurt you.”
“I know. It was just a game.”
“No, fuck it. You were the prize. Always. If you believe nothing else, believe that. You’re the prize.”
“Great. I’ll put it on my Fetlife profile.”
He sucks in a breath. “What do you mean—”
“Ask Bear. Goodbye, Sawyer.” I walk away from the door. Eventually he’ll leave.
You’re the prize.
“Yeah, right,” I mutter. If that’s true, he wouldn’t be leaving and Bear wouldn’t have already found my replacement.
A shout rings out on the lawn outside my apartment. I step onto the balcony in time to see Sawyer storm toward Bear.
“What the fuck, man?” Sawyer plants a hand on his friend’s chest and pushes. Bear doesn’t budge but Sawyer doesn’t seem to notice. “Did you hurt her?”
A rumble from Bear—too low for me to hear his answer.
“You and your stupid kink,” Sawyer shouts. “What did you do to her?”
Now they’re fighting. Fuck. I did this.
Sawyer throws a punch. I’m out the door and dashing down the stairs. They’re facing off on the lawn by the time I’m running toward them.
“Stop! Just stop!”
Sawyer backs off, jaw clenched. “We had one rule—don’t hurt her. What did you do?”
“I don’t know what this is about,” Bear growls. “Evie?”
“It’s no one’s fault. I’m just done.” Cool, calm, sophisticated. Act like your heart isn’t bleeding out on the floor. “Thanks for the memories.” I pause before I head back in. “You can use the photos.” It’s not like I’m going to leave my house anytime soon. I’ll call my cousin with my regrets, and my boss to negotiate a work from home offer. I’ll subsist on takeout and gain eight hundred pounds. They can lift me out with a crane when I die.
Halfway to my apartment, a large hand catches my arm. I halt but refuse to look up. “Let go.”
“Talk to me,” Bear orders.
“Too late. Too fucking late.” I rip my arm out of his grasp. “You want to talk? Or do you want to fix me.”
“Evie—”
“I’m not a goddamn project. You, Sawyer, my aunt. What the hell is wrong with me? Why does everyone want to change me? I know I’m pathetic. Can you just leave me alone?”
“You’re not a project.”
“A competition then.
“Evie, I’m not playing a game.” He slams the wall above my head. “It was never a game for me.”
I stare at him, chest heaving. It hurts inside. It really, really hurts.
He catches my chin gently. “It’s not a game,” he repeats and says something really scary. “It’s real.”
“And now it’s over.”
Chapter Seven
I almost call Mina and ask how hard it would be to change my identity. Wipe Evangeline aka Evie off the face of the earth. Move to Paris. Take up smoking—that might help me lose weight. I’ll be skinny but I’ll still wear all black. Auntie Jen will approve.
I don’t call Mina. I don’t call anyone. I keep my head down, go to work, and pretend I’m an ex-pat in a foreign country, with no ties to anyone.
I turn off my phone, which turns out to be a good thing, be
cause Auntie Jen phones me nine hundred times the week before the wedding, volun-telling me to go pick up flowers, bridesmaids gifts, chocolate cupcakes with pink frosting (Be sure not to sample, Evangeline! We got an exact amount), right up to the morning of the wedding, when she wanted me to fetch the tiara my cousin forgot at her apartment. I get none of these messages, and when I stick my head in to give my cousin my love before her walk down the aisle, my aunt nearly bites my head off.
I turn on my phone as I walk into the church, and, sure enough, it shakes to life and keeps vibrating alerting me of all the voicemails and texts I’ve missed. Nine hundred from Auntie Jen, one from my friend Mina, and one from Sawyer. “I’m sorry.”
I search for something from Bear and find a big fat nothing.
Shaking my head, I stick my phone in my purse. I’m wearing the dress Bear chose for me. It’s just a dress, right?
The two ushers—friends of the groom—fall over themselves to seat me. One of them is kinda cute. Maybe I can snag him before the reception and say he’s my date. Wedding receptions are great places for singles to hook up, right? Or does that only work for bridesmaids?
I’ve just resigned myself to being a slutty bridesmaid-wannabe when my phone vibrates. Out of habit I pull it out.
Where are you?
At the wedding. Why?
Turn around.
I do and make a noise like ‘uuunf.’ The guys are there, looking orgasmicly hot in tuxes.
“Wow,” I say, before I remember I’m mad at them.
Sawyer grins. Bear is more impassive.
You’re here? I want to ask. Why? But as I stare, I realize it was never a question of whether they were there for me when I needed them. Even if what we had was a bit of fun for both of them, they cared for me. And it’s not like they made me any promises.
Carp. Okay, then. I can play nice, for the duration of a wedding. Better we don’t make a scene. Or make a bigger scene than dowdy ole Evangeline showing up to her cousin’s wedding with not one, but two gorgeous dates.
A pair of little old ladies pass Bear and rubber-neck, gawking at his giant frame. He looks out of place and larger than life, a bear at a tea party.
I offer a small smile as truce. I’ve missed them so much. Maybe we can be friends.
Sawyer steps forward to greet me.
“Evie.” He kisses me on the cheek. “You okay?” He draws back, enjoying my admiring look. “You like these penguin suits?”
“I think they just made me pregnant.”
He cracks up, and half the church turns to stare.
I flush bright red.
“Evangeline.” Aunt Jen bustles up. “We need you to—oh, hello.” Her harried look switches from angry to charming, just like that. Bad witch, good witch.
“Hello,” Sawyer says with a smile that packs the charm of Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt rolled into one. It’s quite something. “I’m Sawyer.”
“Hi, Sawyer.” Aunt Jen nods to him and then Bear. “Friends of our little Evangeline?”
“She prefers Evie,” Bear corrects her. My aunt stares up at him, blinking. Her mascara-encrusted lashes are like tiny shriveled spider’s legs.
“We’re not her friends,” Sawyer says. “Well, not just her friends.”
“We’re her dates,” Bear confirms.
“What, both of you?” Jen looks from one to the other, eyes wide.
“That’s right,” Sawyer says and offers his arm to me. “Shall we?”
“Let’s.” I take his arm and Bear’s and together we saunter away from my flabbergasted aunt.
Sawyer takes my hand. Bear takes the other. I hang on, hoping the ceiling doesn’t open up with an angel choir singing “Evangeline is sinner.” I’m surprised my red hair doesn’t catch on fire.
The wedding procession begins and things only get more surreal. We rise for the bride, and Bear towers over everyone. People look for the flower girl and their eyes catch on us. I hear my name and along a whispered gasp, “Two men!”
When we sit down, Bear’s arm ends up around my shoulders.
“You’re wearing the dress I bought,” he murmurs.
I nod. I’ve done my hair up in a swirling ‘50s ‘do. I look like I belong on the set of Mad Men. Turns out, it’s a good look for me. A few cousins gape at my revealed form, and there are several guys who can’t stop glancing at me, even during the vows. Bear angles his body a little, blocking me from view as he glares.
A little old lady in the pew in front of us peers through her glasses, her eyes magnified. Sawyer gives her a little wave and she scrambles to turn around and whisper loudly in her companion’s ear. Sawyer squeezes my knee.
At the reception, I stand between two pillars of masculine strength, sipping champagne. Every once in a while a great aunt or remote family member wanders by and I introduce my date. Both of them. Then Bear awes and Sawyer charms them while I drink more champagne. When it’s time to throw rice, I’m loose enough to hug them both and whisper thank you.
“Evie—” Sawyer says, but Bear stops him.
“Not here.”
They walk me to my car. I hang on to both of their arms. I’m not that tipsy, but if I glance down, my cleavage gives me vertigo.
I stop before I reach my car. There’s no way Bear will let me drive home. I turn expectantly. The two men standing behind me are so beautiful, my heart stops a moment before resuming its beat.
“It wasn’t a game,” Bear rumbles.
“I—What?”
“It wasn’t just a game. I saw you, I wanted you.”
“We both did,” Sawyer broke in. “You were so adamant you didn’t date, I came up with this scheme. I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
My head is shaking no before I blurt, “You didn’t. I had fun.”
Bear leans over me and I look up at him.
What now? Where do we go from here?
“I want to keep seeing you.” His hand bracelets my wrist, then runs up my arm, creating goosebumps.
“But what about your new relationship?”
“What?”
“The one on Fetlife,” I say and blush.
“You’re on Fetlife?”
“No.” The blush advances. “My friend said you were looking for a long time and then changed your status.”
“Yeah, baby. Stopped looking after I met you.”
Oh.
“We don’t have to do any of the rules or discipline or kinky stuff.”
“No.” I surprise myself. “I liked that. It was fun. I want it all.”
Sawyer grins at us both. “I’ve got to go set up my show, but I’ll be back. Maybe you’ll come down and see it?”
“We both will,” Bear confirms. He keeps his hand on my back as Sawyer bends down and kisses me.
I lean into his lips to the soundtrack of shocked gasps. When I straighten, a few old ladies are hustling away, mouths open and eyes round.
“Sounds good,” I tell him and wave his Jeep off.
Bear hovers at my elbow, a giant James Bond. I have no idea where he’d find a tux in his size. Maybe Auntie Jen will know.
I pivot slowly, hearing the ending movie credits music start to play. Bear’s hands close around my waist.
“So,” I keep my voice as normal as I can. “Wanna play?”
The End
About Lee Savino
USA Today bestselling author Lee Savino has grandiose plans for world domination, but most days can’t find her keys or her wallet, so she just stays home and writes.
She had such a blast writing Her Marine Daddy that she thought up Dueling Daddies right away. She has plans to expand Bear & Sawyer’s story into a full-length book. Sign up to her newsletter by grabbing another freebie on her website (www.leesavino.com) and stay tuned!
Daddy of Mine by J.L. Beck
Chapter One
Angel shoved everything into the small bag while her hands shook. What could she have been thinking? She knew better. Leaving the States and coming here with th
at monster of a man? So fucking dumb. Her hands stilled. He was so gorgeous to look at though, and he’d promised her that he was refined at it, but she found that he wasn’t what she thought he was. Her body was sore and she winced from the bruises along her upper arms.
She grabbed her purse and quickly put on her shoes. She needed to escape before he and the blonde woke up. She shivered as she remembered all the things that had happened last night and her back flinched with a spasm from where she’d been kicked by that slutty blonde he had brought home. Don’t think about it, her sane voice warned. She picked up her wallet and passport then looked around one last time.
Anger boiled up inside of her. All of her paintings, sculptures, and other pieces that meant so much to her would have to stay behind. He would use them to keep her here as he’d done several times already. Angel picked up a Ming vase and rubbed the smooth china glassed surface with a loving finger. All that money she’d spent and time she put in on this collection alone would have fed a family of six for ten years.
A noise came from the bedroom. Oh! Fear pulsed through her and she nearly dropped the priceless piece. Her hand trembled and she set it down carefully. Releasing a sigh, she knew he might just break all of it anyway when he discovered she’d finally bailed on him. The odd noise repeated as she grabbed her bag and went to the door. She pressed the keypad as she’d seen Brandon do so many times. She punched in the numbers 5150 and pressed the star button. Fifty-one fifty was right; he’s insane, and a monster I mistook for a real man.
“Angel?” she heard him call from the bedroom.
Oh God, oh God! Open up—open! Her body shook with terror. If he caught her? He would string her up to the bed again and this time for a week, until she was broken down and promising to never try to escape again, while begging to please him.
“Angel, you bitch!” he shouted now.
Her hands shook and her tender, sore body trembled as she gripped her bag to her chest and waited for the beep. Beep! She sucked in her breath and the door popped open. Sprinting to the hall, she glanced at the elevator. No, he would catch me. Running to the stairs, she began the climb down while hoping her luck would hold and his paid stoolie, James, was not today’s doorman. James had caught her the last time and she hated him with a fierce loathing.