[The Blackhawk Boys 01.0] Spinning Out

by Lexi Ryan

  “Y’all are no fun,” Keegan mutters.

  “Have a safe trip, Chris.” Mia steps out of my arms to hug him. “We’ll see you next week.”

  Everyone says their goodbyes, and after I throw a few pointed looks at Bailey, Mason, and Keegan, they get the hint and leave as well.

  “Finally alone,” I whisper in Mia’s ear when they’re gone. “Want to go upstairs and get naked?”

  She presses a finger to her lips and pretends to think about it. “Hmm. I was thinking about washing my hair tonight.”

  I tickle her, and she jumps away from me and runs inside and toward the stairs.

  “You’d better run,” I call after her. I chase her up and catch her at the top, collapsing on top of her where the light from the second-story foyer window casts a warm glow.

  She rolls under me and grins. “I guess you caught me. I’m all yours.”

  “Finally,” I whisper.

  I lower my mouth to hers and slide a hand up her shirt. She moans under me, and I close my eyes and feel the heat of the sun on my back, the softness of Mia under me, and I take the moment and all that will follow for the gift they are.

  Thank you for reading Spinning Out, the first book in The Blackhawk Boys series. If you’d like to receive an email when I release a new book, please sign up for my newsletter: http://eepurl.com/qymaH

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. Continue reading for the first two chapters of The Blackhawk Boys, book two, Rushing In. Thank you for reading. It’s an honor!

  Before I met Dad’s girlfriend, Becky Dupree, for the first time, my mom described her as “loose and easy—the kind of woman who likes cheap tequila and kinky sex with strange men.”

  Naturally, I decided Becky was going to be my new best friend. By the time I figured out Becky was nothing like my mom had described, she’d already won me over with her big heart and bigger hair. She’s a native of Champagne, Texas, after all, and from what I can tell, half the middle-aged women in this city didn’t get the memo that the early nineties died and took their Aqua Net with them.

  My new stepmother-to-be might not like cheap tequila, as Mom promised, but she does like good coffee, which is why, even though I’m running a little late for our dress-shopping date, I’m stopping at the Common Grind before meeting with her. Personally, I don’t like coffee. That term is too casual and speaks nothing of my true devotion to the sacred brew. I require coffee. At this point, I may be more roasted bean than flesh and blood. And in the likely chance that this old-fashioned Texan’s idea of the “perfect” bridesmaid’s dress for me includes sequins or a big pink bow on my butt, I’d like something warm and comforting to get me through it.

  I take a breath and push through the doors of the coffee shop where I worked last summer, my mind on my mocha and my mocha on my mind.

  A blast of air conditioning smacks me in the face, and I lift my chin and take long strides to the counter, where I give my order to a greasy-haired guy I’ve never seen before.

  “Two mocha lattes, coming right up.” He takes my money, and I keep my eyes cast down, afraid to see who else is working today.

  Unfortunately, the whole “see no evil” strategy isn’t effective.

  “I heard you were spending the summer in Indiana,” someone says behind the espresso machine.

  I force myself to meet the gaze of my former coworker. “Hi, Jewel.”

  “Did you run out of guys to fuck in Champagne?”

  My gut churns with something as sour as spoiled milk and hot as lava. I don’t like the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when I’m in this town. The feeling I had when I was fourteen and my dad stopped looking me in the eye. The feeling I had when I was stupid enough to end last summer with a bang. I went to a party, drank too much, and exercised my consistently poor judgment.

  I didn’t think I was the kind of girl to sleep with a friend’s crush, but though I remember very little of that night, my brain has supplied me with enough mental snippets that I know enough to regret. Typical Easy Gee-Gee.

  The next morning, all the girls I worked with at the coffee shop treated me as if I were a walking STD, and it was like I was fourteen all over again. I thought Jewel would have forgiven me by now, but obviously I was wrong.

  “Oh!” The greasy-haired guy at the register claps his hands then points at me. “You’re Gee-Gee Lee! Damn!” He looks at his watch. “I have a break in ten minutes if you wanna head out back.” He grabs his crotch. “You know what I’m talkin’ about?”

  Hot lava surges into my throat again. Burning. My reputation precedes me. Fucking wonderful.

  “Not a chance,” I mutter, but there’s no sting in my words because my voice has gone small, and I hate that, hate it as much as this feeling in my gut that I lost myself last summer, that I slipped back into old habits, that I got drunk and let myself once again believe the lie that I’m only as good as the number of men who want me, the number of dicks I get hard. I hate that this town makes me feel like I’m the slut they decided I was when I was fourteen.

  “Two mochas, was it?” Jewel asks before spitting into two cups. She snickers, and the sound makes my chest ache. She and I were never close, but by the end of last summer, I considered her my friend.

  What I did with Isaac ended that.

  I turn around, my quest for caffeine abandoned, and head for the door, moving fast enough that I can pretend I don’t hear her mutter ugly words. “Easy Gee-Gee.”

  I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not that girl anymore. But I’m not sure of anything.

  “Oh, honey!” Becky throws her hands over her mouth as I step out of my dressing room. “Oh, you just look so classy, sweetheart.”

  I bite back hysterical laughter. “Classy” is not a word people use to describe me, and to be fair, it’s not a characteristic I’ve ever strived for. But from Becky, and after my encounter with Jewel at the coffee shop, it’s the best kind of compliment. I like it more than I want to.

  “You do look nice, dear,” my father says, his thumbs tucked into his pockets. My dad’s a big guy, a former police officer who keeps his back to the wall and always stands with his legs spread wide, looking as if he’s bracing for a fight.

  Becky steps up to me and takes my shoulders. “Do you think it covers too much?”

  Since I’m the only bridesmaid, Becky decided she’d wait until I came into town before we picked out my bridesmaid dress. I secretly love that she’s laidback enough to let me buy something off the rack for her big day.

  Dad grunts. “If it were up to me, it would cover more.”

  Becky rolls her eyes. “She’s a beautiful young woman, Eddy.”

  Dad makes a face and steps back, relinquishing control of the wardrobe decisions to his bride-to-be. I love that she calls him Eddy. Everyone—including my mom—has called my dad Edward for as long as I can remember. Occasionally someone will call him Ed, but I sincerely doubt anyone before Becky Dupree ever had the balls to call him Eddy.

  I turn to the wall of mirrors to study myself. The simple black sheath dress is long and three-quarter-sleeved. It covers all my tattoos except the ivy on my shoulder blades. If I didn’t already love Becky, I would love her now for giving me an opportunity to object to covering so much skin.

  But this dress isn’t about Becky wanting me covered up. She’s never been like that. In fact, when she met me last October, I think she was downright delighted by my then-pink hair, crazy wardrobe, and loud personality. She’s never made me feel like I need to tone myself down or cover myself up, and now she’s doing what she does best with me—making it absolutely clear that she’s not asking me to do it for her wedding, either.

  “I think it’s nice.” It’s gorgeous, but I’d have been happy to wear something that was less my style, as long as it wasn’t God-awful lavender or bubblegum pink or covered with that itchy lace that makes my skin all red and blotchy.

  Dad nods. “I’m glad my girls agree.” He kisses Becky’s forehea
d. “You have my credit card. I’ll be in the golf pro shop when you need me. Take your time.”

  Becky watches him go before turning back to me with a sweet smile. “Thanks for not giving your dad a hard time about this summer. We appreciate you agreeing to stay with Dash.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” I shift awkwardly. I don’t want to talk about my summer plans, and I definitely don’t want Becky psychoanalyzing my motivations for them. Dad asked me to stay with my stepbrother because he thinks I need a babysitter. I agreed because I don’t want to live in Champagne, Texas.

  “I told Eddy you’re a big girl and you can stay at the house by yourself. I don’t want you to think we were worried you were going to throw wild parties or something. But you know your dad. You’ll always be his baby girl, and he couldn’t stand the idea of you being alone here with no one around to watch out for you.”

  “Come on.” I grin and nudge my soon-to-be stepmother. “Who wouldn’t want to stay in rural Indiana for a wild summer while they’re in college? Isn’t that on every girl’s bucket list?”

  Becky laughs. “Blackhawk Valley is really pretty. I’ve seen it for myself. And Dash has a nice group of friends there. But it’s no New York.”

  “Are you sure Dash doesn’t mind me staying with him?” I already asked Dad this same question, and he was all, “Why would he mind? Are you planning to make his life difficult? Make yourself useful, and no one will ever mind having you around.” The conversation ended there.

  “I’m sure,” Becky says. “I’d feel bad for asking the favor, but I think you two will get along.”

  I don’t know much about my future stepbrother, and I haven’t bothered finding out more. I know he’s a football player, which is a strike against him, but not all guys who play football are assholes. Or so they tell me.

  He’s Becky’s son, which is a mark in his favor, because Becky is one of the best people I’ve ever met in my life. Not only does she make my dad happy—which I honestly didn’t think was possible—but she’s also really fun to be around, and her goodness shines right through her smile.

  But the primary mark in Dash’s favor is that he doesn’t live in Champagne, Texas, and on my list of requirements for summer housing, “Not Champagne” is number one. If my stepbrother is going to be my ticket out of the armpit of Texas for the summer, he’s all right by me.

  “I’ll stay out of his way,” I promise. “I don’t want him to feel like I’m interrupting his life.”

  “He won’t feel that way at all,” she says. “Dash is a good boy and always has been. He’s helpful and does what he’s asked.”

  I swallow back a gag and paste on a smile. I don’t want to spend my summer with an asshole by any means, but if he’s half as sweet as his mom makes him out to be, I might fall into a coma from boredom before I even make it back to the city.

  “He’s sweet and thoughtful, too,” she adds.

  “He must get that from you.”

  “Ha!” She bumps my shoulder with one of hers. “I wish I could take credit for it, but I was just a single mom trying to get by. I think that’s the way he was born. I really wish you would have come home to meet him this spring. He’s excited to get to know you.”

  “Sorry about that.” I shift my gaze to the sheer hem that lands above my knees. “I couldn’t justify the time away from school.” I turn around to avoid her eyes. “Would you mind unzipping me?”

  She lowers the zipper halfway. “You’ll get to meet him soon. He flies in tonight, but your dad said you already have plans?”

  “I’m staying with Willow,” I tell her. “But I promised Dad I’d be home in the morning so we could all have breakfast together.”

  “That sounds wonderful. I’ll make pancakes.” She grins, and I slip back into the dressing room.

  When I’ve changed back into my clothes—distressed jeans and a strapless pink top—Becky’s waiting for me at the register, chatting with a bright-eyed blonde. When I put the dress on the counter, the blonde looks at me and her eyes light up with recognition.

  “I know you,” she says. “Gee-Gee, right?”

  My “friends” at the coffee shop today notwithstanding, I haven’t been called Gee-Gee since I was fourteen. Hearing the name makes the acid churn in my belly. I lift my chin. “I go by Grace now.”

  “Oh my God! Your stutter is, like, all gone. That’s amazing. I heard you were here last summer but I never saw you. You, like, totally disappeared after . . .” She shifts her gaze to Becky, then drops it to the counter before meeting my eyes again.

  “We had to move for Dad’s job,” I lie. Even if a career move for Dad was the excuse we used, everyone knew why we moved after that night. If Dad hadn’t wanted to come back here when he took an early retirement, I never would have returned. But he’s a Texas guy at heart, and this is where he belongs.

  I stare at the girl’s hands, willing her to move faster so we can pay for the dress and get out of here.

  She doesn’t move, and when I look up, she’s staring at me and chewing on the corner of her lip. Is she wishing me dead, like so many other girls did back then, or is she trying to work up the courage to ask if I started a career as a call girl? A couple of people asked me that while I was here last summer. Apparently it was a rumor that circulated for a while.

  God, I hate this town.

  “Do you take Visa?” Becky asks.

  “Oh, yeah. Sure we do.” The girl snaps out of her inspection and gets busy ringing up the sale.

  When we leave the store, Becky is too quiet, and she stops at a Starbucks kiosk in the center of the mall. “Do you want anything?” she asks.

  “La-la—” Fuck. I take a breath and count out the syllables in my head before speaking them. “Latte with four pumps of caramel.”

  She’s studying me. She doesn’t ask if I’m okay or to explain what the cashier was talking about. I could count on one hand the number of days I’ve spent with Becky, but sometimes it feels like she sees me more clearly than my father ever did.

  Right now, I wish she were as oblivious as everyone else.

  “Oh, my God! Grace Lee! My favorite girl!” Willow Myers steps out into the dark, rainy night and wraps me in a hug so tight I can barely breathe.

  “I missed you.” I squeeze her back.

  There’s the kind of friend who makes you smile, who you always know you’ll have a good time hanging with, one you can count on for a laugh and a drink after an exam sucked the life out of you. And then there’s the kind of friend who knows you inside and out, who knows the secrets you never imagined sharing with anyone, who knows your ugliest pieces and parts and still thinks you’re beautiful. That’s Willow for me.

  “I missed you too. Let’s get out of this rain.” She tugs me inside her parents’ three-story brick home.

  I spent a lot of time here last summer. Willow and I were practically roommates for all the time we spent together between here and Dad’s house. Maybe this summer would have been the same had things played out differently. But last summer’s stupid, drunken decisions brought my past back to haunt me, so instead I do everything I can to avoid long stretches in Champagne.

  “How was your flight?” she asks as I toe off my shoes. “Have you seen your dad yet? What about your new stepmom? You said she’s nice, but is it weird to know you’re about to have a new stepmom when you’re a grown-ass woman? Have you decided if you’re going to call her Mom?”

  I can only shake my head at the rampage of questions. We text incessantly, but Willow is nothing if not curious. “Good, yes, yes, kind of . . .” I struggle to remember the last question.

  “Will you call her Mom?”

  “Oh. No. I don’t think so.”

  “I made us strawberry daiquiris,” she says. “What do you say we have a proper slumber party?”

  I look down at my clothes. It’s raining so hard out there, I’m soaked just from the walk from the car. “If by ‘proper slumber party’ you mean change into our PJs and drink t
oo much, I’m in.”

  She cocks a hip to the side and arches a brow. I’ve always thought she matched her name—long, dark hair and limbs that go for miles. She’s a goddess, I swear, with beauty inside and out. This girl is the light inside the darkness I feel when I’m here. “Is there another definition?”

  I follow her upstairs to her bedroom, taking my overnight bag with me. Willow pulls a pair of fuzzy pants and a Wonder Woman T-shirt from her chest of drawers, and I grab my sleep shorts and tank from my backpack.

  Willow’s parents are the kind of people who spend more time traveling than they do in their own home, and right now they’re in Rome, so I don’t have to worry about her dad seeing me wandering around his house braless.

  I use her bathroom to strip out of my wet clothes, and through the bathroom door I can hear Willow singing, “Reunited and it feels so good!”

  Once we’re changed, we head back downstairs and to the kitchen. We pour our daiquiris into tall pilsner glasses before settling into the overstuffed cushions of her living room sofa.

  “To braless PJ parties,” Willow says, raising her glass.

  I tap it with mine. “I’m pretty sure that’s the name of a porno, but I’ll drink to it anyway.” We take long pulls off our sugary, slushy drinks. My chest fills with a warmth that is partly due to the proximity of my best friend and partly due to the irresponsible rum-to-mixer ratio filling my glass.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to live with your stepbrother this summer,” she says.

  I shrug. “There’s nothing that could keep me in Champagne for a whole summer, since you’ll be off living the glamorous life in London.”

  She snorts. “Oh yes, changing diapers and wiping noses is oh so glamorous. Do you think I should pack my diamonds?”

  Willow’s a few years older than me and just graduated from Baylor. She’s putting her art degree to as good a use as any and spending the summer in London. She’ll be the au pair for some Hollywood couple who’s shooting a film there. The agency that vetted her and set her up with the job only told her the ages of the children and the length and location of the assignment. She won’t find out who the celebrities are until she arrives.