“Jesus.” I slapped a hand over my mouth. His cut cheekbones were tainted red, and he looked wary. For a second, I thought he would say something else. Or maybe even cry. Even if one, lonely tear that would fall from his eyelash, as if jumping off a cliff. But he did neither, squaring his shoulders, fixing his halo and clearing his throat.
“Honestly? It’s for the best,” he said, mentally knocking me on my ass. What? “Not everyone was born to be parents. Good on Luna. It would have hurt more if Val fucked off when she was six or seven. Bet she won’t even be mad at her when she grows up.”
I took a second to look at him—really look at him—trying to read whatever it was that was written on his face, but it was gibberish. A mixture of too many feelings, too many regrets, too much everything, crammed into one, tortured expression.
“Don’t give me that look, Rosie. Trust me. Luna doesn’t need Val.”
“Okay.” I pushed his head to the crook of my neck in a hug. Pain seeped through his strong body, and I willingly gulped it, the need to feel him overwhelming. “It’s okay, Dean.”
“She’s better off,” he repeated, his voice strangled with agony.
I was blinded. Gone for. Torn apart and thrown to the floor like confetti.
I wanted to take what he was feeling and swallow it like a bitter pill. It didn’t suit him. Even with the alcohol, weed, and empty fucks, Dean Cole didn’t do sadness.
He wasn’t Sirius.
He was planet Earth.
He was oxygen.
He was everything.
I allowed his face to disappear inside my shoulder and embraced him until there was no more space between us. We melted into each other, his heartbeats against my skin, my hair in his nose, his fingers on my waist. Our bodies joined together, even more so than in the red truck.
Dean didn’t produce any tears, but that didn’t mean he didn’t cry. He did, and I cried with him. For Luna, who was only a year old, and was already going through something more traumatic than most people experience in a lifetime. For Trent, who was always somehow being forced to grow up, always the one to get screwed over. And I cried for me, because I knew, right there and then, that a part of me was already his despite my best efforts. I never stopped loving Dean Cole. Not even for one damn moment. I just convinced myself that I stopped caring.
Until I didn’t.
Until now.
FROM SADNESS GROWS LIFE. THAT’S what my dad always said.
That night, I slept in Rosie’s room.
We didn’t have sex. We didn’t mess around. We didn’t even kiss.
But our legs were tangled and our skin touched and it felt more real than any other shit I experienced in any bed, at any time. In the morning, I had to sneak so I could hop in a taxi to the airport, but I did leave her a note.
This is happening, Sirius.
Sincerely,
—Your Bronze Horseman
The flight to Vegas was a blur.
I was sober and conscious yesterday—the day I had spent with Rosie—and it felt weird…but nice. The high I got was natural, from imagining her dressing like a stripper, cuffing me to my bed, and sitting on my face until I couldn’t breathe and her pussy was completely numb. But then Trent got that phone call and my world had collapsed.
Val’s betrayal sweltered in my stomach along with what Trent said after he’d found out. “She’s never going to see her kid again unless she commits to being a parent first. I’ve had enough of her bullshit.”
As much as it pained me to admit it, he was fucking right, too. You couldn’t half-ass parenthood. It wasn’t a lazy Sunday morning fuck. Either you were completely in or you were completely out. Anything in-between was a mindfuck to the kid, and I had to remember that, now more than ever.
Trent flew out to Chicago to get Luna—his parents were waiting for them in Todos Santos and were going to help him pull through this nightmare—and Jaime and I immediately called off the bachelor party. It was Trent who threatened us with physical violence to go through with our original Vegas plans. His reasons:
He was going to Chicago to discharge his daughter from the hospital, where she stayed with a very freaked-out, thoroughly scarred babysitter, so it wasn’t like he was loitering around waiting for our royal asses to come hold his hand.
Vicious was only going to get married once (considering his bad temper and fuck-all attitude, we all knew that there will not be a second Millie to tolerate his shit).
#$%%VTCF#$^$^
[email protected] Val fucking bailed on his daughter and he had no time to deal with our first-world, white-men problems, anyway.
It was a Sunday in August, and The Strip was bustling with tourists, drunk half-naked girls, and angry, radical Christians with a mic trying to pull all the sinners back to the light. After we dumped our duffel bags in our presidential suite, Vicious toed his leather Oxfords off and said, “I love my future wife, I really fucking do, but I hope we’re not going to bump into her annoying-ass friends too many times this trip. I need to see more of her younger sister like I need a bullet to my fucking head.”
“How do you mean?” I took off my Rolex and multi-colored Versace shirt, heading to one of the bathrooms. I needed to throw up and take a shower to feel human again. Nina had called me multiple times during the short flight—fifty? Sixty? I stopped counting—leaving several voice messages I didn’t bother listening to.
The shit with Trent had reminded me of how much I needed to stay away from her and him, even if curiosity burned every bone in my goddamn body. It just wasn’t fair, and even though my dad was right—life isn’t fair—I was the one to call the shots on this one, and my decision was to never meet him or her.
And that decision was fucking final.
“They’re going to be here in Vegas. Rosie changed the plans at the last minute. They’ll be staying at this hotel.”
I pivoted, brushing a finger over my lower lip.
“Baby LeBlanc is in Sin City?”
Vicious let loose a malicious grin, scanning me with his cold, dead eyes. “Will be in two hours. They took the next flight in. Why, what the fuck are you going to do about it, man?”
“Whatever she’ll let me.” I kicked my shoes off.
“Make Rosie run it by Emilia first.” He threw a soft pack of Marlboros we used for the blunts—and missed—purposely. “I know Em doesn’t give half a fuck about you, but I don’t want her feeling betrayed by her sister.”
Jaime strolled into the vast space from one of the bathrooms before I had the chance to inform Vicious that I neither answer to his ass nor to Millie’s.
“Trent is going to be a little fucked-up after this.” Jaime sighed, picking up the discarded Marlboros.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” Vicious turned on his heel, walking away from the room, probably to get into the shower himself. Jaime bumped his shoulder into mine, unscrewing a bottle of water and bringing it to his lips.
“Does he know you’re fucking his girl’s sister?”
“What gave it away, Sherlock?” I snagged the Marlboros from his hand and texted my guy in Las Vegas simultaneously, asking him for weed ASAP. Even if I wasn’t going to smoke, it wasn’t fair to deprive Jaime and Vicious of their favorite pastime.
Jaime plopped down on the arm of the plush, white sofa and took another sip of his water.
“Talk about Captain Obvious. Besides, you eye-fucked her at the rehearsal dinner when no one was looking. It was subtle, which means you actually give a damn about what she thinks about you.” He paused, his eyebrows dropping down. “But I paid close attention, so even though you tried to hide it, I still saw it. You wanted to bend her against the table and fuck her raw with her face pressed against someone else’s entrée.”
Thank you, Jaime. I was going to pin that thought and tuck it into my spank bank for a rainy day.
“Is she worth the hassle?” Jaime cocked his head sideways, lifting one eyebrow. I patted his shoulder. Fucking adorable, this guy was.
“She is the hassle.?
??
“Happy for you, bro. It’s been a while since you were occupied with something other than booze and work.” He grinned. “But we still need to talk about the potential complications. Last time Vicious and you went head-to-head, you compromised Fiscal Heights Holdings in the process. I won’t let it happen again.”
Refraining from correcting him—I didn’t go head-to-head with Vicious, he hired and slept with my ex-girlfriend without my knowledge after separating us while we were kids—I blinked, showing him that his words were barely acknowledged. I was always under control, and Fiscal Heights Holdings never suffered. Most importantly, no one—no goddamn exceptions—was going to come between me and what I wanted.
My phone was out of my pocket again, this time texting her.
Dean
What room will you be staying in?
Rosie
One where you’re not welcome. We need to keep it platonic.
That would be a definite no. That was like settling for looking at a mouthwatering cheesecake without ever eating it. I was going to eat it again and again and a-motherfucking-gain. Shit, I was going on a binge.
Dean
Don’t be cute. We’ve already established that we’re happening. Now you’re just punishing me for dating your sister. Tell me I’m wrong.
She didn’t answer. Of course, she didn’t. She was hot for me. More than that. She was hot for all of me—not just my body—and the feeling was mutual. What we shared yesterday? It wasn’t something that happened with a Kennedy or a Natasha. Fuck, it didn’t even happen with Emilia. Rosie and I were connected by an invisible fuse. Even when I was dating her sister. Even when she had a boyfriend and lived downstairs and I was ten floors up boning my way into some kind of a record. I couldn’t wait for the second we exploded, because when we did…fireworks. The sparks were already there. She could bullshit me all she wanted, but she felt it, too.
Dean
Fucking going to devour you, Baby LB.
Rosie
DEAN. Change of subject. Fun fact about astronomy?
Dean
The Milky Way is whirling rapidly at approximately 100 million km per hour, and you’re about to get my milk splashed in your cunt. Music?
Rosie
Your heartbeat mimics the beats of the music you’re listening to. Dean Cole is not that wrong about his theory regarding my sister. He would have to work hard for a repeat.
I closed our text conversation and opened a new one with Sydney, who I knew from high school, asking her to give me all the deets. When they were going to land and settle into rooms, what their schedule was like. I told her not to share it with anyone, because we were planning a surprise for Millie.
When really, I was planning a surprise for Rosie.
I was going to eat my cake, and keep it. Impossible? Just watch.
God bless Sydney Whatshername.
Even though I was oblivious to her existence back when we were in high school (the only reason I had her number was because Millie opened a special text group for people who attended the rehearsal dinner), in Vegas she quickly became one of my favorite people. For one thing, Sydney told me where the girls would be that night. Since Vicious didn’t want any strippers at his party (he always hated people, and especially people who tried to touch him. Besides, he was a bastard, but a loyal one), we were all planning to go to a fancy restaurant and hit the casino until morning.
I figured we could crash the club they were going to after that Britney Spears show. Weren’t the dancers humping one another the whole time? Thank you, Ms. Spears, for prepping my girl’s libido for our late-night escapade.
It didn’t surprise me that Rosie brought her fucking A-game to the table and burnt it down with ace after ace. While the men were drinking and smoking in the presidential suite, talking about Trent with shitty porn playing in the background like we were fucking sixteen, Rosie had somehow managed to take the girls on a special cupcake adventure, a tour of a famous tattoo shop, a Jacuzzi party, and a show.
I knew all that info because Sydney Motherfucking LastnameIcantremember gave me hourly updates, assuming Emilia, the bride, was in for a pleasant surprise. And she was. I was going to bring her groom along with me. But my intentions were purely selfish—I was after her younger sister.
“You should probably let Vic know before he loses his shit,” Jaime said to me when I got out of the shower, ironing the collar of his crisp shirt in front of the spotless, floor-to-ceiling mirror. I chuckled, dropping the towel and stepping into my boxers. Jaime had seen my dick so many times, he could probably recognize it in a police lineup with a hundred more suspects. Our football days meant we were all comfortable with each other. Too comfortable, maybe.
“Let him know what?” I played dumb. Vicious already knew, but I liked fucking with my friends as much as the next HotHole. “Are you talking about the Erickson-Estavez deal?” We were working with two giant engineering companies on the verge of merging together, and Vicious stayed out of the loop, with his upcoming wedding and all. Out of the four of us, Jaime and I were probably the hardest workers. Jaime, because he was just a responsible little shit who had to get everything right and perfect. Me, because I had no kids or other responsibilities, so drowning in numbers and initiating business calls with Asia and Australia in the middle of the night were sacrifices I was happy to make.
“He’s drafting the Erickson-Estavez contract as we speak. You know exactly what. More specifically who—I’m talking about.”
“He knows, and he’s okay with it, but even if he wasn’t, it’s my life, and it’s my business,” I reminded him, shrugging into my navy dress shirt, buttoning the cuff links and adding, “Also, last time I checked, he was the very person to try to steal my girlfriend from under my nose when we were still together, including—but not limited to—kissing Millie while we were dating. Just to be on the safe side of being a full-blown dick, he kissed Rosie, too. So, really, other than trying to shove his tongue into my mom’s mouth, he pretty much tainted all the women I care for.” Saved for Payton and Keeley, my sisters. Truth was, Keeley had told me one drunken night that Vicious made out with her when we were juniors. It definitely gave me a little shove as far as my morals went when it came to pursuing Millie.
If nothing else, my little speech zipped Jaime’s mouth. Rosie was fucking mine. Every part of her. From the tips of her toes to the baby fine hair on the top of her head. Every single bit was going to be claimed and marked. And the beautiful thing was that no one had a say in this shit. No one but Rosie herself.
“Here’s the address to the club.” I threw my phone with the Yelp app into Jaime’s hands, and he caught it mid-air. “Call the limo service downstairs. I’ll go make sure Vic is ready.”
“Dean.” Jaime grabbed my wrist as I turned to walk through the door to get my pants.
“Baby,” I purred into his face, smirking. “I know I’m irresistible, but I’m sure Mel is more flexible, with that ballerina background and all.” Jaime narrowed his eyes at me and threw my wrist like it was dirt.
“Jesus, can you un-creep yourself for a second? Listen, I’m the last person to lecture you about who to be with.”
“Because you fucked my lit teacher when I was eighteen.” I nodded on a laugh. “Married her, knocked her up, and almost gave your mom a heart attack in the process. Yeah, agreed. Neither you nor Vicious can tell me what to do.”
“But.” He raised his voice, and damn, Jaime Followhill had some authority in him, I’d almost forgotten. “I swear to God, Dean, if this is just another one-night stand, and you’re going to screw around with the dynamics of our group—with our families and friends—for a quick bang…”
“It’s not just a fuck,” I gritted out. I needed to remind myself that Jaime had a good reason for poking the subject. I’d been known as the one to shove his dick into anything that has two legs and a dress, so what the fuck was I expecting? But I wasn’t Vicious. I wasn’t blind to what had been in front of me for years. I
owned up to what I wanted from this girl from day one.
I never pursued anyone this hard, and with Rosie, I didn’t even decide to do it. It was like Jimmy Fallon’s career. It just kind of happened before anyone could stop it.
“What are your intentions?” Jaime asked, holding my gaze, serious as a fucking funeral. What are my intentions? Living in London made him sound like a British lord or some shit. Making fun of him should have been first priority, but a part of me wanted him—and other people—to stop fucking talking to me like I was a male hooker who refused to slow down until his dick fell off.
“Jaime,” I snarled, nostrils flaring. I got in his face, feeling like a raging eighteen- year-old again. “I didn’t ask you what the fuck your intentions were when you bent Mel over her desk and fucked the shit out of her in the classroom, so you don’t get to ask me the same question. Rosie is a big girl. People need to stop acting like she’s an old pet no one wants. What we have between us is ours. Not yours. Not Vicious’s, and not Emilia’s. Anyone who thinks differently is welcome to settle this with me. And, true to our brotherhood’s fashion, I won’t be nice, polite, or apologetic about it. Am I clear?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned around and walked away. I had a date to go to.
She just didn’t know it yet.
What makes you feel alive?
Lusting after someone. So badly your center aches, your eyesight is blurry and your morals are thrown out the window.