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“I’m vetoing this one, Sir Frowns-A-Lot.” Rhyland clapped Row’s shoulder. “You need employees, and I need you off my back. Fair trade-off.”
“Ambrose Rhett Casablancas,
Sensing the urgency of the situation, I flung myself over to his corner of the room, pressing my hands together and bending my knees. My fingertips accidentally brushed his muscular forearm. A shock of electricity shot through my spine at our fleeting touch. “Row, plea—”
“If you come onto her, I will kill you. If you make me regret it, I will resuscitate you, then re-kill you. If she screws anything up, I’m killing
Rhyland flipped him off with a smile, then curled his middle finger and gave him a thumbs-up. “Clumsy me. Yeah, got it.” He turned to me now. “No verbal diarrhea, no offensive attire, and no arguing. Got it?”
“Isn’t she a ball of sunshine?” Rhyland all but clapped with delight. He loved seeing Row reining in his primal instinct to throttle me. “Isn’t he a bouquet of grumpiness?” Dylan gestured to her brother.
Even though he wasn’t yet famous, people lined up to meet him at the Casablancases’ door like he was Mick Jagger, hoping some of his stardust rubbed off on them.
An erotism my seventeen-year-old self simply couldn’t ignore.
Scary? Yes. Untrustworthy? Always. Their physical advantage unnerved me. But not Row. Apparently, Row was in a different category than everyone else.
Row and Rhyland were across the lawn by the edge of the forest, chopping wood for wintertime. They were both shirtless, sweat glazing their skin, Row’s golden cross necklace dangling between his sculpted pecs, glinting like the smooth surface of a sunlit lake.
Because I was a lying liar who lied and wanted to make sure everyone around me thought I led a normal, happy life.
“Dude, I’m only looking at him because he is blocking my view of Rhy.” Lie number 3,447,358 slipped past my lips.
Row’s abs contracted with each movement. He looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch Super Bowl ad. I waited for the part where I wanted to run away from him to kick in, but it never did.
blushing—I was already purple from trying to get a tan.
“He is. Nonetheless, I’m not crushing on your brother,” I lied. I was. Stalking his Instagram two hundred times a day, even though he was too cool to be on top of his social media. Tormenting myself by imagining all the chic, European girls he hooked up with.
Row’s bronze deltoids and triceps bulged delectably under a thin coat of sweat.
To award me with his sleek, predatory gaze that turned me inside out.
Can’t you just shave some off your heart?
face. A sharp stab of guilt sliced my chest open.
sudden. It wasn’t like I had a chance with him. Dude had fished chicken nuggets and queso from my hair when I’d drunk-vomited into his toilet in the middle of the night two years ago, after Dylan and I had stolen their dad’s vodka and gotten shit-faced.
He’d once caught Dylan popping a zit the size of Montana
With trembling hands, I started going through the pictures in his drawer. There were dozens of them. All of them of me and Dylan, or just me. In all of them, my face had been cut out.
Hot, liquid anger swirled in my gut, making my entire body hum with fury. “Why?”
What was I talking about? I had no heart to give. It’d been smashed into powder, ground into dust.
A miserable smile slashed my face. “But tell me how it is anyway.”
“Can’t.” Face expressionless. Eyes dead. Muscles stiff. “Why?” “Reasons.” “Reasons?”
Why was he a ruthless douchebag all of a sudden? What had I done to deserve this? “I don’t owe you jack shit, Dot. You aren’t my friend. Just my little sister’s annoying sidekick.”
“You used to like me,” I heard myself say, and hated how childish and whiny I sounded.
My eyelids fluttered open, my pride overriding my fear. Luckily, he was already dressed in ripped jeans and a worn-out white Henley, the clothes clinging to his defined muscles like they were sewn onto him.
“Maybe you’re not as lovable as you think.” He tucked a cigarette behind his ear, smirking at me. I stared at him, dumbfounded. I didn’t deserve this. Either he was going to tell me what the hell I’d done, or he could take a hike.
“Speaking of dick, heard you’ve been getting lots of those recently.”
My whole body drew in a breath, my nipples pebbling against my swimsuit, brushing the ragged fabric.
The liquid honey that uncurled behind my belly button and how empty I felt. How…unsettled.
I rummaged my memory bank for a paper ring but came up empty-handed.
Row’s jawline was a hard, square line of annoyance, and he barely moved his mouth when he spoke.
“What are you trying to say, that you were once nice to me, so now you have a free pass to be a douchebag?” I thundered.
“Look at you. With the sun on your skin, freckles everywhere, mouth red as a cherry. My dick swells just from knowing you and I share the same zip code. Whenever you speak, all I can do is stare at your mouth and imagine it wrapped around my cock. You’re a shiny apple, and do you know what people do to shiny apples?” His nose glided down mine, and I could almost feel them. His pouty, perfect lips.
I’d probably puke in his mouth from fear once he had his hands on me. My whole body felt like he’d set it on fire, tight and sensitive to the touch, and I wondered what would happen if he actually did touch me.
His gaze glided to my lips. I felt like he’d wrapped me in a soft, warm blanket. Like the universe had shrunk around us and we’d become the very center of it. Mostly, I felt safe because even when he was angry, he was my comfort object.
breasts. My own gaze slid down, and I found him hard behind his jeans, his dick nearly poking my center.
“What?” My voice was hoarse, my heart hammering its way out of my chest, cracking the bones embracing it, one beat at a time.
always pretty, but especially when you lie.” “You think I’m pretty?” I bloomed beneath his gaze like a flower opening its petals to welcome the sun’s rays.
“Row was always the dark and moody type.” Mom let out a dreamy giggle. “It’s part of his charm. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.” “What, murder-y?” I squeezed one eye shut, scrunching my nose. “Alpha-y. It’s all about cinnamon rolls and consent these days.” “Yeah. Consent. So gross, right?” I pinned her with a pointed look. Mom laughed. “Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Oh, that nonsense. He’s a scapegoat. I actually think he is trying to be helpful.” Mom nibbled on a piece of raw onion. “Small-town folks really know how to blow things out of proportion.”
“Blow what out of proportion?” Extracting information from my mother was like milking a shark.
Cats’ trope was enemies to lovers, hands down.
Can it get any better? I think not. Mittens are proof that God exists and that we’re His children.”
Halfway through her sentence, Semus bit my finger, drawing blood. I was just bringing a pickle to my mouth and jerked back, the pickle juice squirting into my eye. “Motherfluffer!” I fell flat on my ass, causing the disloyal cat to jump for safety but not before sinking his claws into my thighs to remind me who was the boss. I rolled on the floor, screaming, “My eyes! My eyes!”
Just open it, Cal, you big, stupid baby. My heart felt like a mangled piece of paper, ready to be torn. Decisions, decisions.
A little riddle to break the ice: Question: Why did the scientist take out his doorbell? Answer: Because he wanted to win the no-bell prize. (Kindly pretend to laugh at this. If I find it extremely funny, even in my current state, then so should you.) Now that you’re in an agreeable mood, I need you to do a few things for me. Allow me to point out that you are not in a position to turn me down, complain, and/or argue because I’m: Dead, and therefore cannot hear you. Always right. 100% going to haunt you if you fail me. I have a lot of free time right now, Callichka. Do not try me.
