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“I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.” ―F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby In this book, she isn’t.
Once upon a time there was a magic castle in which everything wilted but the soul of one boy.
The girl wondered what would happen if the sun kissed the moon. She had no idea she’d find an answer to that question one day. Or that the person to give it to her would be that very lonely boy.
“I also answer to God and Damn, Hunter You’re So Big,”
“To make a long, excruciatingly gross story short, about a dozen people filmed the entire thing with their phones. Some uploaded it on YouTube, some to Twitter, some to Snapchat. Those were taken down, as far as we know. But the ones on the porn sites? Those are still available. And let’s just say what you lack in academic achievements, you make up for as an adult entertainer.”
The video already had 1.2 million views and an 89-percent customer satisfaction rate.
The tags on the video included: #FratParty #Orgy #Hotsluts #Cheerleaders #Billionaire #Anal #Oral #69 #Creampie #TagTeam #BestFriendsEx And all I could think was, I managed all those things in the span of twenty minutes with one dick? Im-fucking-pressive.
“You’re in deep trouble. Stacee, Kylie, and Bianca are pressing charges against you. They’re already at the police station.
I didn’t rape or harass these girls. Or any girls. It was a setup.
“Just to get a taste of being fucked. One cannot live his whole life only doing the fucking,”
Whenever you feel your precious ego needs a hand job, log on to that porn site and remind yourself that whoever ends up putting a ring on those women will always know you as the guy who fucked them half-dead and still managed to make them come.”
“And you’re going to be sober as a judge and celibate as a nun.” And bored as fuck. Yeah, no thank you.
He is sending me to live with a girl whose father is a cold-blooded murderer. Me. With my unfiltered, filthy mouth.
Living with a geek and six months of celibacy weren’t going to kill me. Probably. Only time would tell, honestly.
Boys? They were so off my radar, I wasn’t even sure I possessed said radar.
Boys never spoke to me, and when they did, they didn’t look like him.
Hunter Fitzpatrick was unfairly, undeniably, irrefutably stunning. Shockingly so. In a way that made me resent him simply because men that handsome aren’t trustworthy. Let me amend—men in general aren’t trustworthy. The pretty ones were extra mean, though. That was a lesson I’d learned in high school that wasn’t in the syllabus.
Hunter’s hair was muddy gold, curling in angelic twists around his ears, temples, and the nape of his neck, enhancing his heart-stopping beauty. His eyes were narrow, almost slanted, and brilliantly light, a mixture of gray and powder blue with flecks of gold, and his high cheekbones, square jaw, and pouty lips gave him the elegance of a surly, spoiled prince. His nose was straight and narrow, his eyebrows thick and masculine, and he had that healthy, glowing tan of a man who got to see the better parts of the world.
He was lean, muscular, and freakishly tall for a polo player. According to the rumors, he had enviable abs and a member the size of the Eiffel Tower.
“Specifically speaking, I don’t have any. Just think of me, like, as Bambi: cute AF but super stupid and in total need of supervision.”
“Who’s gonna take care of Hunter Jr., then?” “Your hand?” I suggested. “Or an apple pie, if you’re into cultural clichés.”
“Listen to me carefully, Hunter Fitzpatrick. I may seem like an insecure, average-looking geek to you. And you know what? That’s who I am. I own it. But make no mistake, this insecure geek comes from a long line of people you do not want to screw with, and their savagery rubbed off on me as well. I will not hesitate to pierce your pretty, spoiled-prince heart with one of my pointy arrows.
But you’re right. I do have a price. My success is my price. Beating Lana Alder at this game is my price. You have nothing to offer me in that department. You will be celibate, sober, and congenial. We will attend our family functions, play house, and be whatever our parents want us to be. And then we’ll part ways and never speak to each other again. Am I clear?”
“You’re insane.” I smiled sweetly. “Been called worse.” “Now I get it.” He dropped the garbage to the floor, pointing at me. “You’re my punishment for what I did. He chose the craziest bitch in Boston to set me straight, the old bastard.”
I was already fantasizing about killing her in various positions, landscapes, and with different weapons once this was over. Cue to: Me strangling Sailor against a Sicilian sunset. Me slitting Sailor’s throat while we wore matching swimsuits in the Bahamas. Me pushing Sailor off an aerial tramway on a picturesque Aspen vacation.
Sometimes in the fantasies she was asleep, but more often than not she was wide awake and fully conscious, witnessing her demise.
“You haven’t one serious bone in your body.” Other than my boner.
“My bad for being alive. For what it’s worth, I wish I’d been pulled out before conception,”
I hated it, hated that they were united and had a father-son relationship, that I was a stranger in this town, in this building, and in their home, where I wasn’t welcome.
Da had always seemed to have a soft spot for innocent Aisling, and he was enamored with devilishly smart and self-possessed Cillian. I was the savage creature who lacked that Fitzpatrick shine, and we both knew why, but neither of us had the balls to say it out loud.
But all Troy did was stare at me like I was the craziest asshole he’d ever laid eyes on. “No, you clown. I don’t think you stand a chance with my daughter. She’s not cut from the same dime a dozen hussy cloth you’re used to. Why would I assume she needs protection from you any more than you need protection from her?”
“Sam Brennan. Troy’s adoptive son.” “Just son,” Troy corrected unemotionally. Aww. Even this serial-killer-ninja-asshole loved his kid more than Da loved me.
“Which makes me Sailor’s slightly unhinged, overprotective brother with a chip on my shoulder. Which makes you the perfect candidate for my fist.”
“She doesn’t need gift cards. Give her the gift of not being an idiot. Because if you hurt her, I will have to kill you. And I don’t mean that as a figure of speech. I will literally kill you.”
I being judged by a couple of murderers? I really should take a long, hard look at my life.
“Jesus Christ, I’ve never met someone so eager to get punched,”
“Persy and I have reached the conclusion that for Hunter to grow up and take responsibility, and for you to…well, get a life and a clue, you guys need to fall in love,”
I always turned a blind eye to what my dad and Sam did. It helped me love them wholly. But that didn’t mean I agreed with how they chose to make money.
Sailor: Let’s take a little detour—what does HHH stand for? HHH: Hot, Handsome Hunter, naturally. Sailor: I’m speechless right now.
Sailor: Why don’t you just tell me what you want? HHH: Why, I thought you’d never ask. A kiss. Sailor: From who? HHH: A flame-haired banshee.
Sailor: The kiss will mean nothing. HHH: Should’ve said that before I printed out our wedding invitations. Wear a dress.
It was funny how Hunter believed he was dumb, and I believed I was unattractive—and that these opposite sources of insecurity made us enemies. I despised him for his looks, and he thought I was an unattractive bore.
“Told you they were gorgeous.” I cleared my throat. “You’re the one I’m looking at, Carrot Top.”
“No offense, girls.” “None taken.” Emmabelle grinned conspiratorially.
“Disney movie,” she mouthed, standing to her full height. “Make the prince fall in love. Seize the castle. Become his queen.” She’d officially lost her mind.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” “Do what?” “Hate me with such a passion. Your wrath gives me a semi, and I still have a kiss I can collect whenever I wish to.”
“Obviously you’ve never been kissed by a Fitzpatrick.” “Have you?” I challenged, cocking a brow. “Was it your brother or sister? I’m hoping your brother. I love me some male-on-male action.”
“Deep breath,” he whispered, his voice calm. “Remember, they’re just people. They breathe. They eat. They fart—loudly, sometimes—and to answer your question, yes, Cillian and I French kiss all the time, and he uses an excessive amount of tongue.”
“And being a dick doesn’t count for personality. It’s a muscle. So technically, you’re a meathead.”
“And never settling for an asshole to get a pair of Louboutins you can get at the butcher shop.” Belle laughed throatily.
