Bitter Notes (Second Sets, #1)

by Aly Beck

I’m too tired and way too grumpy to deal with his optimism—which he should kindly choke on until I get more sleep.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Rad.” “You can say that and believe it, but no matter what you say, you’re mine. If another man besides my best friends even approaches you, I’m gouging their eyes out and wearing them as trophies,” Rad says with a smug expression, leaning in closer to me to boop my nose.

“For the last time, I’m not your girlfriend,” I mutter, tossing my hands. “You say that now. But what’s mine is mine, and you’re fucking mine.

If they knew what we were up to out here, they’d haul us all in and slam the book in our faces. I’m too pretty to go to jail.

Since she wore me as a gag, I haven’t gotten her out of my head.

That’s right, Callum. Let loose. Let our River guide you into a den of sin.

Rad doesn't seem to have a lot of logic to his actions, but I can't fault him for that. Secretly, I like him just the way he is—weirdo tendencies and all. In my eyes, he will always be the kind-hearted hero who scooped my broken body off the darkened lawn.

I've kept people at arm's length for years, and these assholes march in like they already own my heart. And I'm giving it to them willingly, without a fight.

“You’ll never have to worry with me, Pretty Girl. I’ll fight off the monsters.”

I’m way too deep with her, drowning in my obsession. There’s no resurfacing from this as the same man I was before I met River West again. Mine to keep. Mine to hold. Mine forever.

this is what suburban hell feels like. Hot sun. Barbeque roasting. Loud country music. And hoity-toity moms and dads

“She seems sweet,” I mutter through another bite of food, nearly coming from the glorious taste hitting my buds. I swear, if the boys tasted half as good as these barbecue ribs and wings, I’d never leave them alone.

“Now, be a good little brat

The Central girl, who they think is too stupid to make any good decisions and will convince their sons she needs a baby or will rob them blind. I’m just here for the food, and well, their dicks are nice, too. But no babies for me, thanks. I have life aspirations that don’t include children until I’m at least thirty.

nothing says hello Midwest, like cold potato salad on a hot day or any kind of cold salad, for that matter.

What a twatwaffle.

I'm only human, after all, and sometimes the words people throw at me do stick.

I'm not worthless or whatever because of where I come from. I'm trying my best,

Callum’s taking things at his pace, doing what he needs to do, and I’m waiting on him. Whatever my sweet Callum needs, he’ll get.

“The fuck you think you're doing?” A low, menacing voice comes from beside us with such possession, I swear my nipples pebble under my shirt, showing their approval.

My heart aches at how much she does for everyone else but never seems to take time for herself.

The worst things in life come in fours.

I have a hard time thinking they’ll stick around. Every important male in my life has walked away without looking back. So, what makes them so different? They can have my body over and over again. But my heart is a different story.

“You’re our girlfriend, whether you like it or not.” Shit. I think I am. And it’s totally against my will. When the fuck did this happen? And why the fuck am I halfway okay with it?

I lick my lips, locking eyes with each of the boys for good measure, letting them know who the boss of the situation is. Always look the bulls in the eyes to show dominance. Or maybe not.

Something odd happens inside my body when his praise hits my ears. I stand taller. My chin juts out, and my heart pounds with excitement. If Asher happens to call me good girl, I might drop to my damn knees and suck his soul from his dick.

“You almost sound proud of me, Evil Ash,”

“Is Daddy proud?” I bat my eyelashes, poking ...

Ash’s eyes widen, and a little red tint takes over his cheeks as he sputters,...

“For fuck’s sake, Little Brat,” he gasps, tightening his grip on my shoulder. “You remember what I said, right? What happens when you call me daddy?” he murmurs, inching his face close to mine.

“I am very fucking proud. Maybe you’ll get a reward later,”

“But stop calling me daddy,” he says against my flesh, verbally pleading with me. “Or you won’t like the consequences.”

“Okay, Daddy,” I taunt, watching as he halts his steps before making a mad dash away.

I watch them with matched possession. The thought of other girls touching them makes me stabby.

Touch them and die might be my new mantra.

This is now. I’m having fun. I’m falling hard. And in the end, if I get fucked over. It’ll be my fault. For now, I’m along for the ride.

Music always calms the storm brewing in my mind and eases my pain. Music erases everything on my plate and sets me free.

music has always been my escape from the life I’ve lived.

I wholeheartedly blame my damn jealousy for my decisions. That bitch is going to get me into trouble.

All four of them belong to me. If they’re going to put their claim on me, then I’ll return the favor. Maybe I can stamp my name on their dicks.

When I’m with them—all of them—I’m not River West, the overworked bar manager. I’m just River West—theirs.

Carefree from the music infecting my soul,

I’m the mother fucking queen, and it’s about damn time someone knocked her off her high horse.

I volunteer as the damn tribute because this bitch is two seconds away from meeting the special piece in my pocket.

I will cut you. They. Are. Mine.”

“It’s about damn time you know your place,” Kieran says,

“You’re the fucking queen of Whispered Words, understand? And next time, knock her teeth loose,”

“You’re-you’re the queen, Little Star.”

“Or you could be a good little brat and strip every piece of clothing off your body and then hand them over.” As he delivers the words, the phrase the woman was too stunned to speak bounces around inside my head.

I melt. I fucking melt under his scrutiny, and that’s just bullshit. He gave me a simple demand, and here I am, lusting over one little tongue flick.