Unexpected (Sun Valley #1)

by E.J. Blaise

God knows I’d remember if I befriended this man because, Jesus Christ, is he hot. Really fucking hot. Most notably, someone in my life would probably have an issue with me being friends with someone I instantly label as really fucking hot, and that person would not quietly endorse said friendship.

“I don’t have a fucking crush.” My ‘friends’ exchange glances before rolling their eyes. “Yeah, yeah, we know. The big, bad Nicolas Silva doesn’t get measly crushes. He sleeps with women and doesn’t call them, eats girl’s hearts for breakfast, hooks up with their mothers, blah blah blah, feelings are for the weak. We know, big guy.”

I don’t have a crush on Red. She’s just… interesting. Intriguing. Captivating, with those pretty green eyes, all those messy curls framing her face like flames. My lips turn up at the memory of her rejecting me and looking so damn proud of herself as she did. I wonder if she’d look that proud if she knew how much I love a challenge.

Yeahhhh you don’t have a crush 🙃

Dylan fucking Wells. My freshman year roommate. God, how did I forget him? I had to deal with his bitching and whining for an entire academic year. Dylan was a massive pain in the ass. He makes Ben seem completely tolerable. Apparently, he still is a massive pain in the ass. A massive abusive pain in the ass.

The girl is a living flame. Fiery curls fly around her as she dances, so wild yet fluid in her movements, so eye-catching. And that dress, that fucking red dress. So tight around her chest but loose around her hips, flaring every time she spins to the music, riding higher and higher on her thighs with every twirl, the sight of creamy, freckled flesh sending a jolt of heat to my groin. She tips her head towards the ceiling, lips parted, cheeks flushed, chest heaving as she breathes heavily.

I can’t take my fucking eyes off of her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Amelia.” Amelia. Finally. A pretty name for a pretty girl.

Amelia spins towards me. After a moment of assessment, an accusing finger jabs my way. “You!” A lazy grin pulls at my lips. “Me?” “You were rude to me.” She remembers me, is all my twisted brain gets out of that exclamation. “You got my friends kicked out.” “No, you got your friends kicked out by being rude to me.” She’s yelling but she might as well be whispering sweet nothings with the way I’m gazing at her. Drinking in the sight of her.

Intoxicating, dark green eyes, the color of an evergreen forest seconds before the sun goes down. My hands itch for my camera, longing to snap a picture of her but I highly doubt she’d be okay with that. One day, maybe.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” Join the queue, sweetheart.

Again. Before. It’s becoming more and more obvious what happened tonight wasn’t an accident nor a one-time thing, and my chest tightens inexplicably at the thought.

It takes all of my willpower not to let my gaze drop to the tattooed chest on full display. Or the gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. No, my eyes remain firmly trained on his face. His beautiful, smirking face. Fuck my life.

Cass Morgan and his family were my family for ten years until my dad and I moved. It’s been three years since I’ve had any contact with him and now, all of a sudden, there he stands, my childhood best friend, the boy I considered a brother, open-mouthed in the doorway of the random house that happened to host the party I was forced to attend.

“She’s Tiny?” It’s almost comical how two little words have the seated men in the room shooting upright so rapidly, the three of them exchanging wide-eyed looks I can’t decipher. “Well,” Ben muses, leaning back in his seat, hands laced behind his head, the smile on his face inexplicably mischievous. “Isn’t this an interesting turn of events?” His gaze flickers to Nick. “Amelia is Tiny.” If I wasn’t so busy grimacing at the childhood nickname, I might’ve noticed the tense set to Nick’s jaw, might’ve questioned how intensely he glares at Ben for his comment, might’ve wondered why Ben is teasing him in the first place. Instead, I’m caught up on hearing that damn nickname for the first time in years.

Nicks not about to catch a break

“So about that rebound you mentioned last night,” Nick suddenly says, and I jerk in a mixture of surprise and disgust for my past, drunken self. “Anyone in mind?” “What?” “Because I’d be more than willing,” “Nick!” “What?” He mimics my tone and the wide-eyed look I’m giving him. “I’m hot. I’m good in bed. I come with no strings attached. I’m perfect.” “And modest.” “Honest,” he corrects.

“He’s a total player, you know.” I didn’t know that. I suspected it, definitely; the guy looks like heartbreak wrapped up in a perfectly sculpted package. He looks like the kind of guy to ruin a girl’s life, honestly, with one wink of those pretty golden eyes.

“He asked for your number.” Suspicion, and something else I can’t put a name to, tickles my spine. “When?” “Like, an hour ago. Nick asked Jackson to ask me for it. Cass slapped him.”

My brain’s been too busy for my liking lately, and I like the object of its attention, its affection, even less. Fucking Amelia. Tiny.

Você tá me ouvindo?”

I stand there watching her like every bit the stalker Ben claims I am. Goddamn, she really is beautiful.

There’s something about him. A quality I can’t quite put my finger on. He’s hard to look away from but beyond being ridiculously handsome. Yeah, it’s the strong jaw, the distinct cheekbones, the panty-dropping smile, and, fuck me, eyes the exact shade of burnt honey that grab your attention but something else keeps it. Something… magnetic. Addictive. I’ve experienced it more than once. Hell, I’m experiencing it right now.

“Could always sleep in my bed. I’ll protect you.” “Dream on.” “Believe me, querida, I will.”

I look like I’ve been dragged backward through a hedge. He looks like he’s about to pose for Men’s Health.

😭

“I think I hate you.” “You mean ‘thank you so much, Nicolas’?” Knocking my knees against the inner thighs cocooning me, I fix him with a glare. It only lasts a second, though, before softening. “Thank you, Nicolas.” “Anytime, querida.”

Every evening around the same time Amelia will appear, always hovering with an initial hesitance that melts away the second I toss her the spare, smaller gloves I’ve taken to storing in my gym bag.

I fucking love our sessions. There’s something about watching her get stronger and more confident and looking so fucking proud of herself when she nails a combination… fuck.

This man is so down bad for her

“I had a fight. Like a boxing fight,” I clarify when her confusion lingers. A long, drawn out ‘ohhhh’ sounds before a tiny fist whacks my bicep. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demands. “I would’ve gone.” She would’ve? “Really?” The indignant, slightly lopsided ‘duh’ look she shoots me says it all. “Okay.” Fuck me, I’m smiling like a loser. “Next time.”

“The girls are gonna be so disappointed.” Paper crinkles as I pause mid-page turn. “What?” “Cass already invited them.”

I love Ben so much 🫶🏼

“Whatever you’re thinking,” I drawl slowly, my foot itching with the urge to kick. “Stop it.” “I’m just saying.” His innocent blink is anything but. “Now they have no reason to come here.” Manipulation. I’m being manipulated by a fucking seventeen-year-old.

The mention of Amelia’s name has my ears pricking up like a fucking dog and it’s fucking pathetic.

I want her so bad.

That girl’s pretty, I would think. Amelia is so fucking beautiful it makes your chest hurt, it would remind me. Nice smile, I notice. But it doesn’t compare to hers. Could take someone upstairs and no one would notice—but you don’t fucking want to.

She’s…. light. She’s literal sunshine. And it makes a burst of anger shoot through me because I know that for so long, she was with someone who did nothing but dim her.

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

“Feliz aniversarió, Nicolas,” she murmurs, her smile hesitant. “Did I say that right?” Wrong. So, so wrong. Not her pronunciation but the thoughts popping into my head at the sound of her crooning my mother tongue.

Because Cass might be a big dumbass but he’s not that foolish. Three weeks with the girl and I’m addicted. Hell, a few months of knowing her only as the hot redheaded waitress and I was hooked. Ten years with her everywhere all the time? I’d be a goner.

Lemme show you, I coo silently. I’ll make it so much fun.

“I would never hurt you.”

“Luna.” Cass tenses beside me. “He hit you?” “No!” I promise in a shaky voice. “No, he just slammed a car door in your face.”

Omg I don’t know how to feel

It should be illegal, really, how he manages to look so handsome, so charming, with a face that damaged. “If I’m a good boy, do I get a drink?” And it should be illegal that not even a severe beating can knock the flirt out of him.

And when he murmurs, “I just gotta hold you for a sec,” in a quiet, calm, honest voice, that feels pretty freaking perilous too.

I’m either rewarded with a mischievous grin and a retorting quip or a cute pout and a thwap on the arm. It’s not fair to pick favorites, I know, but the latter option? Sign me up any time.

“Whatever you’re doing, you don’t have to.” “Amelia.” Nick sighs my name, looking one step away from pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is it so hard to believe that I like spending time with you?” Yeah. It kind of is. “You do?” “No,” he deadpans. “I always spend three hours at the gym every single night. And I love the food at Greenies.”

“I’m sorry I ruined your birthday, by the way.” “You didn’t.” It’s my turn to deadpan him. “My ex-boyfriend beat the crap out of you for talking to me.” “And the night ended with a pretty girl in my bed, fawning over me,” Nick retorts smoothly. “I’d call that a win.”

Gave me notions. Strived to convince me that Cass wouldn’t mind me—fuck it, I’m going to admit it—having a big, fat, pathetic crush on his sister.

“Don’t worry,” I drawl. “Looks better on you anyways.” The pretty blush encroaching on pale, freckled cheeks is worth Cass’ knuckles connecting with my shoulder. Amelia huffs, slumping further into her seat, arms crossed over her chest. “Does that line really work for you?” “Wouldn’t know.” I wrench my gaze from hers as I set the car in motion, steering us in the direction of the California-Nevada border. “I don’t make a habit of giving out my clothes.”

“I’m not sweet, querida.”

“You’re sweet to me.” “Because I like you,”

Stop it before I freaking fall in love with you.

I’m not sweet. You’re sweet to me. Because I like you.

“You were right, Nick. She grew up good.” My head whips around, catching Nick as he raises his hands in a display of innocence that’s oddly unbecoming on him. “He’s shit-stirring. I never said anything.” “Oh,” James hums, “so you don’t think she’s pretty?” Golden eyes narrow. “Stop it.”