THE BOY I GREW UP WITH

1. Heather

1

Heather

Present day

I don’t even want to say how much later this is. I’m old. That’s when.

Mid-twenties.

Or early-twenties.

Around that time frame.

You don’t need to know any more.

I’m old.

That’s it.

Wait—not that old.

I mean…

We’re done here.

“GET OFF HIS d**k!”

Those words, being screamed at—hold on, I have to roll over—at six in the morning were what woke me up. I’d had a whole three hours of sleep—three hours after I sent my night manager home and said I’d close Manny’s, and three hours after I took pity on my entire night staff and sent them home too. I’d decided drinking a bottle of bourbon and cleaning was the ultimate adulting job to do.

Stupidest. Adult. Ever.

“Ugh.” I groaned as I pulled myself to a somewhat upright position. I couldn’t fully sit up because my stomach was threatening to come out of my mouth. Letting my head fall with gravity was the best option for not spewing out the two pieces of toast I’d had before falling into bed three hours ago.

I am an i***t.

“I mean it!”

A second scream, followed by a thump from below me.

“Get off his d**k! Get your d**k out of her, you, you, you classless vixen!”

“Holy f**k, Brianna—”

“It’s Rebecca! Proper names are just respectful.”

“Rebecca—holy s**t!” my brother roared.

Then came a crash, a second thump, and “STOP!”

“Get her out of here!” said a new voice, more shrill.

Even upstairs I could tell the new girl didn’t have the twinge of hysteria the first girl had. She wouldn’t cut it—not long term, not with my brother. Brandon moaned constantly about not finding his “girl,” but the truth was, he found her in a new female about three times a week. And I knew that because he brought them home to the house I shared with him—the house he and I had lived in all our lives.

We were both adults now. We should’ve moved out and into our own places, but neither of us ever brought up the topic. Though, mornings like this, I was tempted to.

”HEATHER! HELP ME!”

The T-rex roared. I almost felt the floorboards move. No. I peered closer. That was just dust. My breath made it move.

I tried to yell back, but a garbled burp left me instead, and I nodded to myself.

Totally can do this.

Oh yes.

My older brother needed my help fighting off his two one-night stands.

“HEATHER!”

“Shut up,” I yelled back, finally heaving myself up and toward the door.

Wait. Backtrack. Grab the robe.

I slept in the nude. We didn’t need that very awkward and uncomfortable scene—clearly it already was all kinds of that.

I was up and making it down the stairs, trying not to tip over, but I wasn’t quite prepared for what I walked into.

I could see Brandon’s bare ass in his doorway as he held a towel in front of his d**k. Thank God.

I must’ve grunted or made some sound because he looked over, and the relief was evident. His whole face relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to lower.

“Can you help me?” He nodded toward his room, moving over so I could see.

His bathroom door was shut, the light showing underneath.

There was only one girl in the room, so I assumed the other had taken flight. She showed some smarts. Maybe he could keep her around for a second night.

But the Get-Off-His-d**k girl was a problem.

Hands on her hips, she stood with frayed and frizzy blond hair that was either a bad attempt at an eighties hairstyle or she was embracing the lion part of “I am woman, hear me roar.” Either way, this girl wasn’t one to screw over—dilated eyes, beet red face, and very bright and slightly smudged red lipstick.

No hate against the red lipstick. I’m a fan of it myself, but it’s a weapon. And this girl had so much of it caked on that she was going for the desperate/stalker/you-better-fear-me-because-I’ve-got-a-slasher-knife-in-my-backpack-and-I-put-three-tracking-devices-on-you-before-you-even-talked-to-me vibe.

I shifted back and gave Brandon a side-eye look. “Really?”

He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “What? She was hot that night.” He muttered under his breath, “And I was tanked.”

“Heather.” The girl flicked some of her hair off her shoulder in a haughty motion. “You can understand my frustration here, can you not? He courted me. He wined and dined me, and now I keep finding him with a new girl every night.” Her lip curled, and she threw a sneer at the bathroom door. “He could do better too. I’m at least an eight. She’s a six.”

“I heard that!” Something thumped against the inside of the bathroom door. “You’re psychotic!”

“I’m not psychotic. I take offense to that. I’m very classy.”

“You’re delusional.” The bathroom girl huffed. “I’m calling the police!”

Oh.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

That gave me a jolt. Some of my hangover dissipated. “Let’s not be hasty here.” I raised my voice. “Right? No police need to be called.”

Who wanted police called to their house? Hello. No one. Certainly not me. That’d been instilled at an early age by a chain-smoking mama before she ditched me, and enforced by an on-again-off-again boyfriend who had more than his fair share of run-ins with the cops. Not to mention, cops. They were cops.

No one needed that attention.

I turned and glared at Brandon. “This is your problem. Why am I fixing it?”

He gestured to the crazy girl with a brisk wave. “I can’t do anything with her. She’s not moving. If I touch her…”

Fuck. s**t. Fuckety s**t, s**t, s**t. I had a whole slew of curses in my head, but he was right. Somewhat. This girl was the type to call assault if he touched her arm. She was talking like she had such class, but it was all bullshit.

And how had she gotten in here?

“You.” I pointed at Psycho Girl.

“Me?” She adopted an innocent drawl, and just like that, the stalker vibe vanished. She even smoothed a hand over her hair, attempting a demure look. “You must see my side of this. I mean, it’s not proper etiquette to court one woman and then be involved in a s*x tryst with a w***e behind my back.”

Shit like that set my teeth on grinder.

I started for her. “It’s time to go. Now.”

“I’m calling the cops!” The girl inside the bathroom hollered again. “So doing it. Right now. My finger’s on the nine as I’m speaking.”

“And you!” I went to the door and slammed a fist against it. “You call the cops here and you’re banned from Manny’s.”

I considered that the ace up my sleeve.

She gasped through the door, “What?”

Manny’s is the bar and grill Brandon and I run. It was our dad’s, named after him, but when he decided retirement and an RV caravan were his next mission in life, we took it over. I’m the official owner, but Brandon runs the bar. It’s another reason we’re both in this house. It’s right behind the place that is our life.

Well…

Full disclosure here: Manny’s is more my life than Brandon’s. He goes clubbing. He has friends. He has one-night stands, as is annoyingly obvious right now. This is because he’s more okay with letting the night manager close the bar for him, while I still struggle—hence three hours ago.

All that to say, I don’t issue threats like that lightly.

No matter who was inside Brandon’s bathroom, it would suck for her not to be allowed in Manny’s. I’m not being cocky; I’m being factual. Our place is popular in a town that houses a whole heap of millionaires. Most social circles enjoy getting drunk there.

She sniffled, and a low, guttural growl followed. “You wouldn’t.”

I would, and she knew it. So did Get Off His d**k, and I locked eyes with her. One problem done, the second soon to follow.

“You gotta go,” I said it flatly, and then waited.

“But…” She started to rally up a protest, but I shook my head.

“I mean it.” I jerked my thumb toward the door. “You have a problem with Brandon, you bring it up to him later, when he’s fully clothed. You can be mad at him. I don’t give a rat’s ass, but not here, not on my time, and not when you know his d**k is in some other girl.”

“I didn’t.”

I raised an eyebrow, and she stopped herself.

Her eyes lowered. “I thought he liked me.” She sniffled, but no guttural growl came after. Her tone changed. There was no bullshit, no act. She was really hurt, and I looked back to Brandon.

The girl in the bathroom wasn’t immune either. She murmured a pitying, “Oh.”

A flicker of regret flared over Brandon’s face for a moment. His head dropped, and he coughed, clearing his throat. “I know this might be hurtful…”

The sad girl vanished, and her head whipped back up. “You don’t care!”

Nope. It was an act. We were all suckers.

Her eyes went wild. She jabbed her finger in the air at him, and then she launched.

I saw it coming the second he opened his mouth, and I was ready. Stepping forward, my shoulder hit hers, slamming her body into the closet doors.

“Move, Brandon!” I yelled.

He lunged around me, and I kept going with my momentum.

Grabbing her arm, I steered her to the hallway and placed a hand on her back, walking her toward the door before she realized she was being manhandled out of the house.

“But—what?”

“Time for you to go.” I kept a smile in my voice.

Pet the hair. Make her feel good. Yes, yes. We’re just going out here for a present. That’s all we’re doing. That’s the feeling I gave her until I had the door open and could deliver one more hard nudge to her back.

She almost stumbled to the porch, and I would’ve felt bad, seeing how bewildered she was, but the girl was crazy. When she was completely outside, I stood in the doorway and crossed my arms over my chest. I was a medium-height lady with tanned and toned legs and a kimono robe that stopped just below my v****a.

I knew how I looked.

I could do crazy too. Hell, some of the time I did. That look works, usually, but it wouldn’t right now. Instead I pulled out my tough-b***h boss look and lifted my head, looking down my nose at her.

“You think you’re scary. You’re not.” Scary was going an entire life without a mom. That was tough. “You think you’re tough. You might be, but you’re not in this situation. Not against me.” I wasn’t mincing words. “You pull that s**t, and you’re exiled from Manny’s too.”

“But—” she sputtered.

“You know my brother’s reputation. He sleeps with everyone, and don’t tell me he made you all these sweet promises, because the one thing he isn’t is a liar. He’s no liar. He might be a whiny manwhore at times, but he doesn’t say pretty words to pretty girls that he doesn’t mean. It’s not in his DNA.”

I would know. I share it.

I motioned behind her to the sidewalk that connected our house to Manny’s and the empty alley that went past to the parking lot.

“Get out of here, and I don’t want to see you around—for a week at least.”

“Heather—”

I shut the door, and to add insult to injury, I locked it. “Don’t piss me off. I’m the wrong Jax to tangle with.”

She must’ve had some smarts because I heard her sigh, and a second later her heels clicked against the front porch as she left.

“Hey. Thanks.” Brandon was back in the doorway of his room, boxers on now.

I heard his bathroom door open behind him and waved a tired hand.

“Yeah, yeah.” My hangover slammed back in place, tenfold. I rubbed at my temples and started for the stairs. “Do me a favor? Stop bringing your girls here.”

He chuckled, watching me move upstairs. “I owe you. I’m sorry, Heather. I really am.”

I was too tired to acknowledge that, but a different thought came to me. “Download a ringer that sounds like police sirens. Maybe we can use it later to scare her away?”

He laughed. “Only if you do too.”

Yeah. Yeah, maybe I would.

A second later, his door shut, and I heard him crooning to his remaining girl.

I hit the second floor, turning to my room.

Letting my kimono robe fall, I crawled under my covers, my blessed and heavenly covers. That’s when I rolled over to see a pair of dark male eyes staring back at me. They turned into smoldering bedroom eyes, and then a smirk and a smooth drawl came out.

“Feel like screwing around?”