One year later
“Fifty bucks says I can get that chick’s number.” Drew’s eyes dare me to take the bet.
I’ve never been a man to turn down easy money, or girls for that matter, so instead of agreeing, I up the ante, countering Drew’s bet with one of my own. “A hundred says I get her number and her friend’s.” I tip the neck of the beer in the direction of the two girls at the high-top table we’ve been eyeing all night.
The cute blonde is my type. Long ringlets of soft hair spiral down her back, ending at the edge of a tiny white crop top that showcases her flat, tanned stomach. Her friend, although not what I typically go for, is just as appetizing with her chestnut hair pulled tight into a sleek ponytail.
Someone is getting laid tonight.
And that someone is me.
Drew’s hazel eyes narrow, silently weighing his odds. “You’re drunk. No way are you getting both their numbers.”
Oh ye of little faith.
The dinky wooden chair slides across the tile from the force of my weight as I stand, situating my already thickening length. Just the thought of this challenge is getting my dick hard. Throwing back the last of my beer, I flash Drew a cocksure smile that clearly reflects my confidence in this matter. “You in, or are you out, bitch?”
He drags in an exaggerated breath and frowns. “I’m in.”
I’m feeling all kinds of cocky, and I square my shoulders, slamming down my empty bottle of Corona before engaging my swagger toward the poor, lonely girls. My approach seems almost expected when I stop at the empty chair at their table. Both girls smile, bat their eyes seductively, and track over the muscles flexing under my shirt. All that mascara will look phenomenal when it’s streaked down their faces in two hours.
Oh yes, these girls are going to be a lot of fun.
Eighteen months, stuck in the asshole of the world, I’m ready to indulge. And these pretty ladies look exactly like my flavor.
“Ladies.” The Georgia accent is thick when I drawl out the word. Women love the twang. I can’t remember the last time it’s failed me.
The dark-haired girl giggles, whispering into her friend’s ear. I can’t hear what she’s saying but the blonde one licks her lip before biting down. I’m certain I’m about to be a hundred bucks richer. The brunette invites me to sit with a wave of her hand. “I’m Laura, and this is Candece.” I flash them the “Jameson smile,” and they giggle.
“I’m Cade.” I hold out my hand and Candece, the blonde one, wastes no time grabbing it. I kiss the top of her hand, dragging my lips across the smooth skin as slowly as I possibly can, making sure my eyes remain on her baby blue ones. She giggles.
Not surprising at all.
I reach forward, extending both hands to catch Laura’s, and repeat the same greeting. They look at one another, then at me.
Moment of truth. Let’s see those lady-balls, girls.
“How ‘bout we get out of here?” I suggest, making sure my lips mouth the words against their hands.
Eager eyes stare back at me and … blink. And blink again.
Come on, ladies.
Okay. Obviously, they need more incentive. My tongue—always my ace in the hole—snakes out, licking Laura’s finger, inching down until the tip of her manicured nail is at my lips. I slip their hands together, and their eyes grow wide. Since I’m a betting man, I wager they’re not even breathing.
It’s go time.
With what I hope to be a sexy smile, I lean down and suck their fingers into my awaiting mouth.
Together.
Hard. Soft. Swirling of the tongue… I’m sucking on their middle fingers like I can already taste the sweet flavor of their clits. Back and forth, I switch speeds until Candece moans.
Bingo.
Lifting up, I let go, licking my lips like I would if they had come all over my face.
“Whad’ya say, ladies? Curious?”
Laura speaks first, with no hesitation this time. “I’m in.”
I smile, letting her know wordlessly how much I appreciate her willingness to play and then arch my brows at Candece. I’ll take just Laura, but I would much rather double my pleasure. Afghanistan was a lonely-ass time. There’s nothing better than this welcome home present right here.
A one-night stand.
Even my mom’s homemade apple pie isn’t going to taste this good.
I’m shifting in my seat, my dick raging against the seam of my fatigues. Just imagining myself balls-deep in hot, wet pussy has my dick leaking into the fabric.
Please, Candece. Please make my motherfucking night.
I turn on the charm and poke out my lip like I’m fucking pouting and … she giggles. “Okay. I’m in. But I don’t do anal.”
What a shame.
I look at Laura. Her returning smile says everything I need to know—she absolutely does anal.
I swear my dick tries to high five me, jumping in my pants with celebratory glee.
Staying cool, I stand, offering my elbows. The girls each take a side—giggling of course—and we head for the back exit of the bar. The wink I flash Drew as I pass has him scowling. “Don’t wait up, honey. This might last all night.” Laughing, I push past the other patrons with my new company in tow.
“Cade! Wait.”
I turn around, ready to negotiate the terms if Drew wants to join us, but when I face him, his hands are dripping blood, pooling onto the dirty tile of the bar.
“What the fuck, dude? What happened?”
Did he cut his hand on a bottle?
I’m pushing through the crowd, trying to get to him, when his words stop me.
“Why did you do this?”
Every ounce of blood drains from my face when I look at him again. I barely recognize him. His body is mangled, his arm nearly detached. Blood is fucking everywhere. Even his eye is hanging by tendons, almost resting on his cheek.
“You did this,” he whispers, a single tear falling to the floor.
“I’m … I’m sor—”
I jerk awake, the bamboo sheets tangled around my legs, the taste of copper lingering on my tongue. The memory attacks each time my eyes drift closed.
I can’t fight the demons in my dreams. I can’t run from the horror. I can only pound it out on the pavement. I’m helpless as they consume me in my subconscious, forcing me to watch my brother die over and over again.
I’m prepared when the door pushes open with a creak. Waking Ans and the guys with my screams at night is a common occurrence. Most of the time, they let me work through it on my own, but when the nightmares turn violent, one of them—usually Ans—will come and distract me with various activities until I’m tired enough to go back to sleep. I call out before anyone enters, my voice gruff, “I’m all right. Go back to bed.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t give a shit.”
The sarcastic tone doesn’t startle me like it used to when he first came in here. For the past few months, instead of my angel, the devil himself appears in the doorway when I wake the house with screams. This time, as the clock glows 4:09 a.m., Theo pushes through the door, uninvited like every morning, dressed in running gear and carrying two cups of coffee.
“Anniston is still asleep,” he mumbles.
Total bullshit. She’s not asleep. She pretends to be so Theo and I can run every morning before anyone rises. I’m almost positive she threatens the guys to silence because they wouldn’t hesitate to rag our asses about the newfound bromance we have going on. Everyone pretends not to notice.
It’s insane, I know. Me and Theo—friends.
Who would have thought?
After that fateful day in the barn when Theo jumped in front of Anniston, sparing her from a bullet to the chest by taking one himself, I have mad respect for the guy. I almost lost her that day. The day she foolishly helped Lawson, one of our veterans, hunt down a girl he had been following for months, trying to rescue her from the clutches of our local human trafficker. The guilt of my delayed reaction still weighs heavy on my shoulders almost daily. I didn’t jump in front of her, and I was closer to her than Theo was. No, I remained frozen while Lou, the asshole human trafficker in our town, fired off a shot, intending to kill Ans. If it weren’t for Hayes’ quick trigger finger, I doubt I would have fired my weapon in defense.
I failed my family.
Again.
“Who’s Andrew and why do you have his dog tags?”
I snap to attention at the mention of Drew’s name. Theo’s rifling around in my stuff, which is common, winding the beaded chain around his fingers. Dammit. How could I be so careless? I always keep them tucked underneath the mattress where prying eyes can’t see, but I was in a bad way last night. It was his birthday. Thirty-first birthday, only six months younger than me.
I kick off the sheets, ignoring Theo’s question, and make my way over to him, adjusting my length underneath the waistband of my boxer briefs. Theo catches the movement and curls his lips into a look of disgust.
“Is that mine?” I ask, taking the coffee from atop the dresser.
“Yeah,” he says.
I nod my thanks and take a small sip. “So, you nervous?” I grin over the top of the travel mug, nearly gagging on the cold-ass coffee. He’s been awake for hours.
Theo glares at me, tossing the dog tags. I catch them in mid-air before they hit the ground, securing them in my palm before giving him an I-know-the-truth wink. “You can tell me. I can keep a secret.”
Theo chugs the rest of his coffee and slams his cup down on the dresser. I chuckle at his deflection, which only pisses him off more. “I don’t get nervous, Jameson. Stop being such a girl. It’s just a fucking wedding.”
I’m grinning so hard right now that my cheeks hurt. I love pushing his buttons, especially on mornings like this. It’s a great reprieve from the hellish nightmare I endured.
“Just a wedding, huh?” I flick his baseball hat with my finger. “Did the commander finally agree to let you wear the hat?” He shoves me hard, my lower back stinging from the hit I take against the dresser.
“Are we running or talking fashion wear? It’s a wedding. I’m showing up. I’ll say, ‘I do’ and then I will rip the ridiculously expensive dress off her body and fuck her until she doesn’t give a shit what’s on my head.”
I belt out a laugh when he storms off, throwing open the door leading out into the hallway. “I’m going to run with Killer,” he calls over his shoulder. “She’s less of a vagina than you are today.”
I’m desperately trying to rein in my laughter before he gets really pissed. “Don’t be so sensitive,” I garble out. “Let me throw on some shorts and I’ll meet you downstairs. Here,” I say, extending my coffee to him. “Heat this up while you’re in the kitchen.”
He grumbles something low I don’t catch and lumbers forward and snatches it from my hand. “Put on a shirt while you’re at it. I get sick of watching your massive man tits bounce around while we’re running.”
I flex my pecs up and down with a smile. “Von Bremen, have you been checking me out? I’m flattered—” Theo slams the door before I can get out the rest of my jab, muttering something about me being a cocky motherfucker.
My mood has brightened tremendously in the last fifteen minutes. I was sure I would wake up depressed. As much as I would like to lie and tell you I am completely cool about today, I’m not.
My angel is getting married.
In six hours I will walk her down the aisle and give her away to Theo.
My nemesis.
My friend.
My brother.
After everything we’ve been through, from hating the sight of each other to joining forces to protect her, I’ve grown to respect him. Underneath all the asshole comments, the lewd and taunting behavior, is a man who loves a woman so unconditionally that he is willing to do anything for her. Even die for her. I can’t deny that kind of devotion.
“Jameson! Get your ass moving!”
Theo’s patience has expired.
Throwing on a pair of athletic shorts—I skip the shirt on principle—I grab my socks and shoes and hustle out the door before he can shout again.
“Cade!”
Too late.
“It’s four in the morning, assholes!”
I bang on Hayes’ door as I pass, answering his dickish, yet warranted remark. “We’re going. You may want to tell what’s-her-name to truck it out of here before Ans wakes up. Otherwise, the commander will take out all those pre-wedding jitters on you.”
I jog down the steps with a grin after I hear a thump and several swear words, and meet an annoyed Theo, holding my recently warmed coffee in his hand.
“Don’t even say it.”
I waggle my eyebrows devilishly, and with a stupid smile, I say it anyway.
“Thanks, biotch.”
Our run turns into a sprint. Theo is not having any jogging today which clearly shows that I was right. He’s nervous. “I thought you weren’t nervous,” I tease, walking around to cool off. My chest could literally be a Slip ‘N Slide with the amount of sweat running down into my shorts.
“Jameson, do not even try to lump me in with your awkward ass by saying I’m nervous. I’m not fucking nervous.” He paces in front of the freshly painted barn, chugging his water and spitting the majority back out. I make an amused scoff, and he whips around to face me. “Seriously, Jameson. Nervous is what you do when you’re stalking the jelly girl at the Farmers’ Market. This” —he points at his bare chest, having tossed off his shirt two miles ago—“never gets nervous. Anniston and I have been together since middle school. I always knew this day would come.”
Apart from the annoying comment about me stalking the jelly girl, a.k.a. Breck, the brunette who works the Farmers’ Market booth on the weekends, his comment makes me laugh. “You did not always know this day would come. Just over a year ago you were frantic, trying to drive me away from your ‘middle school sweetheart.’ Don’t fucking lie, Von Bremen. You were scared she would send your ass packing. You should thank me.”
He scoffs, spitting his water in my direction. “Thank you? For what? Being a pain in my ass for the last eighteen months?”
I shrug, walking toward the barn doors, checking the locks. “My presence made you act on your feelings for Anniston.”
Truth.
Theo had been such an asshole trying to get rid of me. He made sure he rubbed my face in his relationship with Anniston. He wanted to make sure I knew she was his. Back then, I had a thing for her and could have done without him in her life. Obviously, times have changed.
Theo throws his head back, his fake laughter echoing in the open pastures. “You are such a chick, Jameson.” Another laugh. “Fucking feelings … how ‘bout you take your feelings and fucking act on them and ask the jelly girl out?”
My mouth snaps shut, my jaw going tight. He knows why I can’t ask Breck out. No matter how appealing she is, I can’t. I made a promise to myself to stay away from women.
“Her name is Breck, not the jelly girl,” I correct, which only makes Theo laugh even harder.
“I bet you know her bra size, too.”
Not technically, but I guess she is a solid C cup. She’s always wearing these ridiculous superhero t-shirts that hug the fuck out of her ample chest. A chest that would fit perfectly in my hands to squeeze.
Fuck, it’s like she tries drawing attention to them.
Even her cut-off shorts and Converse tennis shoes dredge up fantasies of jerking off onto her tits. Her nerdy style screams I work in a comic book store, but she doesn’t. Instead, she works all day at the local orchard making jellies and pies. Just thinking about her bent over a stove, my hands wrapping around her hair, twisting it in my fist so the back of her neck cools down … pushing her chest against the island …
Water splashes my chest and I jump back. “What the fuck, dude?” I swipe Theo’s backwashed water off my chest, wiping my hands on my shorts. They’re damp when I pull them back, and I feel my eyes narrowing into a glare, but Theo doesn’t care. He’s ridding his nerves by getting on mine.
“You were thinking about fucking her, weren’t you? Are you planning on using all the hot water again this morning so you can whack off to your jelly girl?” His eyebrows jump up and down like the moron he is.
Me jerking off in the shower is a running joke in the house.
Not that it isn’t accurate.
It’s the only way I can get off anymore, but the lack of privacy in this house is egregious. A man should be able to fantasize without some asshole hitting his stopwatch every time he hears the shower turn on. I guess that’s the only downside of living at a foundation with five other guys and a commander, the only woman in the house.
Theo doesn’t stop there when I flip him off. “Does the orchard girl know you barely eat any of the jam you buy from her every weekend?”
I wonder if Anniston will be upset if he walks down the aisle with a black eye.
“Anniston loves the jam,” I argue with the extra annoying idiot today. “And I eat it. Sometimes.”
I turn, heading up the hill to the house, done with this conversation. I need to get ready. Soon there will be a fuck-ton of people coming onto the property for the wedding and I want to be sure I’m there to inspect each one of them. Nothing is going to ruin Anniston … and Theo’s big day.
“Whatever you tell the demons in your head, Jameson.” Theo’s stupid face appears next to me. “But you and I both know Anniston eats carbs literally once a day, and she certainly doesn’t waste them on jam.”
I don’t need to look at him to know he is grinning at me with all the smugness he can muster up.
“And we all know Mr. Fourteen-Percent-Body-Fat doesn’t either. Admit it—it’s my wedding day—you want to fuck the jelly girl.”
I sigh, trudging up the hill in the blistering heat. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
The man that has become as close as a brother knocks into my shoulder. “Not a chance. Now, tell Daddy if we need to have a talk about the birds and the bees.”
I punch him with all thirteen-point-five percent of my body fat and make a promise to apologize to Anniston later.
She’ll understand.
He had it coming.