I’m bright and chipper when I wake up in the morning with a renewed sense of determination.
Fuck that shit.
I’m tired, hungry and scrambling around the guest house to pack my bag for Paris because guess who didn’t pack last night?
This dummy.
Do you see me there? The one trying to brush out her curls while brushing her teeth at the same time?
What a nut job. Not only do I practically deep throat my tooth brush by accident, but I also get toothpaste in my hair and shirt. Looks like a fucking cum stain.
Do I change my shirt?
What the fuck do you think? I ain’t got time for that bullshit. I’m late!
Rushing into the main house, it smells something similar to a locker room with bodies on the couch, floor, even the damn table in the kitchen. And that dude doesn’t even have pants on.
You look away, don’t you? I don’t blame you. I nearly vomit.
I’m only in the house a minute, maybe less with my bag in hand, the bible phone in the other with a reminder from Willa.
Willa: Do not be late for that flight.
Crap. I check the time. It’s roughly a thirty-minute drive to the airport, but that’s not to say there won’t be traffic. It’s a little after eight and the flight leaves at 10:20 a.m. We might be fucked.
But hey, look at it this way. If I get fired on day one, guess who gets to have sex with Shade.
This girl.
A man walks in the front door. I recognize him as Brad. The bodyguard. “Van’s ready,” he notes, reaching for my bag. “Where are the guys at?”
That’s a good question. I don’t see any of them. Anywhere.
“I. . . um.” Fucking fuck.
He laughs and swings his burly arm around me. “We got this, Northwest.”
Oh look, I have a nickname already. Perfect.
Just as I’m thinking I have to venture upstairs and yank these guys out of bed, Tiller comes downstairs, no shirt on, in his underwear rubbing the side of his head where it looks like he has road rash on it. At least he has his bag in his hand though. He’s just missing the clothes, but this I can work with.
Brad chuckles, taking his bag from him. “What happened to your face?”
He shrugs, his phone in his hand holding his attention. “Roan hit me with a cheese grater.”
“Why?” I ask. “And where’s the other two?”
“I think I was supposed to catch it,” Tiller remarks, stretching his arms up over his head. It’s all an act to draw my eyes to his chest and stomach. I think. Mostly because he winks. “And you might have to go get them out of bed.”
“You do it,” I demand, like I have authority.
He laughs in my face, dropping his arms. “Nah.”
Damn him.
I think about going upstairs when Roan appears, knocks the cup of coffee Tiller’s now holding out of his hands and then moves toward the fridge. The cup Tiller was holding crashes to the ground and sprays hot coffee and ceramic shards across the stone floor.
Tiller glares. “Ya motherfucka.” But then reaches for a new one like it’s not that big of a deal, or it happens so often it doesn’t bother him.
Let me ask you something. Do you remember when Willa told me she’s seen these boys naked more times than she cares?
I’ve now officially seen Roan’s dick way more than I need to. He’s not wearing any fucking clothes. It’s like he has an aversion to being fully clothed.
Taking the carton of orange juice from the fridge, he drinks it straight from the carton, then grins at me, winking. “Mornin’.”
Is your face the same color as mine? I bet not.
I smile back. “At least you shouldn’t have a problem getting through security.” And then my eyes drop. I mean, it’s out, why not check it out, right? Riiiiiiiight. I notice then his dick is pierced. Like Shade’s. “Well.” I nod south. “That could be problematic.”
Roan sets the orange juice carton back in the fridge and then shoulders past me. “I’ll be back.”
“Hurry up. We’re gonna be late. And get Shade while you’re up there.”
Roan waves his hand over his head, his perfectly white round ass my only view. “Nah.”
Nah? These two are about as helpful as fuck, aren’t they?
I look to Tiller, who’s now eating a banana and offers me a bite, a mischievous quirk to his eyebrow. “I bet you could deep throat this, couldn’t you?”
I glare at him and knock his hand away. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Actually, yes, I would.” He turns to face me, leaning casually on the counter and widening his arms. “I got something better for you to choke on.”
I punch him in the chest. “Stop fuckin’ around and go put some clothes on.”
“I like it rough.”
“I bet you do. You’re so immature.”
Tiller shrugs, unfazed. “Immature. . . horny. Probably both.”
“If you don’t go get dressed and get your banana-eating ass in the car in the next five minutes, I’m going to shove it up your ass.”
He laughs. Fucking laughs in my face. What do you think is going to come out of this sadistic motherfucker’s mouth next?
I bet you can’t guess. And if you can, props to you because I wasn’t expecting it.
Leaning into me, trapping me against the counter, he whispers, “Or I can shove my cock up your ass, because I’m pretty sure a girl like you would enjoy that sorta thing.”
I wink, licking my lips seductively because two can totally play the game of who can dish it the best. “Honey, there’s not much you can do to me that hasn’t been done already. You’re a little late for this podium finish.”
Tiller’s the only brother with brown eyes. I think it’s a perfect indication of his personality. He’s full of fucking shit half the time.
Tipping his head, he bites his goddamn lip and sticks his hand down inside his black briefs to you know, adjust himself and then backs away about a foot as a whispered, “Goddamn,” falls from his lips.
He’s sporting a semi, in case you were wondering. Or maybe he’s just that hung all the time. Apparently size runs in the family.
Sighing, I look to Brad who’s getting people out of the house, one by one. Even the dude on the table. Thank God. I’ve seen enough dick this morning. Well, that’s not entirely true because if Shade came downstairs naked, I’d probably forgive him for being late.
Brad steps inside the kitchen again about the time Roan is finally and thankfully taking his bag outside. “We need to leave in like two minutes,” Brad notes, then disappears outside.
Don’t panic, Scarlet.
“You know”—Tiller bumps my shoulder with his as he’s tugging on a pair of shorts, a T-shirt in hand—“I’d help you out and go get him for you. . . but something tells me it’d be more entertaining if you woke him up this time.”
“This time?” I raise an eyebrow and tuck my phone into the back pocket of my jean shorts. “Does he sleep in a lot?”
“Not usually, but lately.” Tiller then retreats outside.
Two down, one to go.
Not that I want to go upstairs to his room, because one, I don’t know which one is his, and two, this is a big what if that girl from last night is in his room?
Can I handle that?
Yes. You can.
When I knock on the door, the one I’m assuming is his, he yells out, “What?”
With determination, I open the door to find him sitting on the bed, facing the windows overlooking the pool. Guess who has a view of the guest house?
Shade. While I briefly imagine something out of a porno—or horror movie—where I’m stripping in front of the windows and he’s watching me like I don’t see him, but secretly do, Shade sighs, as if to silently ask, what the fuck are you doing in here?
“Nothing like a hangover first thing in the morning.”
He’s not looking at me when he says, “Not hungover.” His voice is sleepy, a lazy, gravelly tone that hits my gooey insides immediately.
“We’re late,” I blurt out, trying to save myself from launching my body on his bed and humping him.
Shade sighs, his shoulders tensing as he tilts his head, studying me, his gaze lingering on my mouth. The way he’s looking at me sends a shiver down my spine. By the bloodshot eyes and hunched posture, it’s evident he hasn’t slept. For some reason, I remember him kissing that girl last night and my heart kicks in my chest, thumping wildly. I’m still upset, that much is evident.
Then guess what he does?
He drags his motherfucking tongue across his bottom lip, his tongue piercing peeking out just the tiniest bit. “Late for what?”
He will not get to me today. I’m strong. I’m the captain of this ship! I swallow and draw in one shaky breath. “The flight to Paris.” I twist on my heel and stomp toward his door but pause and add, “Get your ass downstairs, dude.”
I think I did pretty well. What about you?
They’re like trying to herd a pack of cats. Do cats run in packs?
Never mind.
When Shade’s finally downstairs, he’s. . . guess what? Wearing sunglasses and is half-naked with a pile of clothes, his bag in his hands. He drops them by the back of the van and then jumps in, breathing heavy. “Waitin’ on you guys now.”
Tiller, who’s next to me, scoots closer and he smells so fucking good I have to fight the urge to sniff him. Playfully he rubs his cheek against mine like a cat would when they’re trying to get your attention. He even purrs. “You’re going to fall in love with me, aren’t you?”
I smack him on the forehead. “Nope. Get off me.”
They will not faze me today.