Excerpt

Nia

Faye’s older brother, Hawke, leans against the wall, one booted foot up as he scans the room. He looks like the young, long-haired, grunge version of Johnny Depp especially with his small frown and dark angsty eyes. His scowl deepens when those broody eyes land on Derek, the rando guy pressed against me on the couch. I bite the inside of my lip to keep from smiling at his annoyance.

I don’t even know why Hawke’s here. Well, I kinda do, but we’re all adults and in our last year of undergrad, so it’s ridiculous. Hawke’s finished University (summa cum laude, I might add) and is noticeably unwelcome as he skulks around with his judgmental frown. He needs to pick one of the companies headhunting him already and let us live our lives.

Even as I think it my stomach knots, but oh, my, god, three people have already asked me if he’s, like, the bouncer or something. One guy came right out and asked if he was my bodyguard. Sarcastic dick.

If Hawke’s worried about us, he shouldn’t be. Finn, Faye’s twin, is plenty capable of watching out for us, ‘cause yeah, guys can be asshats. No one’s denying that. Finn’s even got two inches, and now a good forty pounds on Hawke. I ignore the thought that Finn’s easygoing, party-boy ways make him a little too chill for the job and that Hawke’s overprotective nature—something I pretend to hate—makes him the perfect watchdog for any sketchy behavior.

True to his name, Hawke watches us intensely from his perch, AKA the second-floor landing, as if he’s waiting to swoop down and set us all on the straight and narrow—well, maybe not all of us. I tear my eyes from him, rolling them with a huff of frustration that’s pure performance. He’s hard on Finn and Faye, but he’s hardest on me. Anyone else who crosses the line will just get turfed. Finn and Faye will get ratted on to their parents. But me? I may as well be his personal responsibility. ‘Cause he keeps threatening me like he’s my long-lost Daddy.

I swallow hard at the word ‘Daddy.’ It gets me super hot, which pisses me off. God, read one Dirty Daddies Anthology and you’re ruined for life. But even that’s his fault. After he threatened to spank me three years ago for stealing a tube of Chapstick, and then actually gave me a few sharp smacks over the seat of my jeans when he caught me smoking a year later, it did things to me that I don’t think were his intention and I started searching the internet—a rabbit hole that felt like a journey home. I just didn’t realize that home was going to be a Daddy-Dom kink.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I growl at Hawke. Even though he’s nowhere near close enough to hear me, his deepening frown suggests he reads lips. Of course he does. Looking skyward, I shake my head, but I’m needy for his bossy attention. 
“Who is that guy?” Derek whispers and then starts sucking sloppily on my neck. “He an ex? Need me to take care of him, Mia?” His hot, yeasty beer breath on my jaw is not sexy. Neither is calling me Mia instead of Nia.

I don’t bother to correct him. Instead, I remove him from my neck with two hands to the sides of his face and kiss his mouth to distract him from soaking my shirt in his slobber. Good god, he kisses like a drooling Saint Bernard, and gross, that fancy-ass dark beer he loves tastes even nastier second-hand.

“Hawking?” I clarify between uncomfortably wet kisses as if I don’t know who he’s referring to—as if I’m not hyper focused on my best friend’s bossy, but oh-so hawt older brother who’s been uncharacteristically distant since he’s been back home, until tonight.

I close my eyes, leaning my head back, as Derek’s focus turns to his hand roaming under my skirt. Heat explodes inside me, partially from knowing Hawke’s staring, and partially from Derek’s fumbling fingers inching up my thigh—only it’s not Derek’s hand I’m imagining touching me.

“That’s his name?”

I shrug, not opening my eyes, wishing he’d shut the hell up because he’s distracting me from my fantasy. It’s hard enough to imagine his oafish, unsure touches are Hawke’s. Hawke wouldn’t be inept and he certainly wouldn’t be uncertain. Hawke is the most confident person I know. After my brother died, Hawke appointed himself my surrogate… what? Big brother? Dad? Bodyguard? Who knows, but while he’s never seemed hesitant about his role, he’s also never been affable about it. Which is why I’m so frustrated and confused by his distinct standoffishness lately. Tonight is the most attention he’s given me since he’s been living back at home.

I put my hand on Derek’s package and give a little rub, hoping it’ll be enough to distract him into silence. And maybe quiet my own brain.

“Who’d name their kid Hawking?”

Damn. It.

“It’s actually Hawke but he’s a fucking genius so Hawking fits.” I give his dick another sexy squeeze, smiling when he moans. Success.

“Why?”

Shit.

“Um, because Stephen Hawking?”

“Who?”

I lift my head, yanking my hand back, his question like a record scratch to my libido. I open my eyes and blink when Derek’s expression remains blank. Is he serious? Who doesn’t know who Stephen Hawking is? I don’t know Derek well, but a few of our compulsory credits have overlapped. So while I know he isn’t destined to join Mensa, I thought he was smarter than this.

“Never mind.” I shift, knocking his hand off my thigh. “Hawke is Finn and Faye Harding’s older brother.” I sigh.

“I thought he died. That’s what the guy tapping the keg said.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at Lao, a guy I’d been in school with since kindergarten, who could gossip more proficiently than a room full of grannies at crochet club.

“Actually Hawke survived the car crash.” The bite in my tone seems to go over Derek’s head. Dude is seriously irritating. I thought it was safe fooling around with someone from the city, someone who had never even heard of my small town, but leave it to the locals to ruin everything.

He stops pawing my thigh and cocks his head as if he’s thinking hard. And honestly, I’m expecting smoke any second now. “Oh, right, it was your brother that died. He was the hockey star. They were best friends, yeah?”

I freeze, my jaw tight. Is he serious? Does he think bringing up my dead brother is going to help heat me up? As much as I want to get off… ugh. Not. By. This. Idiot.

“Heard he’s a total dick and everyone wishes the hockey star survived instead.” He laughs and goes back to sliding his hand up my leg. I squeeze my thighs together, squirming a few inches away, but again, he’s clueless.

“Hawke might not have been the star hockey player, but he was better than good and he had a perfect GPA. What happened to him was tragic too.”

Derek stops mauling me to take another look at Hawke. I take advantage and wedge myself as far back as the couch allows. “Doesn’t look much like a hockey player to me. And your brother died saving him, right? That kinda makes it his fault.” He leans closer, almost on top of me, his hand sliding up my stomach instead of my now vise-like thighs. As his fingers edge under my crop top, I shiver, but not with pleasure. I feel nothing but disgust now.

“Owen forced the EMTs to work on Hawke first. Owen told them he was feeling fine and refused to let them check. That doesn’t make it Hawke’s fault he died. And the EMTs did say Owen seemed okay, which made Hawke’s injuries the priority.” I force the words through clenched teeth, pushing Derek back to give myself some space. He frowns and I think he’s finally gotten the hint.

“Pfft, come on, Mia. Even he thinks it’s his fault. Why else does everyone say he’s a bitter asshole?”

“Glad you’re up on all the town gossip,” I say, shifting my jaw to the side and gathering a breath. Derek watches my chest rise and fall, oblivious to my irritation.

His eyes are glued to my breasts, a lascivious smile on his lips. “You have great tits, babe.”

I cross my arms. “Get me a drink?” It’s not really a request, and I don’t actually want a drink. I want an escape. Guys like Derek don’t handle rejection well, and I’m no longer in the mood.

Hawke’s moved on from his spot and I can’t find him when I scan the room. He has no reason to feel guilty about Owen. His support for my brother was unwavering. Hell, that’s why he started playing hockey, to encourage Owen, who until Hawke, spent all of his free time taking care of me, and putting puck dents in our garage freezer.

Derek moans, yanking me from my thoughts. “Aw, but things were just getting good.”

“Yeah, talking about my dead brother always gets me in the mood.” I push down the ball of anger sitting in my throat and lift my brows. “Gonna get me one?” I demand, with every ounce of snark I can muster. He sighs begrudgingly, causing that barely suppressed rage to rise again. Tucking my legs up to my chest, I block him from me.

He curses under his breath and rises. “What do you want?”

“Nothing from you.” Hawke’s deep voice startles me as he sits down in the spot Derek just vacated. “She doesn’t accept drinks from random guys.”

“Yes, I do.” I sit forward abruptly, ever rebellious since it’s the only way I know how to bury my lust and get Hawke’s attention.

“I just had my hand on her pussy, dude. Trust me, she’ll take more than a drink from me.” Derek shifts his shoulders and I’m not sure if he’s trying to convey his prowess as a man or if he’s posturing his athleticism, but I’m livid. At one time Hawke would’ve scared the hell out of Derek. Back when he was carrying two-hundred-twenty pounds of lean muscle on his six-foot-two frame and was the enforcer for the Donvalley High Devils hockey team.

“That was my thigh, you dick,” I shriek but it’s mostly swallowed by the music, which has just been cranked up by Faye because it’s her favorite song. I raise my voice further and continue, saying, “If you can’t tell the difference—” He cuts me off.

“Relax, babe, this has nothing to do with you. I’ll take care of it.” His loud brush-off makes me see red.

“The hell it doesn’t—” This time I’m cut off by Hawke’s words, deeply laced with threat. And though I’m not nearly as annoyed by him doing it, I still shoot daggers at him, because I should be. “Hello, being a woman doesn’t make me a mute.”

Of course he ignores me, rising to his full height, which is four inches taller than Derek. Derek still has more than a few pounds on him though and doesn’t have a bum leg, but Hawke doesn’t seem to care. These days Hawke lives as if he’s got nothing to lose. My heart kicks up at the potential violence, but mostly because I don’t want Hawke to get hurt.

“This has everything to do with her and the pills you’ve got in your pocket.” He looks down at me, eyes narrowed. “You should know better, Nia. Jesus, you never let a guy, especially one you barely know, near your drink.”

Narrowing my eyes back at him, I open my mouth to retort, but Derek jumps in before I can.

“The fuck you talking about?” 
I can practically feel Derek’s stare but Hawke and I are locked in some sort of glare stand-off.

“The benzos,” Hawke says, only breaking our eye contact when Derek says nothing. We both turn to look at him. Derek’s face is as blank as when I mentioned Stephen Hawking.

“Rohypnol. Flunitrazepam. Whatever the kids are calling it these days.” Hawke draws in a breath, shaking his head slightly as if he’s summoning the patience to deal with the witless moron.

I swallow hard and then lick my lips, the reality of what could have happened hitting me. Derek’s forehead wrinkles as if he’s been given an impossible math equation. Anger rears in me.

“You were going to drug me?” I ask incredulously, starting to fly up only to be shoved back down by Hawke. 
Realization finally dawns on Derek’s face, and he gives me a sloppy half grin.

“Wasn’t gonna use them on you. Didn’t have to.”

My jaw drops. I’m stunned. I mean, until he started talking about Owen dying he wasn’t going to need them but I don’t like being called out like that. Besides, it’s not like I planned to do more than fool around with him—some kissing, heavy petting, a handy—hell, I barely know him and I’m in love with someone else. But before I can snap into action and get a shot in, Derek’s on the floor.

I blink. Hawke is shaking out his hand with a whistle.

“I didn’t expect such a hard jaw on someone with such obvious sexual dysfunction,” he mumbles and then leans down to take the pills out of Derek’s jacket. Examining the name on the prescription, he says, “Mrs. Patricia Allan.” Hawke gives me a disapproving side-eye before looking down at Derek. “Tsk, tsk. Does Mommy know you steal her prescriptions?” He gives Derek a nudge with his foot. “What else you got in here, champ. Your dad’s Viagra?”

“Fuck you. Go ahead. Take ‘em. You’re the one who needs ‘em. I hear girls don’t like fucking killers.” Derek wipes the blood from his mouth and rises. “And fuck you too,” he says, looking at me. “Poor little Mia, her daddy ate lead when she was born, her brother dies rescuing this loser, and she’s left with her drunk, depressed mom who’s one bad day away from swallowing a bottle of pills. And here I was tossing you a pity fuck despite all the warnings.”