I don’t tell her, but this place is a replica of that—all to give the rich college snobs the illusion of being in a real country bar. If this were an actual one there’d be muddy trucks with big tires in the lot, cheap beer, and probably someone getting punched right about now.
Looking around the bar, it’s obvious that there are no locals in attendance. The song playing ends and the people on the dance floor clap, some of them heading back to their table and others ready for another dance.
I just want some chicken tenders, but I bet this place doesn’t even have those.
My stomach rumbles with my thoughts. “Is there a menu there?” I ask Li, pointing at the end of the table where the ketchup and other condiments are.
She shakes her head. “Nope, I don’t see one.”
At that moment Kenna reappears with a pitcher of beer that doesn’t look anything like the cheap kind, probably some house made brew or local specialty, and three shots.
“Come on, ladies,” she passes out the shots, “to college.”
She holds up her shot, waiting for us to hit ours against hers.
“To life,” Li adds.
“To freedom.”
The glass clinks and I knock back the shot, trying not to make a face, I don’t succeed because I hear the laughter of some guy and look up. Amber eyes stare back at me and I don’t have to look very long to know the guy is hot and fit, probably plays some sport, his skin is a soft brown color and his black hair is buzzed short. Tattoos snake down the entirety of his left arm.
“Having a little trouble there?”
Now, I sputter even more with the newfound audience.
So attractive, Rory. Get your shit together.
Coughing, I grab a napkin, pressing it to my mouth. “I-I’m fine,” I choke out.
His smirk tilts up on the corner. “Let me get you some water.”
Kenna and Li look from the guy to me and back again. Then Kenna gives a little shimmy of her shoulders and a wink, urging me silently with a pointed finger to get out of the booth and follow the guy to the bar.
I want to say no, but as soon as I have that thought I toss it to the side. I deserve to let loose and a cute guy is talking to me and all he wants is to get me a water. Honestly, after my hacking show he probably thinks I’m pitiful and truly wants to make sure I’m all right.
“Um, thanks. Water would be great.” I slide out of the booth and his hand instantly goes to the small of my waist, his long fingers edging over the denim of the skirt currently hugging my butt.
I feel the burn of eyes following us, all girls when I brave a look, staring on in jealousy. Whoever this guy is, he’s a big deal.
At the bar, he signals the bartender and in seconds an ice water is poured and slid my way.
“What’s your name?” The guy asks me in his deep voice, a slight southern drawl to it.
“Rory,” I reply, wrapping my lips around the straw. His eyes flick down with my movement and a shiver slithers up my spine.
It’s been months since I’ve been with a guy, and none of my random hookups have ever been that great, but the way this guy is looking at me tells me he’d know what he’s doing if I gave him a chance. But he’s also probably been with the majority of the female population on campus.
Who cares, you only live once.
“What about you?”
“What about me, darlin’? His cocky swagger would normally piss me off, but tonight I find myself not caring. I guess that’s what freedom does to you.
“Your name?” I try to hide my smile but I know it shows around the straw.
His amber eyes sparkle. “Cole.”
I’ve never seen eyes that shade, such a unique swirl of gold with an orange hue.
“No last name?” I arch a brow.
“Anderson.”
“Nice to meet you Cole Anderson.”
“You didn’t give me your last name.” His grin tips up on the corners and he motions for the bartender again. In a blink a bottle of beer is thrust into his hand, probably one of the ‘manly’ types that tastes like piss.
“Abbott.”
“You gonna dance with me Rory Abbott?” He bites his lip, trying to hide his growing smile but there’s something incredibly sexy about it.
“Only if you want your toes stepped on.” I wish I could dance, but Hazel inherited all the rhythm genes, all I got was an ability to argue over just about anything.
“I don’t mind.”
I sip the water, half of it already gone, and he raises the bottle to his lips a challenge glimmering in his eyes.
When the water is gone, I grab his empty hand. “Why not. Show me how it’s done, Anderson.”
Chapter Four
Mascen
I’m beginning to regret my decision not to go out with my friends. A distraction would be nice right about now, but instead I’m sitting on the couch, legs stretched out on the leather ottoman, watching the History Channel. I have a weakness for Ancient Aliens that Cole never lets me live down since he first caught me watching it. Joke’s on him now since I got him addicted to it.
I lift the beer bottle to my lips, finding it empty.
Groaning out a sigh I put it on the side table. As much as I’d like another, I have to be careful. It’s not technically baseball season, but with Coach Meyers there is no true off-season. He runs a tight ship. It’s why I wanted to attend here in the first place, to be coached by him, but I worked my ass off to get accepted based on my grades and own merit. Not what I could bring to the baseball team, or what my parents’ bank account looks like.
Too many people are content to sit back and let money do the talking, but my family is different.
Both of my parents grew up poor, my dad and his brother were foster kids, and they wanted to make sure that my sisters and I understood that while we were privileged others were not. We learned not only to give back, but to work for the things we wanted. We were spoiled in ways, sure, I mean look at my car and this fancy townhouse, but we had a better grasp on things than some people.
I’d been around enough rich pricks for it to put a sour taste in my mouth.
I think that’s why I clicked with Cole. We met during freshman orientation, hung in similar circles, and became good friends. He’s here on scholarship, the guy is an incredible basketball player, and lucky for me he doesn’t give a shit who my dad is.
He’s met my parents and didn’t bat an eye. It was ridiculously refreshing. I made a comment about it once and he said, “I’m trying to make something of myself out there on the court, your last name isn’t going to help me throw a three-pointer.”
Rubbing the back of my head, I try to pay attention to what they’re saying on TV but I can’t focus.
Standing, I swipe the empty bottle from the table and toss it in the recycle bin. I check over things, making sure no dirty dishes are left out—learned that shit the hard way my first year living on my own and ruined four dishes when I had friends over and dinner ended up permanently crusted on them—and turn the security on. Another lesson I learned my freshman year—people are fucking crazy. Or more specifically, girls are fucking crazy. Once they got wind of where I lived they were literally trying to break in and steal things, like as if I would have memorabilia lying around from my dad’s band. You’d think it would be women my parents’ age going gaga over my dad, but women of all ages are obsessed with Willow Creek. It’s fucking crazy.
Taking a bottle of water from the fridge, I also swipe some Cool Ranch Dorito’s—my weakness, before turning the lights off and heading up to bed.
Stifling a yawn, I push the door to my room open just as my phone starts ringing in my shorts pocket.
Putting the water and chips on my nightstand I dig my phone out.
Smiling, I answer the Facetime call.
“Hey, Momma.”
My mom’s smiling, glowing face lights up the phone. Her curly hair takes up most of the screen and her kind brown eyes make my heart ache. I’m a mo
mma’s boy through and through.
“How’s my baby boy?”
“About to get in bed,” I reply, flicking on the light so she can see me better.
“Ah, there you are.” She smiles, leaning against the kitchen counter. “What’s Cole up to?”
“Out with the guys.”
“And you didn’t go?” She arches a brow as I yank my bed sheets back.
“Nah. Wasn’t in the mood.”
She frowns, her brow wrinkling. “What is it this time?”
“The usual.” I roll my eyes.
“Mascen,” she sighs my name, eyes suddenly sad.
“Don’t worry about it, Mom.”
Her frown only grows more with my use of the word mom. “Your dad means well, honey, he just…”
“Loves Willow and Lylah more,” I finish for her, trying not to sound bitter.
She scoffs. “Mascen Zane Wade, absolutely not. Your father loves you all equally.”
I give her a narrow-eyed look. “He wasn’t even home to say goodbye. He was off with Willow.”
“He was stuck in traffic getting back and you know it. You wouldn’t wait for him to get home.”
“He didn’t need to take off to Willow’s in the first place. So what if the dog got out, isn’t that what her fiancé is for?”
Fuck, I sound whiny as hell to my own ears. I can’t imagine how I sound to my mom.
The truth is, my dad’s absence when I left yesterday to head back to Tennessee has weighed heavily on me, more so than the article I spotted in a small-town gas station when I stopped.
“Mascen.” She plops her head in her hand. “Now you’re just nit-picking. You and your dad have always had trouble communicating. It’s because you’re too much alike.” I open my mouth to argue that we’re nothing alike, and I’m certain that’s the real reason we butt heads so often, but she cuts me off. “You are, Mascen. He’s my husband and you’re my son, believe me, I can see it even if you can’t. You could’ve waited for him to get home.”
I look away from the screen. She’s right that I could have, I know, but I won’t say it. There’s so much more shit between my dad and me than just him not being there to say goodbye to me yesterday.
I hear a door open and then his voice.
“I’m talking to Mase,” she tells him in response to whatever he said.
Suddenly his face appears beside hers, eyes crinkled at the corners, and the tiniest hint of gray at his temples.
A girl on campus yelled across the quad at me last year that my dad’s a DILF. It grossed me the fuck out, especially when I recognized her. She’d sucked me off in the bathroom at Harvey’s only a few weeks prior.
Clearing my throat, I wave at the screen. “Hi, Dad.”
“Did you get there safe?”
“Obviously,” I blurt.
He presses his lips together, but doesn’t say anything. A little black nose pokes out of the pocket of his shirt and then the whole head of a spiky hedgehog.
“Aw,” my dad begins, pulling the critter from the pocket. “Quilly Wonka wants to say hello.”
“Why’s he in your pocket?”
I mean, my dad carrying a hedgehog in his pocket is unfortunately not that uncommon. They’re his pet of choice, plus he rescues them, and even breeds them. In his words, “There’s no such thing as too many hedgehogs.”
I would’ve been happy with a Golden retriever or something.
But no, we got hedgehogs growing up.
“He got in a fight with Quilliam Shakespeare. I told him he couldn’t hog the mealworms.”
Running my fingers through my hair, I sigh. “I’m really tired so I’m going to go to bed. Night, guys.”
“I love you, call me tomorrow.” My mom blows me a kiss.
I catch her kiss, flattening my palm against my chest. “Love you too, Momma.”
Staring into my dad’s gray eyes I say a simple, “Bye.”
“Bye, Son.”
I hang up and toss the phone on my bed.
“Fuck.” Scrubbing my hands over my face, I finally climb into bed.
Turning the TV on I grab my bag of chips to snack on. In no time my body gives into exhaustion and I pass out asleep.
Chapter Five
Rory
The pounding in my head can’t be normal.
It pulses in time with my heartbeat. A groan rips out of my throat and I squish my eyes even tighter closed. Beneath the warmth of a blanket I do an assessment, wiggling my toes, my fingers, all appendages seem to be intact and functioning. I guess that’s good.
Open your eyes, Aurora.
Reluctantly, I crack my eyes open. It’s dark in the room, and I look over finding blackout curtains across the window.
Only I didn’t hang any blackout curtains in my dorm.
Oh my God.
My head swishes down and I find myself in my bra and panties. The guy beside me is lying on his stomach, hugging a pillow as he snores softly. Not even the smooth muscular contours of his back can calm my racing heart from what I may or may not have done last night.
Things come back in flashes.
Dancing with Cole.
Laughing with Kenna and Li.
Joining Cole’s friends.
More shots. Food. Dancing. Drinks. Laughter.
Somehow, I ended up coming back to Cole’s townhouse. We made out for a while, I remember rocking against him, and then … nothing.
“Fuck,” I curse, climbing out of the bed.
I stumble around his room, collecting my clothes, well Kenna’s clothes. Shuffling into the denim skirt, I search for the flannel but can’t find it anywhere. Instead, I swipe a shirt that must be Cole’s slipping it over my head. It’s big, hanging longer than the skirt.
Stumbling out of his room, I accidentally close the door a little too loud.
I seriously need to empty my bladder, but right now I just want to get out of here, wherever here is, and get back to my dorm.
“No more drinking for you, Rory.”
Blinking, I hold a hand to my pounding head. I cannot throw up all over the hardwood floors. That would be beyond embarrassing.
Inhale. Exhale.
That’s better.
I start down the hall just as a door flies open.
“Cole, that you?”
Smack.
I collide with wet, hard, male flesh.
Both of our hands shoot out, steadying us before we fall into a pile on the floor.
I stumble back, looking the guy in the face, and holy hell if I thought Cole was hot he has nothing on this guy. Angular face, full lips, sharp nose, slanted eyes. He’s an Adonis, carved from stone. Something so perfect he should be in a museum for all to admire. He’s also very, very close to naked. The thick charcoal towel tied around his waist is barely hanging on to his toned body. His brown hair is wet from a shower sticking to his scalp.
That’s when my eyes meet gray ones.
Horror fills me, bile rising up my throat.
I know him, my brain screams, at the same time I also think, It can’t be.
But it is.
Mascen Wade in the flesh. My childhood friend, the one I never got to say goodbye to. The son of a famous drummer. I’ve seen his face sprinkled in tabloids from time to time, and I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him straight away, but I’m blaming my hungover state.
I mouth his name but no actual sound comes out. Recognition flares in his eyes but as quickly as it’s there it’s gone. It’s like shutters close over his eyes, his brow furrowing in anger.
He says something but my ears aren’t working from the surprise of standing in front of him again after all these years.
I’m not quite sure I’m awake yet. Maybe I’m dreaming. I’ve had a few dreams about him over the years, but…
“Why are you wearing my shirt?”
I look down at the large cotton shirt. Aldridge Baseball printed on the front with the mascot, a wolf.
“Y-Your shirt?” I stutt
er. “I found it in Cole’s room?” I don’t know why it comes out as a question. He has me unhinged, plus I’m still dealing with the effects of what I drank while he’s perfectly sober.
“It’s mine.” He bites out through clenched teeth, eyes full of hate. “Take it off.”
“What?” My face squishes in disbelief. “No. I can’t find my shirt and—”
His hands sit on his narrow waist, drawing my eyes to the low hanging towel and the one, two, three—eight pack he’s sporting. “It’s my fucking shirt and I don’t give my shit away to Cole’s hoes.”
I flinch. “I … I can’t walk out of here without a shirt.” It would be downright degrading to do the walk of shame without even a shirt. His eyes are dark, though, unmoving.
“Should’ve thought about that before you fucked him. Give me my goddamn shirt.” He opens and closes his hand, signaling me to hand it over.
I open my mouth to say his name, to beg, plead, or whatever, but promptly zip my lips. I won’t be degraded by some asshole even if he was my friend once upon a time. He’s expecting more of a fight, craving it, I can smell it in the air like a shark senses blood in the water. I remove the shirt, leaving me in just the lacy push-up bra. I won’t let him win.
“Here you go, asshole.” I thrust it out roughly, my hand practically punching his too hard stomach.
He lets out the smallest grunt of surprise, his big hands grabbing the shirt.
“I know you recognize me,” I seethe, leaning into him. His intoxicating scent of something citrus and woodsy threatens to make me dizzy. “You can pretend you don’t all you want, but I saw it in your eyes.”
His nostrils flare, his glower deepening.
“Nice seeing you again, Mascen,” I chirp, even though this is the furthest thing from nice, it’s downright humiliating.
And then, because I can’t fucking help myself since he wanted to humiliate me, I reach out as I pass him and yank the towel, letting it fall off his body.
I keep walking, not looking, and down the stairs I go.
When I reach the bottom I turn to see if he’s still there. Sure enough, he’s standing there in all his glory, naked as the day he was born, and I swallow thickly unable to take my eyes away from his half-hard impressive cock. I feel like I can barely breathe from this entire exchange.
Bad Boys Break Hearts Page 3
