Sweet Victory: BTU Alumni Series Book #3

by Ciz, Alley

  Chest burning, arms shaking, he pushed through the last hundred pushups in the set, mentally working out his strategy for winning them over to his side and praying to God, or whoever was listening, that whatever he came up with worked better than what he had when it came to Holly.

  When his arms felt like overcooked fettuccine—no spaghetti references for these guns—he dropped to the mat, rolling onto his back to stare into the ceiling lights as he caught his breath. It didn’t matter how in shape you were, super-sets were built to kick your ass. If you weren’t completely gassed by the end, you were doing it wrong.

  “Vin, don’t just lay there. Get your ass up and stretch out those muscles before they get cold.” His sister, ladies and gentlemen, always pushing him farther.

  Because he wasn’t an idiot, and because he didn’t need any of the Covenettes mad at him before he threw himself at their mercy, he did what he was told. Clasping his hands behind his back, he pressed his palms together, straightening his arms until he felt the pull across his pectoral muscles.

  With training done for the day, he and his two roommates, Ray and Deck, drove back to The Hightower. Since his meals were regimented down to the hour, he opened the fridge for a container of the venison chili Gemma and his Aunt Hope were famous for, along with a portion of brown rice. While his meal heated, he munched on pre-cut veggies. Gemma made sure their meals were as grab-and-go as possible.

  Once he was showered, dressed and fed, he headed out with the same trepidation one would feel when preparing to face the firing squad.

  Okay, so yeah, he was being dramatic. The Convenettes were amazing, and after they spent an appropriate amount of time giving him the shit he probably deserved, they would bend over backward to help him get the girl. Especially since they more than approved of the one he wanted.

  Holy shit, did he want Holly.

  She was funny. And spunky. She never shied away from giving him shit and putting him in his place. The only time she struggled to do so was whenever he purposely tried to ramp up her libido.

  She always smelled like dessert. He never really had a problem sticking to a meal plan, but one whiff of her sugary scent and he wanted to gorge himself on sweets. Specifically the sweetness between her legs.

  She was also one of the most down-to-earth people he had ever met.

  Waving hello to Jimmy, the owner of The Ring, he made his way to the back of the restaurant where he knew the ladies tended to spend most of their time playing pool.

  He cringed as he overheard the conversation going between his sister and Jordan.

  “Hell no. I don’t care what anyone says, you want the epidural. Did you really think I was pushing two kids back-to-back out of my hoohah without drugs? Girl, you know me better than that,” Jordan advised with a laugh.

  “Oh, no. I want the drugs. Give me all the drugs. Have you seen the size of my husband? I’m not trying to push out a mini Kraken without the aid of good pharmaceuticals,” Rocky answered.

  “And what-ev-er you do, don’t use a mirror to check out the sitch down there after.” Jordan feigned disgust. “Your lady bits will look like your namesake at the end of the first movie when Rocky loses to Creed. Full-on, swollen-shut eye.”

  “Soooo not something I needed to know, JD,” Vince said, stepping up to their table.

  This.

  This was why the guys didn’t attend Coven meetings. There were just some things men did not need to know about the women in their lives.

  “Well, well, well, ladies,” Becky called out when she spotted him. “Looks like we got ourselves a party crasher.”

  “What’s up, Vinny-boy?” Beth asked around a swallow of beer.

  He hated being called Vinny. He went by Vince for a reason, damn it. But since the schoolteacher called her own cousin-in-law Dumbass on the reg, he had no hope of her not using the dreaded nickname.

  “Ladies.” He dropped a kiss on each of their cheeks, starting with his sister and Jordan.

  “To what do we owe the honor of your company?” Skye leaned on her pool stick.

  Yeah, sarcasm was strong with his friends.

  “I’ve come to fall on my sword and throw myself at the mercy of the court, seeking parley.”

  See? He could play with the best of them.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re mixing up your idioms.” Maddey looked like she was itching to take notes at his expense.

  “Whatever, Tink. You’re the writer of the group.” He ran both his hands over his head, gripping his skull over the fitted material of his backward hat. This was even harder than he thought it would be. “I…need…your help,” he finally managed to choke out.

  Seven sets of eyes stared at him, blinking, no one saying a word for what felt like hours but was barely a minute, before they bent over laughing at his expense.

  “Oh—my—god.” Jordan got out the words in between laughs, holding the volleyball-sized bump under her shirt. “Great. Now I have to pee. Do not say a word until I get back.” She pointed a finger at him while she made her directive, then hurried off.

  He pulled out one of the empty bar chairs and settled in while the ladies went back to their pool game.

  “Okay, you were saying,” Jordan reclaimed her own chair a few minutes later, making a go on gesture with her hand.

  “Like I said. I need your help.”

  “When you say your, you mean one of us individually or do you actually mean you”—his sister pointed at him—“Vincent Steele, has come to seek help from The Coven.” She whispered the last two words as she circled a finger around to include the other six.

  He took a deep breath, reminding himself he'd expected this. Hell, he deserved it, he did name them after all.

  “Yes,” he gritted out reluctantly.

  “Wow,” Rocky breathed.

  “Never thought I’d see the day.” Becky finished his sister’s sentence like she always did. The two of them had some kind of psychic connection almost as strong as Jordan and Jase's with their freaky twin ESP stuff.

  Don’t even try to tell him that wasn’t a real thing because he had witnessed it too many times not to believe in it.

  “So, Vin…what could you possibly need help from little ol’ us for?” Gemma asked with a hand on her chest.

  Sometimes he hated being so close to his family. They were assholes.

  Okay, they weren’t, but you knew what he meant.

  “Holly.”

  No one was surprised by his admission.

  “And what is the problem with the pretty baker?” Beth asked, sarcasm dripping from her words. She was a dangerous addition to the group. Damn Gage. “She not giving you her cookie?”

  “The only cookie of hers he better be trying to get is her vagina. He’s on a strict diet otherwise.” Gemma laid down the law.

  “Calm your tits, Gem. Pussy is calorie-free,” Becky said with an eyebrow waggle.

  And people said guys were worse than girls?

  “She won’t go out on a date with me.”

  “You mean you finally met a woman who didn’t fall at your Theo James-looking feet the moment you flashed her that dimple in your cheek?” Maddey dug a finger into the spot where his dimple popped out when he smiled. He wasn’t smiling at the moment.

  “It’s because he only has one and not a matching set.” Jordan winked. He’d overheard more than one conversation where she had gotten naked thanks to nothing more than a flash of her husband’s perfect set of dimples. Not really a conversation he wanted to hear. No, more like wanting to bleach his brain so he could forget it.

  “Can we please be serious for like five minutes?”

  “Oooh. Serious Vince is here to play,” Skye sing-songed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him outside of the cage.”

  “You guys got jokes,” he deadpanned.

  “Payback’s a bitch, huh?” Gray eyes that matched his own sparkled at him as his sister mimicked his tone.

  “Alright. Let’s play nice.” Jordan brought them a
round, the eternal mother of the group.

  “Question.” Beth raised a hand like one of her students. “Have you tried asking her on a date?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. A lot. Every time she’s bugged off. She’s scared, and it’s keeping her from saying yes, even when I can tell she wants to.”

  “So cocky,” Skye tossed out, earning herself an elbow from her best friend.

  “What do you mean you think she’s scared?” Jordan asked.

  He shrugged.

  “I take it if you’re coming to us, you want her for more than a night or two?” Maddey asked.

  Now for the crazy part.

  Was he really about to admit his feelings out loud? As he took in the expectant faces surrounding him, he made the decision, that yes, yes he was.

  “Yeah…I was thinking more along the lines of forever.”

  And it’s all your fault for filling my head with all your romantic mumbo jumbo, he thought as he watched Maddey’s ice blue eyes widen so far they were at risk of falling out of her head.

  The girls did that thing where they communicated with each other silently before turning to face him again.

  “We’ll convince her to go out with you tomorrow night. You just worry about how you’re gonna woo your girl.”

  His girl.

  He liked the sound of that. He liked it a lot.

  Twenty-Five

  Coven Conversations

  From the Group Message Thread of The Coven

  YOU KNOW YOU WANNA: YO! Roomie…you’ve been holding out on us.

  YOU KNOW YOU WANNA: *GIF of Ricky Ricardo saying “You got some splainin’ to do” to Lucy*

  PROTEIN PRINCESS: Seriously…you HAVE been holding out on us.

  MAKES BOYS CRY: I need ALL the information.

  MOTHER OF DRAGONS: *GIF of girl crying out “TELL ME”*

  THE OG PITA: Don’t hold back.

  QUEEN OF SMUT: The dirtier the better.

  ALPHABET SOUP: Well maybe not TOO dirty. It is my brother after all. I don’t want to have to bleach my eyeballs.

  ALPHABET SOUP: *GIF of Phoebe Buffay saying “OH! MY EYES!! MY EYES!!!”*

  YOU KNOW YOU WANNA: Party pooper.

  MOTHER OF DRAGONS: *GIF of Steve Buscemi toasting with a teacup “I hear you, sister”*

  SANTA’S COOKIE SUPPLIER (Holly): Do I even want to ask what the hell you guys are talking about??

  YOU KNOW YOU WANNA: Ummm…about you and Vince.

  SANTA’S COOKIE SUPPLIER: What about me and Vince?

  MAKES BOYS CRY: *finger point emoji* *ok sign emoji* *eggplant emoji* *donut emoji*

  MOTHER OF DRAGONS: *facepalm emoji* Can’t take you ANYWHERE Skye.

  SANTA’S COOKIE SUPPLIER: I AM NOT having sex with Vince.

  THE OG PITA: Why not? Have you seen him?

  THE OG PITA: *GIF of Theo James looking broody*

  THE OG PITA: *GIF from a promo shoot of Vince smirking while hooking his thumbs in tiny fighting shorts*

  YOU KNOW YOU WANNA: If the guy wasn’t practically my brother I’d climb that boy like a monkey does a tree.

  ALPHABET SOUP: Really Beck?! Do I need to leave this conversation?

  PROTEIN PRINCESS: *string of squirrel emojis*

  MOTHER OF DRAGONS: Gem is right. Can we focus on the topic at hand before I have to pee again for like the 92708364892376 time today?

  ALPHABET SOUP: *GIF of girl saying “Girl, same”*

  MAKES BOYS CRY: I’m never getting pregnant. So NOT glamorous *praise hands emoji* thank you IUD *praise hands emoji*

  MOTHER OF DRAGONS: Famous last words Skye.

  MAKES BOYS CRY: I think you’ve more than covered procreation in our friendship for the time being bestie of mine.

  MOTHER OF DRAGONS: Damn my husband for being so hot and making such cute babies.

  PROTEIN PRINCESS: Can we focus here people? Holly still has to tell us why she WON’T go on a date with our boy.

  QUEEN OF SMUT: Don’t even try to say you’re NOT attracted to him. Because girl…we could ALL get pregnant from the sexual tension surrounding you both when you are together.

  QUEEN OF SMUT: *GIF of girl going to sit in a refrigerator to cool off*

  SANTA’S COOKIE SUPPLIER: …

  YOU KNOW YOU WANNA: Oh no you don’t.

  PROTEIN PRINCESS: Anyone else in the mood for coffee?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Holly ran a hand over her hair, smoothing out any flyaways before continuing on to do the same to her top, wondering how she let the girls talk her into actually accepting Vince’s date invitation.

  This was a mistake.

  A big, seven-tiered wedding cake mistake.

  She’d been doing a piss-poor job of keeping her distance. She couldn’t even keep him out of her kitchen, how the hell was she supposed keep him out of her heart?

  She blamed Beth and that damn GIF she sent of Vince in all his fighter glory for finally giving in and accepting the date.

  Those oiled-up muscles.

  The full arm sleeve of tattoos.

  The way his thumb tugged on the waistband of those tiny fighting shorts, teasing the viewer into thinking they would get a peek at what he had going on below the belt. It was a lot. She’d felt it pressed against her numerous times.

  Then there was that devil-may-care smirk he gave the camera.

  And finally, that dimple.

  That goddamn dimple.

  There was a better chance of Santa giving up milk and cookies than there was of getting her to admit how much time she spent watching the three-second clip since it was sent.

  When the girls finally left her in peace after convincing her to agree to one date, her first response was to think up ways to get out of it. She was so far away from being in the place where she should be dating that her internal GPS couldn’t find a signal.

  But before she could power up the shields around her heart, Vince was there, leaning against the doorjamb like always, arms crossed, sweaty t-shirt clinging to his body, illustrating every one of the lickable muscles underneath.

  How the hell he managed to look like sex-on-legs in the middle of what had to be a grueling workout, she had no idea. All she knew was seeing him there, gray eyes shining like silver, both that smirk and dimple out and proud, her clit was jumping up and down in her pants like Buddy The Elf yelling “Santa! I know him.”

  She had a Frozen cake to finish, and he had to adhere to Gemma’s regimented meal plan, so a casual night out of drinks was the plan.

  Casual was good.

  There wasn’t as much pressure with casual.

  Yet things with Vince felt anything but casual.

  If they really were casual, why did she spend so much time stressing over what to wear? Raised by people where the word casual was considered more offensive than certain four-letter words, cocktail dresses and high heels were the standard.

  She tugged the hem of the white silk shirt layered underneath a thin, black, three-quarter-length sleeved sweater, thinking if her mother could only see her now, preparing to go out on date in leather leggings and classic black and white Chucks—Xanax would be needed.

  Fiddling with her shirt, she moved to leave only to find Vince watching her from the doorway.

  Her panties nearly caught fire from the molten look in his mercurial eyes as they ran down her body in a slow perusal of appreciation.

  “Hi.” Her voice squeaked like a prepubescent boy.

  It was almost indecent how he filled out the dark jeans, or how he took a simple henley shirt and made himself the poster child for forearm porn with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. And that backward hat.

  Oh, Christmas tree, he’s gorgeous. Oh, you wanted my panties? Here just take them, my bad boy.

  “Hey, Cupcake.”

  Gah! Why did the nickname sound so filthy coming from his mouth?

  “Are you ready?” He didn’t move from his perch in the doorway.

  “Yup.” She studied him carefully. “I just have to grab
my purse. Did you want to come in?” She waved a hand, indicating the bedroom.

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?” She tilted her head.

  “Holly, if I take one step inside this room, I will be spending the night buried so deep inside you, you won’t know where you end and I begin.” His voice was guttural. “As much fun as that will be.” His cocky swagger should grate, but it didn’t. Like usual, all it did was turn her on more. “I’d rather spend the night getting to know you, and not in the biblical sense.”

  * * *

  Ever the gentleman, Vince held the car door open, taking her hand in his as they walked inside The Ring. He wanted somewhere they could talk without the pressure of sitting across from each other while making idle conversation.

  They were met with a wall of sound as they stepped inside the main dining area, the entirety of the left side taken over by a massive oak bar with a crazy number of beer taps and a wall of liquor bottles stacked taller than she was. There had to be over a dozen sixty-five inch TVs in the main room alone, all either playing a hockey or basketball game.

  They continued past booths and tables, through a room with four billiards tables, and into a sectioned-off back room with a wall dominated by a movie theater-sized projection screen and spaces for air hockey, foosball and darts.

  It was love at first sight. This was the type of place she should have been spending her early twenties in, not the country club she used to frequent on a weekly basis.