The Boy I Grew Up With

by Tijan

  I knew how I looked.

  I could do crazy too. Hell, some of the time I did. That look works, usually, but it wouldn’t right now. Instead I pulled out my tough-bitch boss look and lifted my head, looking down my nose at her.

  “You think you’re scary. You’re not.” Scary was going an entire life without a mom. That was tough. “You think you’re tough. You might be, but you’re not in this situation. Not against me.” I wasn’t mincing words. “You pull that shit, and you’re exiled from Manny’s too.”

  “But—” she sputtered.

  “You know my brother’s reputation. He sleeps with everyone, and don’t tell me he made you all these sweet promises, because the one thing he isn’t is a liar. He’s no liar. He might be a whiny manwhore at times, but he doesn’t say pretty words to pretty girls that he doesn’t mean. It’s not in his DNA.”

  I would know. I share it.

  I motioned behind her to the sidewalk that connected our house to Manny’s and the empty alley that went past to the parking lot.

  “Get out of here, and I don’t want to see you around—for a week at least.”

  “Heather—”

  I shut the door, and to add insult to injury, I locked it. “Don’t piss me off. I’m the wrong Jax to tangle with.”

  She must’ve had some smarts because I heard her sigh, and a second later her heels clicked against the front porch as she left.

  “Hey. Thanks.” Brandon was back in the doorway of his room, boxers on now.

  I heard his bathroom door open behind him and waved a tired hand.

  “Yeah, yeah.” My hangover slammed back in place, tenfold. I rubbed at my temples and started for the stairs. “Do me a favor? Stop bringing your girls here.”

  He chuckled, watching me move upstairs. “I owe you. I’m sorry, Heather. I really am.”

  I was too tired to acknowledge that, but a different thought came to me. “Download a ringer that sounds like police sirens. Maybe we can use it later to scare her away?”

  He laughed. “Only if you do too.”

  Yeah. Yeah, maybe I would.

  A second later, his door shut, and I heard him crooning to his remaining girl.

  I hit the second floor, turning to my room.

  Letting my kimono robe fall, I crawled under my covers, my blessed and heavenly covers. That’s when I rolled over to see a pair of dark male eyes staring back at me. They turned into smoldering bedroom eyes, and then a smirk and a smooth drawl came out.

  “Feel like screwing around?”

  2

  Heather

  “Get out.”

  I had three different reactions at once.

  One, my body instantly turned into a warm, toasty, throbbing red button—the type you see in the movies that the president has to push to start a world war. That was me, but it wasn’t to start a war—just an explosion. That’s how I always felt whenever my on-again, off-again ex showed up. Two, annoyance. I had just gotten rid of one of Brandon’s bedmates. I didn’t need to deal with the one I’d had since we were kids. By the time we were in fifth grade, Channing was crawling into my room and bed multiple times a week. The kissing, then making out, then having sex started much later, at an appropriate-but-probably-still-too-early age.

  And the last reaction: my stomach had some definite upheaval gusto. I clamped my mouth shut as a surge of throw up started traveling upward.

  “Mmmmmm!” I hummed in warning, shoving the covers back and dashing for my bathroom.

  I got there just in time, but no throw up. I was just dry heaving, which was almost worse because my stomach kept trying to empty itself, but couldn’t.

  I felt a footstep on the floorboards behind me before a hand came to my forehead. A gentle touch smoothed my hair from my face and pulled it all back in a low ponytail. He grabbed one of my bands from the cabinet and pulled my hair through, securing it without making it too tight.

  He’d done this a time or two. Or twenty.

  He sank down next to me, and I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. “You’re a pro at that.”

  His smirk was there, but gentler. “Been doing that for you for years. I should be by now.”

  Channing Monroe.

  This is usually the time when the girl cringes from embarrassment as the guy she’s in love with sees her at her worst, sick over a toilet. Not me. And not this guy.

  He’d been “mine” in some form or other almost my whole life. To say our trek together had been one with upheavals, peaks, climaxes, and downfalls—that’d just be an understatement.

  I thought we’d gotten our shit together, and I thought we were on the marrying track, but then we broke up again last year. We were currently at the stage where we were together in bed, but not out of it.

  I didn’t know how I felt about that, to be honest.

  But at this moment, he was the only person I wanted in that bathroom with me, and he could see it in my face.

  Once I softened, one of his drool-worthy dimples showed, and he reached for me.

  “Come on.” He lifted me up, with the same gentleness as before, and pulled me into his lap, my back to his chest. His arms came around me, but they didn’t lock in front of me. He turned so our feet were around the toilet, so if I needed to lurch forward… Which I did just now.

  I leaned over the toilet and waited for my stomach to stop its useless heaving.

  He rubbed my back the entire time, and when I was done, I leaned into him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  His arms tightened a little around me, and his hand rubbed over my leg. I was buck naked in his arms. I should’ve dressed, but I didn’t have the energy.

  His breath felt good on my neck as he answered. “I was up with the guys. I missed you.”

  Meaning: he’d either been fighting or drinking with the group of guys he considered more family than family.

  I lifted one of his hands to inspect the knuckles, rubbing a thumb over them. “They don’t look bruised up.”

  His body tensed, all six feet of pure muscle.

  Channing had a face for the fashion runways, a body of tattoos that could appear in any magazine, and an attitude that made him a leader among the rowdiest and most criminally inclined. He was whip smart, ruthless, cunning, cocky, and had a charming side that had started some of our fights. He could be too charming at times, putting his name on a lot of girls’ to-do lists. It’d been a problem for us since we were kids, and though it’d gotten better over the last few years, I knew women came onto him regularly.

  But being transparent here, that wasn’t the cause of our problems lately.

  His voice was quiet. “I wasn’t fighting.”

  I turned and tried to smell his breath. There was a slight trace of bourbon, but that might’ve been mine. “You don’t seem drunk either.”

  He chuckled, his eyes studying every inch of my face. He did this when he was trying to figure out where I was going with my statements and if that’d take us into a fight. We acted like we were married and in our sixties by now.

  His thumb went to my mouth and pressed there, softly. “I really was just hanging out with the guys. Cruz came over, said you closed for him. I gambled, thought maybe you’d be up—or not.” That dimple again. “I was hoping just to slide in next to you.”

  I sighed, and his thumb caressed my cheek before his hand returned to my leg. I moved back, resting in his arms again.

  “I was sleeping, but Brandon had a girl problem.”

  His chuckle soothed me. “I heard. I slipped past, but not before I saw his ass. Your brother needs to work out more.”

  “He would take offense to that.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.”

  He was right.

  “He’d agree with me.”

  I agreed with that too.

  Brandon was older, but he looked up to Channing. A lot of people did.

  “You feeling better?” His hand moved to my stomach, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the war
mth there.

  I felt my stomach settle. “I think so.”

  His arms tightened around me, and he stood, lifting me with him.

  Channing grew up fighting. He’d been doing it since elementary school when his two friends tried to steal my Halloween candy. He stole theirs instead, and the whole friend status between those guys changed to best friends. Boys. I didn’t get it. They’d followed him ever since that day, and now he was considering retiring from an underground fighting ring that operated in Roussou.

  Because of that, he could easily lift me, so I just closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling as he carried me to bed.

  He placed me between the covers, tucking them over me.

  He disappeared into the hallway. I heard him go downstairs. The fridge opened, and a moment later, he returned with a glass of water. He set it on the nightstand next to me.

  “You want mouthwash?”

  I nodded, and he grabbed it, along with a cup and a little bowl I had left on the counter. I sat up, cleaned my mouth out, and sipped my water as he took everything back to the bathroom. A second later, he returned. Both doors were shut, and he pulled the drapes over my window so no sunlight could get through. It cast the room into darkness, and I heard the familiar sounds of him shedding his clothes.

  The sheet lifted behind me, and he curled up around me.

  God.

  Moments like this, my heart burst with love for him.

  I loved how he held me, carried me, took care of me. I loved how his hand curved over my thigh and then fell to my stomach, and how a part of me wanted him to slide it between my legs, but I knew he wouldn’t. He knew I didn’t feel good, so this morning wasn’t about the sex I knew he’d originally come for. It was about comfort, and as I felt him slide his leg between mine and tangle our hands together, I knew he was about to fall asleep.

  “I’m glad you came over.” The words slipped out before I knew I was going to say them.

  His arms tightened, just a fraction. “Me too.”

  I felt him smile against my shoulder, and his thumb rose up to touch my nipple before falling back to my stomach.

  “Rest, Heather. We can talk later.”

  3

  Channing

  Christ.

  What was I doing here?

  A hurricane railroaded me. That’s how I felt waking up.

  I was in Heather’s room. I looked over to find her curled away from me. Glancing down, I learned my dick was ecstatic to see her.

  She’d been sick last night, or—checking my phone—a few hours ago. She was breathing deeply now, and she looked better. She wasn’t pale anymore.

  The plan had been to give her space. Had been, the operative words there.

  “Hmmm?” Heather rolled toward me, her eyes still closed. She was still sleeping.

  Man. Just looking at her, I ached—in more than one way.

  The tug-of-war between staying away and being drawn to her was a real struggle for me. I hated being broken up, but it was what it was. That was the rotation for us right now. And I knew I shouldn’t, but I reached over and smoothed my hand over her cheek. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life. I’d thought it when I was in third grade, and I thought it now. I’ve liked Heather since first, but I think I liked that Trapper Keeper more. Third grade was when my real smarts hit me. It never changed after that, and it never diminished. Heather was the shit. She was the girl all other girls wanted to be, or should be. The woman was hella loyal, sexy as fuck, smarter than anyone I knew, and she had the mouth to suck my dick off or kick my ass to the curb, literally.

  She wasn’t one to fuck over, and I felt the same shame, guilt, and anger roll around inside me like I always did.

  Here’s a secret: I know the root of our problems, but Heather doesn’t.

  She just loves me, and that’s her curse, because she shouldn’t. I’m the worst goddamn asshole for her.

  Not wanting to give in and kiss her awake, then slip inside her, I forced myself to grab my stuff and ease out of her room.

  “Hey, loser.”

  I jerked the door shut more than I wanted to, and twisted to glare at Brandon. He was at the bottom of the stairs, in almost the same get-up as myself. Only he was half-clothed, and I wasn’t.

  I tiptoed down the stairs, pulling my shirt on first. After getting the jeans and everything else, I itched my face with my middle finger. “Fucker.”

  He smirked, following me as I went to the coffee pot and filled a cup. He leaned against the fridge, drinking from his.

  “So you’re a surprise.” He seemed to think about that and amended, “Okay. Maybe not such a surprise.” He indicated upstairs with his mug. “I didn’t know Heather had anyone up there.”

  I topped my cup off with some creamer and glared again. “Because she shouldn’t have just anyone. It would be me, me alone. Right?” That all came out cocky—but no, seriously. “Right?”

  Brandon laughed, rolling his eyes. “My sister’s too good for you, Monroe.”

  I grunted. That was one thing we agreed on. I was tempted to salute him with my coffee, but he didn’t deserve it. Though he was a fucker I’d grown up with and loved like a brother too.

  I glanced up. I’d been listening for any sounds of Heather moving up there and didn’t hear any. She must’ve stayed asleep.

  “You had a scrape with Stalker B?” I asked. “I overheard when I snuck in.”

  He almost choked, some of his coffee sputtering out. “What?” His face drained of color. “You’re joking. Right? About the stalker comment. Right?”

  I shook my head. “One of my guys slept with her one night, and it took him a long time to shake her.” I grinned. This was my revenge for him calling me loser. The rest I deserved. “You’re fucked, buddy.”

  He coughed, pounding his chest. “How long is long? And who?”

  “Congo.”

  Congo was one of my ride-or-die friends, and he wasn’t a guy to get stalkers. Might’ve been connected to his bald head, hands that looked like he ate trees for breakfast, and his seriously mean face. He was one of my most trusted guys, but he was just plain mean-looking. There was no other way to describe him.

  I enjoyed telling Brandon this.

  Brandon Jax was nice, but he tended not to give Heather enough credit. Call me overprotective or whatever, but that always burned me. She’d taken Manny’s on when their dad abandoned it—and abandoned them. They thought of it differently, but the SOB had done just that. He took off in an RV caravan with a bunch of retired buddies, and the last I heard, they’d all set up shop in Florida. Brandon didn’t want to deal with the real work of Manny’s, so Heather did.

  It was the same quality that allowed her to keep loving me.

  She should’ve walked away from me years ago.

  Brandon groaned. “How long, Channing?”

  I smiled now, saluting him with my coffee. “It took him a year. How many times did you sleep with her?”

  “Oh my God.” He looked as if he’d been stabbed in the gut. His hand cradled his stomach. “Twice. I was with her twice.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. You’re fucked.”

  “This isn’t funny, Channing.”

  I sipped my coffee. “It is from my view.”

  “Shiiiit.”

  He tipped his head back, a long groan coming from his throat. His hands went to his hair and balled up in fists. It was then that his bedroom door opened and a girl came out, slipping her arm through a shirt. Her hair was a little messy, and her jean skirt still unbuckled. She carried flip-flops in her hands.

  “I’m ready to—” She looked up and saw me, and her voice trailed off. “Go...”

  It was the same chick who’d been hitting on my cousin last night. She paled, and I grinned. This would be fun.

  I raised my mug to her. “We had a wager where’d you end up after Scratch sent you packing.” My eyes slid to Brandon, then back to her. “Didn’t know it’d be here, but it makes sense. Going from
Tuesday Tits to Manny’s.”

  She gulped, but I didn’t care. The stalker was funny. But this girl, she hopped from bed to bed looking for the next guy to bankroll her life.

  “Channing.” Her head lowered, and so did her voice. “Please.”

  “What’s going on?” Brandon looked between the two of us. “Chan?”

  “She’s just a one-night regret, right?”

  “What?”

  I relented. “She was at the bar last night. Hit on me first, then Chad, Linc, and the last one who said no was Scratch. She kept asking for a threesome.” She was squirming. The back of her neck was red, and I loved it. “Right? Said you’d always dreamed about doing two of me, and my cousin was good enough.”

  “Stop.” Another soft plea.

  Brandon’s mouth flattened, and he touched her back. His tone almost matched hers. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

  She looked up, her eyes grateful. She nodded, then stormed out of the kitchen, avoiding me. Brandon stayed put and winced as the screen door slammed behind her. He ran a hand down his face, and handed over his coffee.

  I took it as he murmured, “She was at your bar?”

  I put his coffee on the counter, moving to refill my cup. “She’s a regular.”

  He grimaced. “Fuck.” Then he nodded, clapping me on the shoulder. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  I relaxed just as he swatted my shoulder again, spilling my coffee.

  Swearing, I dumped it in the sink and threw him a dark look. “Really?”

  He chuckled, grabbing his car keys and heading out. “That’s for whatever dick thing you do next.”

  “Fucker!” I yelled after him, but not too loud in case Heather was still sleeping. I doubted she was, though, and after rinsing my cup and Brandon’s, I wasn’t surprised to hear her bedroom door open upstairs.

  A pair of tanned feet came down the stairs, and a short pair of jean shorts—just how I liked them—were next. She’d pulled on the white tank that dipped low into her cleavage without a bra. I knew she’d put a bra on later, but for now, I enjoyed the view.