by M. Sinclair
It didn’t help that it had always been this easy between Kingston and I.
Like an easy, slow, hot summer day. He made me smile and laugh, and I… Well, I’m not positive about what I did for him, but he stayed around for a reason, right? As I said, we’d been accused of dating throughout high school, and as a freshman it had freaked me out, worried it would push him away, but as I got older, I realized I was perfectly happy with that rumor. More than happy with it, especially since he never denied it.
Didn’t confirm it, either, but hey, that was something, right?
So why didn’t I just awkwardly blurt out my feelings? It wasn’t just King that I had these strong feelings for. Yeah, it became all the more confusing when you added in the other men that I found myself drawn to. I knew, without a doubt, that I’d never be able to choose between them, and maybe that was what was holding me back, in part. My fear of losing them. Or I was chicken, afraid of being rejected.
“And there he is,” Kingston mused as I watched a head of reddish brown hair walk through a sea of movers, the stranger’s frame equally as massive as the men surrounding him doing all the heavy lifting. My chest squeezed at the giant that was walking over, his shoulders easily double—maybe triple—the width of my frame. Holy smokes.
He was halfway across my lawn before he finally looked up, and I was met with a very familiar shade of green eyes. Eyes that held mine for a hot second, looking somewhat shocked—at what, I wasn’t sure—before they slid over to King. A look I didn’t fully understand flashed across his handsome face before it was suddenly gone again.
“Who is this?” I asked curiously, trying to keep my tone light and upbeat.
“Dermot,” King explained, his tone sexy and amused, as if something about this was hilarious to him. I found myself tempted to say the new man’s name, wanting to let it roll off my tongue, but I didn’t want to scare away the new neighbor by acting like a total weirdo. I would just do it later, where I could be a weirdo in the privacy of my bedroom.
That was way dirtier than I intended it to sound.
“I heard you the first bloody time when you whistled at me like a damn pup.” Dermot’s Irish accent had my lips popping open in surprise as he responded to King saying his name. A shiver crawled over my skin, causing me to grip the railing just slightly tighter as I tried to not find his voice ridiculously, unfairly sexy.
That was all I needed right now.
If King noticed my reaction, he didn’t say anything, but I found that hard to believe since his one hand was on the soft spot between my shoulders and neck as he ran his thumb over my pulse in a repetitive, relaxing motion. It wasn’t an unusual action for him to do, but in his time away I’d forgotten how soothing I’d found it. I think he also used it to gauge if I was anxious or not, because he sometimes did the same with my wrist. I swear that was the reason why. The man was always doing crazy stuff like that.
I was perfectly fine with him knowing my body that well… I was just hoping that he couldn’t read my damn mind. I would be so screwed if he ever had a front row seat to what I was actually thinking around the group of them.
“Dermot, meet Dahlia,” King drew out lazily, his chin resting on top of my head as he continued to pet my neck. “Dahlia, this is my cousin, Dermot. I think I’ve mentioned him before.”
Oh, he had. I had heard about him before this summer, but also in the background of many of King’s calls this summer… I just hadn’t realized that he looked like this. His voice sounded not only deeper in person, but it had a ton of richness to it. Everything about him seemed vibrant, much like King, but he seemed to have a slightly rougher edge.
The Irishman froze upon the introduction, his eyes flicking down to me before letting out a small sound from his throat, making King shake with silent laughter. I arched a brow, feeling way more confused than before. Was it just me, or was there something going on here I didn’t understand? Maybe he was awkward. I could understand that—meeting new people was hard.
Or maybe I was terrible at reading people? It was one of the other reasons I loved photographing people. It allowed me time to study mannerisms and body language. I wasn’t always fantastic at doing so in the moment. I was distracted fairly easily, which I used to consider a flaw, but there was just a lot to take in about the world around us, and bright colors, specifically, always caught my eye.
“Nice to meet you, lass,” he said softly before looking back up at his cousin. “Is this why you called me out here? In the middle of moving?”
Was he the one moving into the house? I mean, clearly. But just him? In that massive house? I frowned, wondering if he would be lonely in it.
King’s voice was laced with suspicious innocence, even for him. “Dahlia wanted to meet the new neighbor, and I was positive you would want a personal introduction. Can’t have two of the most important people in my life not knowing one another.”
My cheeks heated as I looked up at King. Did he mean that? King’s fingers paused on my throat, a smile filling his face as his gaze ran across my expression… before Dermot’s curse jogged me from staring at the man behind me and back to his cousin. My expression turned curious as Dermot held my gaze for a minute, searching for something, before shaking his head and turning back towards his house.
Had I done something wrong? I liked to think I was welcoming… but he seemed upset.
I tried not to be upset about him walking away. Maybe he was stressed with the move. And like I said, meeting new people wasn’t always easy, something I definitely understood. Especially after everything that had happened, I’d become far more cautious than I had ever wanted to be. I was just toeing the line of being cynical, and I was starting to hate myself for it.
Guilt pulsed through my chest, and then shame for being weak hit like a hard slap, and I tried to school my expression. I couldn’t blame them for keeping something from me, because I was very much doing the same. My eyes moved up to King, his green eyes darkening before narrowing his eyes on his cousin, probably misinterpreting my expression. Before I could say anything, he kissed the top of my head and walked with an air of determination down the stone steps of our porch towards his cousin’s house.
“Where are you going?” I called out, feeling a pout nearly slip onto my lips. He flashed me a knowing smile over his shoulder. Bastard.
“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll be right back. Give me five.” He winked as I bit my lip thoughtfully, wondering what he had to say to his cousin. He better be back…
See?! I was clingy. Ridiculous. I was ridiculous.
“Yeah, princess.” The deep, goading voice of my neighbor to the left had me rolling my eyes. Kingston snapped his gaze towards the neighbor in question, offering him a warning look I’d never seen before. A shiver rolled over my skin, because, of course, it turned me on. Damn him. Inhaling sharply, I turned to face the man to the left of me, knowing that his brand of crazy was always bound to make my afternoon interesting.
Stratton Lee.
I tried to not smile while looking over him, which was a feat, because the man was adorable. Alright, that probably wasn’t a word anyone had ever used to describe him, ever, but I couldn’t help but find him a bit cute. And sexy. I mean, he could be so grumpy, yet there was a sharp wit right there, waiting to snap out from under his brooding disposition. His energy was harsher but equally as powerful as King’s. The two of them were an intoxicating pair.
The man infuriated me though. Sometimes I just wanted to kiss his lips shut, but that wasn’t happening any time soon—that would not make my life any easier, nor the difficult situation I was in. He would be shocked, though. I could imagine it, and not much surprised the man, so I would consider that a win on my end.
Stratton liked to consider himself the symbolic ‘black sheep’ of Wildberry. Although frankly, I think that was just a way to distance himself from us. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I one hundred percent supported and believed that he enjoyed the gauges in his ears, the tattoos littering his forearms, a
nd the dark motorcycle boots he always wore that looked like he could kick the mess out of someone with. It did draw a very large contrast, though, between him and everything that was Wildberry, which I was learning was purposeful on his end. I mean, there were also the bruised knuckles from fighting, the messy, unruly black hair, and ridiculously blue, piercing eyes that seemed to always be staring straight into my very soul, incinerating any possible walls I had up.
You’re starting to see my problem, right? None of these men should have this many things working for them.
“Stratton, I didn’t realize you were talking to me since you called me ‘princess,’” I chimed sarcastically.
The man’s full lips tweaked up as he looked over my red dress before literally vaulting over his porch rail, landing in the lawn and walking across our side yard to look up at me on the porch. Although looking up was somewhat subjective since he was around King’s height, if not slightly taller.
“Now I’m not good enough for you because King is back?” he asked softly, trying to sound sarcastic despite the wounded undertone of his voice.
How on earth had he gotten… you know what, no. I wasn’t going to overthink this one.
“First of all, you only hung out with me twice this summer, and all the other times I tried to spend time with you, you were ‘busy.’ Second, you know I enjoy hanging out with you when you aren’t acting like a jerk.” My hand darted out to mess up his dark hair as he grabbed my wrist and kissed the pulse gently, making me blush, much to my frustration.
While growing up, Stratton had been the kid I’d fought with. We had fought about everything and anything. One time, we came home covered in mud because he made a bet he could put more on himself than me, and at seven, that was like a fight to the death.
The habit had continued and shaped into this sarcastic banter that only got worse the more he tried to distance himself from our group. I had no idea what reason he’d come up with in his head for needing to do so, because if I knew one thing about Stratton, it was that he was so stubborn. The man was his own worst enemy, and I hoped he would realize that one day so that we could go back to how we had been before.
I knew it probably killed him that whenever we were together, we slipped into ‘us’ so easily, as if there was no distance. I loved it, but I knew it probably frustrated him. I really was understanding of the fact that he was clearly working some things out, but I couldn’t help him if he wouldn’t talk to me.
“Does your mother know you use those dirty words, angel face?” His grin was wicked as his warm hand dropped my wrist and instead wrapped around my ankle through the marble railings of the porch. My center clenched as I tried to not show just how much that smile and tone of voice affected me. The last thing I needed was Stratton realizing I was attracted to him.
“You’re annoying,” I claimed, a small smirk forming on his face as I tried to ignore the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.
I could tell he saw through it, though, his eyes lighting up to a near silver as he offered me a heated look. I knew it didn’t help that he was probably a bit worked up right now, especially since King was back. The two of them had always been competitive, even growing up.
Letting go of my ankle, he walked around the porch towards the front steps as I found myself walking to meet him there, hating that my feet seemed to move of their own accord. I hopped down two steps as he leaned against the railing, his hands wrapping around my waist to steady me as I tried to not sigh at the comfortable, familiar touch. This was the problem with him, with all of them! Their touch felt amazing.
“Yeah, Dahlia?” His deep voice had me feeling a bit dizzy as my gaze followed his lips. “How annoying?”
Not annoying at all. Unfortunately. And this was exactly why we didn’t spend a lot of time together, this insane chemistry.
Before I could come up with a sassy retort, my gaze snapped to the secondary gates of the community opening to let through a Mercedes G-class. Stratton muttered under his breath as the luxury vehicle rolled past the first two houses, blasting music. I leaned against the man, placing my hands on his shoulders as he turned towards the car.
Despite our little back and forth, Stratton was one of my best friends. We were just going through a difficult time. I mean, he had even taken me out on his motorcycle this summer, something that I’d enjoyed far more than I would have assumed. Now we just needed to work on getting his head out of his behind so he could stop overthinking everything.
In school he’d kept a distance as well, stating that he didn’t want to ‘fuck up’ what people thought about me. I had wanted to shake the man for thinking I would care about that, and I was thrilled that we didn’t need to worry about any of that anymore. It was over. A dark chill rolled up my spine, that nagging anxiety reminding me that my statement wasn’t completely true.
I wasn’t positive that particular problem was ever going to go away.
Chapter Three
Dahlia Aldridge
“Why is he staying, again?” I muttered, glaring at the car that was approaching my house. I may have felt some level of frustration with Stratton, but it was nothing, and I mean nothing in comparison to Yates Carter.
I knew why Stratton was staying. His grandmother, his only living relative, was sick. Legitimately, extremely sick. I knew it caused him pain to talk about, so I tried to not ask for updates too often, but I did stop over there once a week to sit with her on the porch and drink some sweet tea. As long as she was having a good day, of course, because during the bad, she could barely leave bed. In some ways, I think the situation left Stratton feeling worse and more frustrated than when his parents had died in a car crash before sixth grade. As he always described it, that moment had been like ‘ripping off a bandaid’ or ‘popping a bubble,’ whereas this was slower, more painful to experience on a daily basis.
I understood what he was trying to say, but both were horrible situations to be in, and both were concepts that I wished I could protect him from. Something that probably sounded ridiculous, considering Stratton didn’t need protection. Well, physically, at least. Emotionally, though? I could and had done that before.
When his parents passed, I hadn’t known much about grief. I’d overhead my parents talking about the incident and had watched the police come and go from the house next door for hours until I worked up the nerve to go over there myself. I hadn’t told my parents what I was doing, but when I found Stratton in his bedroom crying, I curled up behind him and hugged him like my mom always did when I was upset. When I woke up, I’d been back at my house, but I’d continued to do exactly the same thing ten or twenty times in a row until I was positive my friend would be okay.
Every summer, though, starting on June 6th, Stratton disappeared for about a week, and unfortunately, unlike when we were little, he was far more difficult to find and get a hold of. This past summer, I’d managed to find him sitting outside two days after the anniversary of their passing, smoking a cigarette and looking pissed right off. He had tried to be an ass and had even said some stuff that I later hit him over the head for, but I had been persistent, and when I finally sat behind him on the back stone stairs of his house and wrapped my arms around him, he’d let me hold him. I’m not positive how long we sat like that, but he’d let me run my fingers through his hair, and at one point I was almost positive he’d been crying, but I didn’t ask. I hadn’t wanted to move, afraid to break the moment.
The next day he acted as if none of that had happened, something that had both unsurprised me and bummed me out in equal parts. That was okay, though—I had endless patience. So yeah, I understood why Stratton was staying in the area, and despite the reasoning, I was glad for it.
I also knew why King was staying here. The Ross family had laid it out from very early on that if King wanted to go to college, he could, but that it wasn’t necessary. He had chosen to get to work right away and take classes at Silver Oak when he had free time. Something that had absolutely thrilled me, becaus
e it meant he was staying here. With me.
But why the heck was Yates staying?
Couldn’t he go against the grain and attend one of those Ivy Leagues he’d gotten into? I knew he didn’t give a flip what others thought of him, so I had no idea what was stopping him… actually, that was a lie. I knew he wanted to stay close to his parents, especially his mom. A reprieve from his foolishness would have been nice, though.
I nearly rolled my eyes at my own words, because despite how annoying I found Yates, the idea of him actually gone left me feeling… empty? Sure, let’s go with that.
Either way, here he was, pulling up to my curb, two houses too early if you ask me. I narrowed my eyes at my archnemesis as he hopped out of his car. For the record, yes, it was difficult to be enemies when you hung out every single day, but I tried, damn it. I tried.
I narrowed my eyes at the way-too-handsome-for-his-own-good man, wondering how he moved so easily despite his large muscular frame. It seemed like he should have been more awkward with all those muscles, right? I looked over his designer suit, his tie undone just slightly and pulled away from his tan neck, and his platinum blonde hair styled back with a few pieces that had broken away to cross over his face. After rounding his car, almost immediately, his silver eyes focused in on me as he crossed my lawn. I had no idea what to do with this man, and he sure as heck had no idea what to do with me.
Well, actually, I had a few ideas…
“Aren’t you two cute.” Yates offered an antagonistic smile as his eyes flashed dangerously. “Does King know you are fucking Stratton on the side, bunny?”
I hated the casual way he put his hands in his pockets, as if bothering me was literally the only thing he had planned for the evening. It probably was. It didn’t help that the way he said ‘fucking’ turned me on, along with his blunt nature and the way his temper seemed to spark randomly, usually in reference to other men. Although, to be fair, with Stratton it was toned down.
