by M. A. Foster
“It’s emotional, not psychological.” He sighs. “Dr. Ramos has been counseling Jay for a while now and believes this was a long time coming. Jay needs this. We, as her family, can only do so much. Jay is hurting mentally, emotionally, and now physically. Dr. Ramos is the best and Jay trusts her, so I have no doubt she’ll come through for us.”
Dylan turns to look at me and wrinkles his nose. “Bro, you need to go change her.” He coughs out a sound between a laugh and a gag before covering his mouth and nose. “Or take her out back and hose her off. Holy sh—”
“Dylan,” Dad warns, knowing damn well Willow will be walking around the house all day saying “shit.”
The kid is a sponge, but it’s the curse words she absorbs the most.
“WHAT’S UP?” CARTER greets me as he walks into my backyard. “Hi, Lillow.” He smiles as Willow squeals from her swing. She loves to go high, my little dare devil. “What’s going on?” he asks, straddling an empty swing.
“J-A-Y,” I spell out in front of Willow because she picks up on everything, “is in the hospital.”
Carter frowns. He’s never actually met Jay, but he knows all about her and how close we are. “Is she okay?”
I shake my head. “Not at the moment, but she will be. My dad believes she’s where she needs to be right now. She’s being treated for depression.”
“Pressin,” Willow parrots, and I roll my eyes. See what I mean?
“Have you talked to her?”
I shake my head again. “She’s not allowed any phone calls or visitors for the next seventy-two hours.”
“She’s being watched,” he adds with an understanding nod.
Unfortunately, he gets it. Carter’s parents, Dane and Cheryl Nixon, were the picture-perfect parents—aside from my own, of course—with the picture-perfect life. Dane is a retired pro-baller turned sportscaster, and Cheryl worked part-time as Mimi’s assistant at her interior design business. Which is how Cheryl and my mom became good friends.
But after Carter’s little brother, Smith, was born, Cheryl suffered from severe postpartum depression. Dane did everything he could within reason to get Cheryl some help, but in the end, the depression won.
I remember it like it was yesterday. Carter and I were in eighth grade science class together when my mom showed up at school and pulled us out early. Her face was red and splotchy, her eyes swollen. And Carter… it’s like he just knew. The whole way home, I watched my best friend sitting beside me in the back seat, staring out the passenger window, shoulders sagging in defeat, possibly relief. I think it was the first time I’d ever felt heartbroken. And I silently promised him that I’d always have his back. The memories from that day will stay etched in my mind forever.
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about with Jay. She’s not ready to accept that he’s gone. And until she does, she’ll be trapped in her grief.”
“Listen to you, Dr. Phil,” I tease, although he speaks from experience.
Carter snorts. “When your whole life is centered around the people you love and one of them dies, a part of you dies, too. Your dad’s right. She’s where she needs to be.”
“I don’t know how you kept it together. We were so young.” I narrow my eyes. “You’re not keeping that sh—crap bottled up, are you?”
Sadly, Carter’s picture-perfect family was torn apart by his mother’s death. He didn’t just lose his mother that day, either. Dane went off the rails, completely shut down on his sons and dove headfirst into his work, leaving his kids to be looked after by nannies—or as Carter calls them, “overpriced babysitters.” I think in some way Dane blames Smith for his wife’s death. Carter is the one who’s been raising his brother all this time. Smith is the center of his world, just like Willow is mine.
Carter huffs out a disgusted laugh. “No. My mom checked out on our family long before she died. A part of me always knew she was going to leave us.” He shrugs. “Smith needed me, and being there for him is what got me through it. He’s my priority.”
“You should be proud of yourself, son. You’ve done a good job.” I chuckle, but it’s the truth.
“Same goes for you, son.”
Carter tugs playfully on Willow’s sandal-covered foot and she giggles.
“DID YOU HOOK up with Clarissa Stevens at Carter’s party Friday night?”
The fuck? I turn away from my locker to face Ashton Grant, her hands on her hips.
“What if I did?” I raise my brows.
“Gah,” Ashton growls, dropping her hands from her waist, her shoulders sagging in defeat.
Ashton is not my girlfriend, even though she’d like for everyone to think she is. I’ve stuck to my personal rules. Don’t need a girlfriend, don’t want one. I get what I need, and I don’t need to be in a relationship to get it.
Truthfully, the only relationship I’m interested in is with Willow.
My daughter always comes first.
I’ll admit that this—whatever this is—with Ashton is the closest I’ve come to having any kind of relationship since I broke up with Claire sophomore year.
Ashton and I have been doing whatever this is for the past six months, since football season started. Ashton’s the co-captain of the cheer team and president of the graduation planning committee, whatever the hell that is. She’s not the most beautiful girl in school or the nicest—I had that girl, but I chose to let her go. But she’s still hot. She’s got a nice ass and she’s a virgin, which is rare these days.
At first, Ashton was cool, but after a couple of months, she started pushing me for more.
I shut her down.
I know that makes me a dick. I am a dick 99 percent of the time, and I’m not going to bend for any girl.
When she didn’t get her way, she went off and pouted for a few days, or weeks. Who knows? I didn’t keep track. But when she realized her childish bullshit wasn’t working on me, she conceded. I should’ve kicked her to the curb after that, but believe it or not, the fact that she’s a virgin makes things a lot less complicated. There’s no pressure.
She’s not the only one who’s not ready for sex.
Am I committed to her? No.
I have my fun when I want it, but I don’t go out of my way to chase it.
I don’t need to.
I’m Cole Mackenzie.
The fact that I’ve yet to commit to a girl has earned me the reputation as a player or a manwhore. A challenge. Who doesn’t love a challenge?
If they only knew the real Cole Mackenzie was far from being a manwhore.
Player? Sure. I’m a flirt by nature. It’s part of my charm and a Mackenzie trait.
We’re all flirts.
Reaching out, I hook my arm around Ashton’s waist. She lets out a little squeak when I spin her around and press her against my locker. Her eyes reflect the war going on inside her, between giving in to her desire and the need to keep her innocence. It drives me fucking wild, but I’ll never take more from Ashton. It’s all really complicated, honestly.
“Drop the attitude. Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I didn’t hook up with Clarissa Stevens. Now, did I kiss her? Yes.”
What I do with other girls is none of Ashton’s business, but I’m aware of her feelings, so I do try to respect them. I don’t mess around with other girls in front of her, I sure as hell don’t mess around with her friends, and I don’t sit around gossiping like a bitch in the locker room like most of my teammates.
Part of respecting her feelings is also telling her the truth.
I could easily lie and tell her no, and she’d believe me. But if I’m straight up with her, then I can save us both the he said-she said drama.
I also don’t want her to feel pressured as though I’m getting it somewhere else because she’s not ready to give it up to me.
Do I sleep around? Hell no.
Not even with two condoms.
Obviously I don’t trust condoms.
But do I like to let off some steam
every now and then? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Before Willow, I would’ve already sweet-talked my way into Ashton’s panties without a second thought.
But I’m not that guy.
Not anymore.
The last time I had sex was with Claire. She was a virgin. We had sex a handful of times, and then I broke up with her and broke her heart, turning the sweetest, most beautiful girl in school into an angry, bitter bitch. She hates my guts.
After I broke up with her, she went all psycho by egging the brand-new Tahoe I’d gotten after trading in the Silverado. It seemed more practical to have a SUV with four doors. Then she posted an ad on Craigslist under the “Man-Seeking-Man” section and included my phone number. At first I thought it was my friends messing with me, but after about the tenth call from some random dude, I finally realized what she’d done. I don’t have proof it was her, but I know it was. Of course, I had to change my number.
Now every time I see her at school, she flips me off.
“Don’t get all pissy. It was just a kiss,” I tell Ashton, leaning in close to her ear as I slip my hand under her skirt.
“That’s not what I heard.” She puts her hands on my chest as if she’s about to push me away.
I chuckle. “I don’t care what you heard.” I give her tight, polyester spandex-covered ass a squeeze. “You need some attention?”
“Yes,” she whispers, snaking her arms around my neck.
“Come over after school.” I kiss her cheek and step back. She lifts her head to look at me with eyes half-lidded, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“You’re such an ass,” she squeaks, playfully smacking my chest as she pushes off my locker and starts to walk off. “See you after school,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Bro, why are you wasting your time with that girl?” Carter says, coming up to his locker beside mine.
“Because she’s fun to play with,” I reply with a grin.
Carter snorts. “There are plenty of girls to play with.” He swings his arm out to gesture to the hall swimming with girls. “The world is your oyster,” he says with a chuckle.
“Yeah, but at least with Ashton, I know what I’m getting.” Or not getting. I wiggle my eyebrows as I shut my locker and head to class.
“WHY HAVEN’T YOU asked me to prom?” Ashton asks, turning her back to me while she fastens her bra, covering her perky little tits.
“I’m not going to prom,” I tell her.
She jerks her head to look at me over her shoulder. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to a fundraiser in California.” I don’t like having to explain myself, but I don’t want her to think it has anything to do with her.
She nods in understanding, pulling up her cheer shorts and rolling down the waistband once to rest low on her hips. Ashton knows I have family in California and that my uncle died, but she also knows that any questions about my family are off-limits.
“Has anyone else asked you to prom?”
She shrugs before pulling her T-shirt over her head and I narrow my eyes. If I had to guess, someone did ask her, but she was waiting for me to ask her first. That kinda makes me feel like an even bigger asshole. I shouldn’t because I never said I was going to prom. If I was, I would probably take her, though.
“Who asked you?” I watch as she twists her hair into a messy bun on top of her head.
“Matt Rawlings,” she admits.
I know Matt Rawlings. He’s a junior like us and the pitcher for the varsity baseball team. His dad is Aiden’s baseball coach, and sometimes Matt helps Aiden with his pitching. He’s a good guy. The kind of guy Ashton should go to prom with.
Is this where I’m supposed to feel jealous?
Does it make me a dick that I’m not?
Judging by the look on Ashton’s face when I tell her, “You should go with him,” she thinks I am.
And here we go with the attitude.
Ashton pinches her lips together and lets out a sharp puff of air through her nose as she slips on her shoes. Clasping my hands behind my head, I wipe all traces of amusement from my face as I watch her stomp around my room, grabbing her stuff.
“Ash, why are you mad?” I can’t help but laugh, which only pisses her off even more. Her little temper tantrums don’t intimidate me.
Now, facing down Willow with a hairbrush in hand, that intimidates me.
Which reminds me, I need to move this along so I can pick Willow up from Mimi’s house. Standing from the bed, I grab my T-shirt and slip it over my head.
Ashton turns and props her hands on her hips. “Is this your way of breaking things off with me? You made out with Clarissa Stevens, and now you’re telling me to go to prom with Matt Rawlings.”
I toss my head back and laugh. “There’s nothing to break off,” I remind her. “Stop being such a drama queen. I didn’t make out with Clarissa Stevens, and I didn’t tell you to go to prom with anyone. I said you should go. Matt’s a decent dude, and he won’t try to take advantage of you, so if you want to go to prom, then you should go with him.” Grabbing my phone, wallet, and keys from my dresser, I herd Ashton out of my room and toward the front door.
“Why are you rushing me out?”
“I’ve got somewhere to be.” I open the door and give her a smack on the ass. “Now scoot. I gotta go.”
“Where are you going?”
I narrow my eyes. “None of your business. Now come on. I gotta go.”
Ashton growls as she stomps out the front door and down the driveway to her car. “You’re such a dick,” she calls over her shoulder.
“You love my dick,” I toss back with a teasing laugh, heading for my truck.
“Not anymore,” she yells over the top of her door before she slips behind the wheel of her Lexus. Reaching over to pull the door shut, she adds, “Maybe Matt’s dick needs some love.” She licks her lips.
She’s a trip.
But sadly, I really don’t care.
I bring my hand to my ear with my thumb and pinky out. “Tell him to call me. I’ll give you a good reference.” I wink before climbing behind the wheel of my Tahoe and slamming the door shut, cutting off the sound of her loud, annoying shrieking.
There’s only room in my life for one demanding female.
I STICK MY fingers in my ears just as Emerson hollers up the stairs. “Jayla, Eva, and Alex, let’s go. The car’s here.”
“We’re coming!” Jay calls back, and a moment later Alex and his girlfriend, Eva, descend the stairs hand in hand.
Eva—Evangeline Skye—is Jay’s best and only female friend. Jay grew up with Evangeline and Lucas. The three of them act more like siblings than friends.
Eva is a supermodel and a bitch on most days to everyone except Jay and Alex. I’ve learned over the years that Eva is not someone you want to piss off, but I tolerate her because she’s important to Jay.
Jay stops halfway down the stairs wearing a gold gown and a smile. Her dark hair is pulled back from her beautiful face into a high ponytail. She looks like a princess.
“Look at you, hot stuff.” She winks as she descends the remaining steps and pulls me into a hug.
“Thanks. You look really good.” I almost said “healthy” but I go with, “pretty” instead, then leave the awkward elephant to dance around the room.
“You mean I don’t look like a Pez dispenser anymore? Or a bobblehead?” she jokes, but in the back of her mind she’s wondering if I still think she’s looks like shit.
The last time I was here, she kind of did. And I told her so. But given that her father had just died, I didn’t think anything of it.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “No. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I was trying to get you out of bed.”
When Jay ended up in the hospital, Alex flew out here with our grandparents. That was the longest seventy-two hours of my life. I nearly lost my mind. But Alex called us after the seventy-two-hour watch was lifted and they were finally allowed to see Jay. He said she
looked really bad.
Truthfully, seeing her like that would’ve killed me.
“It’s fine.” She waves me off. “Thanks for coming out and being my date. I just feel bad that you’re missing your junior prom.”
I hold out my hands, palms up, and pretend to weigh my options. “Hmm. Let’s see.” I raise one hand higher than the other. “Junior prom with people I see every day”—I lift the other hand and wiggle my eyebrows—“or support my favorite uncle’s charity with my favorite cousin, an open bar, and hot celebrities.”
When Jay called and asked if I’d come be her date to the Mayhem Foundation charity dinner, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. I don’t know all the workings of the Mayhem Foundation, just that it’s based on music and art of all forms. Money is raised for instruments and to provide scholarships to students who can’t afford the high costs of tuition, called Project Mayhem.
Project Mayhem was Uncle Marcus’s baby.
Now it’s Jay’s baby.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
Apparently it’s been in the works for some time. A school was already selected by Uncle Marcus to test out the project.
That school? Heritage Bay Academy.
“We’re bringing our girls home,” Mimi had said. And of course she added, “Don’t tell Jay.”
NIKKI FOX WAS last season’s winner of the reality TV show America’s Voice and King Records’ rising superstar. Her infamous blue hair and pretty, heart-shaped face have been on the cover of every entertainment magazine for the past year.
A face I’ve jerked off to more than I care to admit. Just being in the same room with her is a wet dream come true, and now she’s standing less than six feet away from me.
“Introduce me,” I mumble under my breath as Jay leads us over to the table where Nikki is sitting with the CFO of King Records.
“Hi, Jayla.” Nikki stands to hug Jay, allowing me a better view of her curvy body. “It’s so good to see you again. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Of course.” Jay gestures to me. “Nikki, this is my cousin Cole. He’s a fan.”
