The Landry Family Series: Part Two

by Adriana Locke

  Hannah’s gaze is heavy on my back as I stretch. She’s the gym equivalent of a lot lizard—the chick that’s ready and willing to give you a whirl. Or a twirl. Hell, she’ll give you whatever you request with an enthusiasm that’s hard to match.

  That’s what girls like that do. They know how the game is played and they want their chance, their fifteen minutes of legs spread wide open, to see if they can sink you as you sink into them. This is especially true if you’re the fighter the gym is known for. That either makes you extra special or extra targeted, depending on how you look at it.

  It’s easy to be persuaded by how crazy girls like that seem for you. I mean, enthusiasm is fifty-one percent of what makes a good fuck. It’s hard to beat an eagerness to take your cock like it’s her purpose in life. Think about it. A little zest for the best can make up for a lot of the rest. A lot, but not all.

  Fifty-one percent might be a majority, but no one ever said that was a passing grade.

  As I look over my shoulder and see her watching me from the desk, the conclusion I came to six months ago when she walked in the door is reconfirmed: extra targeted.

  “How’s your rib, Dom?” she asks.

  “It’s good.”

  “Bond was worried he broke it.”

  “I’m sure he was,” I say.

  Turning away from her, my hands flurry against a heavy bag. With each snap, my muscles ease a little of the tension I seem to have been born with. It’s something I can never totally get rid of. It’s a feeling that something is always either wrong or about to go sideways. The result, I suppose, of growing up with an alcoholic father and a mother too weak to tell him to go fuck himself.

  “Yo, Dom!”

  Stepping back and sucking in a quick breath of air, I glance towards the locker room.

  “Hey, Nate,” I say to my brother. “Didn’t know you were here.”

  “Yeah, I just stopped to get a quick workout in before I head to the bar. My bartender called off tonight so I got Chrissy to watch Ryder.”

  “You still fucking her?”

  He grins. “Not on the regular. But she wanted a little last night and I gave it to her like the giver I am. So she owed me one.”

  “I love how you convince her that you’re doing her some kind of favor,” I laugh.

  “Hey, she likes my cock and my kid. What else could I ask for?”

  “I’d put not trying to get herself knocked up on the list.”

  “Which is why,” he says, drawing out the last syllable, “I’m not fucking her on the regular.” He taps the side of his head. “I’m the one with the brains. Remember?”

  My right hand smacks the side of the bag in a quick jab. “That’s what you keep telling me.”

  He stands with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, watching me work. Nate is three years older, a little shorter, and a lot stockier. We look a lot alike besides our build with jet black hair, our mother’s blue eyes, and a musculature that’s proven to be the only good thing our father ever did for us.

  “I got a call from the bank today.”

  My head snaps to Nate, the weight of those words hitting me like a perfectly delivered one-two. “What’d they say?”

  “They said I got the loan.”

  Sighing in relief, I wrap an arm around the bag. “That’s good news.”

  “It’ll take sixty days or so to get the money, so I gotta figure out how to float until then. But, yeah, man, that has me breathing a little easier.”

  “You know it’s bullshit,” I spit. “They triple your property taxes on The Gold Room and expect you to just come up with that while doubling your fucking license fees?”

  “I know. But what can I do?”

  “Just pisses me off,” I say, slamming a fist into the bag as my blood pressure picks up. “You got some silver-spoon-fed assholes sitting somewhere trying to figure out how they can give themselves a raise. What do they do? They charge you for it while you’re busting ass day in and day out to feed Ryder.”

  Nate’s serenity does what it’s done since the day we were at the park and our mom came with tears streaking down her cheeks, telling us our oldest brother got hit by a car—it centers me.

  No matter how bad life gets, Nate weathers it. He took the hits from our dad when he was drunk. He kept me calm when our world fell apart and the third piece of our brotherhood was killed. He didn’t completely lose his shit either when Ryder’s mom overdosed on heroin six months after the kid was born.

  We’re brothers, as strong as the DNA that binds us. But we’re also completely different, and while he accepts the bureaucrats almost forcing him to close the doors on his bar, I’d be happy rolling some heads.

  “It’ll work out,” Nate says, smacking me on the back. “It always does.”

  “My offer still stands.”

  “What offer is that?”

  “You and Ryder move in with me. Just until the loan goes through. Between rent and utilities, man, you’d save a ton.”

  He rubs the toe of his shoe over the floor, nudging the edge of the mat.

  “It makes sense, Nate.”

  “I don’t want to go cramping your style,” he laughs. “You don’t know what it’s like living with a four-year-old.”

  “Just don’t bring that purple dinosaur video,” I wince, “and it’ll be fine. It’s just for a few months, right?”

  “Yeah.” He looks me in the eye, the start of a smirk on his lips. “What about Cam?”

  “She doesn’t live with me.”

  “No shit. She wouldn’t be caught dead living in that apartment,” Nate laughs. “But I’m guessing she comes over for booty calls now and then.”

  My eyebrows wiggle as I think of her from a couple of hours ago. “God, that ass.”

  “You’re gonna have a hard time letting that one go, huh?”

  “Nah,” I say, tapping at the bag again. “I know what time it is. I know how this goes.”

  “The one time I knew how it went, it almost made it harder not falling for her.” He shoves his hands in his pockets again, watching me throw punches. “Of course, with me it was with a girl that set a new level of crazy. With you, it’s with the princess of Savannah.”

  “What can I say?” I laugh.

  “As much as I hate her brothers,” he admits, “I kinda like her.”

  “You’re just pissed they walked in your bar like they owned the place.”

  “Damn right I am. They probably could’ve pulled out their wallets and bought the place with their pocket change, and I find that downright offensive.”

  My laughter booms through the gym, getting the attention of the two guys sparring in the ring across the room. “So, you and Ryder gonna move in or what?”

  “You sure it won’t fuck up your love life?”

  “Love life? Try fuck life, and no, it won’t.”

  A wash of relief passes through his eyes and isn’t missed by me. “Thanks, brother.”

  “Shut the fuck up and just don’t ask me to help you move your shit.” Circling the bag, I concentrate on my footwork and not the thoughts of Camilla that are wiggling their way in my mind.

  “Bond’s here, so I’m out,” Nate growls. “Call me when you’re done and we can work out the details.”

  “Okay.” Over his shoulder, my gaze lands on Hannah’s. She’s talking to Bond, but watching me. Flipping my sight back to my brother, I laugh. “I think this will be a quick one.”

  “What? The workout or her?” he asks with a little nod to Hannah.

  “I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole.”

  “I never could count well,” he says, heading for the door.

  “And you say you’re smart one,” I call after him.

  “We all have our moments.”

  As Bond’s voice trails through the air and makes its way to me, my eyes involuntarily roll to the back of my head.

  Bond Grayson is a fantastic boxer, my height and weight, and aggressive. He’s the perfect training
partner—or he would be, if he could keep his mouth shut.

  Outside the ring, he’s the epitome of what I can’t stand. Loud, arrogant, and impulsive—he’s a dick. I can only barely tolerate him the time or two a week we meet up to train, and I wouldn’t tolerate him then if I didn’t need that prize money a couple of times a year.

  My shoulders sag as the truth swirls around me.

  I don’t really need that money this year. God knows my ribs don’t need the punishment either. But Nate and Ryder do.

  With the curled smirk of Bond coming straight at me, I push aside what I really want to do—saying fuck it and going to find Cam—and prepare to bang it out with Bond.

  Four

  Camilla

  “Hey,” I say into the phone as my keys hit the little glass tray I keep by the door. “How was the gym?”

  “You home yet?”

  My brows furrow at his quick question. “I just walked in. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  “I was going to call you in a second,” I tell him. “I literally just walked in the door. Is everything okay?”

  He blows out a breath. “I just, you know, it’s getting late and I wanted to make sure you made it home.”

  A warmth unleashes in my chest and pulls the corners of my lips into an achingly wide grin. “Yeah, I’m home.” I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. “So, how did it go with Bond?”

  “He left holding his rib tonight, so pretty damn good, if you ask me.”

  “Isn’t training supposed to mean helping each other get better?” I ask, flipping on the light in the kitchen. “It sounds to me when you ‘work out’ with him, it’s a little more serious than that.”

  “Any time two men are fighting, whether it’s sparring or actually going at it, there’s ego on the line. Factor in that it’s him I’m in there with and there’s a whole new dimension to consider.”

  As he rants about how much he dislikes Bond, I find a carton of chocolate frozen yogurt in the freezer and sit down at the table with a spoon. “I still think you should just stop fighting altogether.”

  “Not your choice.”

  Stabbing my spoon in the dessert with a little more gusto than necessary, I sigh. “I know it’s not my choice. You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t want my opinion on the matter.”

  “If you know that’s true, you’d think you’d stop throwing it out there left and right.”

  There’s a moment of silence, one that worries me every time it happens. I find myself holding my breath, my chest burning, as I stare off into space and brace myself for him to give me a bullshit answer and end the call. One of these days, it’s going to happen.

  I’m surprised it hasn’t yet. When I pulled my door open last summer, looking like a sweaty mess, I didn’t expect to see him on the other side. I didn’t expect to have my knees get all wobbly or my stomach turn to mush at the smile he sent my way.

  There was no way to predict I would’ve been handing my phone number over to the air conditioner repair guy a few hours later or that I’d be enjoying a hamburger and French fry dinner with him the next evening. Least of all, there was absolutely no way in the world I would’ve believed I would see him again almost every day for the next ten months. But I have.

  His presence in my life feels, in lots of ways, like I’m stuck in limbo. Moving on in any real way with Dom is unrealistic. I shouldn’t even want it. But I do and I don’t know where that puts me. Or him. Or us.

  “Nate is moving in with me.”

  “Why?” I ask, caught off guard.

  “He’s behind on a bunch of payments and managed to get a loan, but it’ll be a couple of months before it’s processed or something. He and Ryder are going to shack up here until he gets things sorted.”

  “That’s nice of you,” I offer.

  “Yeah, well, what am I supposed to do? It’s family, right?”

  “Of course. My family would do the same.”

  “Your family would just buy the other person a house,” he laughs. “I bet two of you haven’t lived together since you were kids.”

  “Not true,” I say, taking a bite of my froyo. “Sienna and I lived together until she moved to LA.”

  He laughs again. “And she managed to stay away from you for how long?”

  “She was there for four years, actually. She still kind of lives there. I think,” I consider, spooning in another glob of yogurt.

  “She’s been in Savannah the whole time I’ve known you. She doesn’t live in LA, sweetheart.”

  “She still has an apartment there,” I counter.

  “Sienna lives in LA as much as I do, and I’ve never even been there.”

  Giggling at his analogy, I lick the spoon. “Yeah, that’s probably true. She’s thinking of moving to Illinois now anyway.”

  “Must be nice.”

  Jamming my spoon back in the carton, I sit back in my chair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, say it.”

  “Say what?”

  I can hear the smirk in his voice, the level of amusement I’m providing thick in his tone. It annoys me that he doesn’t take me seriously. That he thinks my life is some kind of charmed existence that doesn’t have a lot of substance.

  He’s never said that, not to my face, anyway. I see it hidden in the depths of his sapphire-colored eyes sometimes.

  He doesn’t have a problem with the volunteer work I do. He just thinks I should be doing something else, something that matters specifically to me. That pushes me. That drives me. And I don’t know how I feel about that.

  “Don’t laugh at me, Dominic Hughes,” I warn.

  “Or what, Camilla Landry? What will you do?”

  I pause. “I don’t know.”

  He just laughs harder. “I’m not laughing at you, babe. I’m laughing at how your sweet little voice tries so hard to break into a roar soon as you’re mad, but it can’t quite get there.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “No, you do know,” he goads. “I hit a nerve. Say it, Cam. Tell me how you really feel.”

  “You didn’t hit a nerve—”

  “One of these days, you’re going to blow the fuck up, and I’m going to laugh my ass off.”

  “What if I blow up at you?” I tease. “You won’t be laughing then.”

  “Yeah, I will, and I can’t wait to see it. You’re all prim and proper, and then—boom! Here she comes.”

  “I wish I was coming,” I hint, kicking off my shoes. “My body is so tight. I could use a good workout.”

  A low rumble rolls through the line. The gravelly sound floods my veins like the lit end of a stick of dynamite. The fire scorches, burning up the fuse as it hits the center of my thighs. “Dom,” I whisper, clenching my legs together. “Stop it.”

  “I didn’t say a word.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  The line might be quiet, but it’s not still. It’s filled with an anticipation, a feeling that one of us might jump to action. With bated breath, I stare at the shaker of cinnamon on the counter that I forgot to put away at breakfast and wait for his next move.

  “If I didn’t have to get up so damn early in the morning and head up north for a job, I’d be on my way over,” he promises.

  “What would you do when you got here?”

  It’s a loaded question, one that will only make it harder that he’s not here tonight. Not that he would be here all night anyway. He doesn’t sleep here. He won’t. He’ll come over, but I always wake up in my bed alone.

  “I’d hope you’d be wearing that yellow silk robe that isn’t long enough to cover your ass,” he says, a grit to his voice that’s as smooth as it is rough. It reminds me of his hands—soft enough to caress, yet coarse enough to cause my body to fire on all cylinders. “I’d find you standing in the kitchen, watching porn on your phone.”

&
nbsp; “No, you wouldn’t!” I giggle. “I don’t watch porn on my phone.”

  “This is my little fantasy,” he teases. “Don’t interrupt.”

  “Fine. Continue on,” I say, propping one leg up on a neighboring chair.

  “I’d walk in behind you and almost lose it when I see you with your hand between your legs. Your head would fall back just a little as you moan like you do when you’re turned on. I’d wrap your hair, still wet from a shower, around my fist and tug your head back just a little more so I can bury my face in the crook of your neck.”

  The whimper that passes my lips isn’t intentional, but I couldn’t deny it if I wanted to. The thought of his hands on my skin, his breath against my cheek, his cock rock hard and long against the small of my back, has me shifting in my seat.

  Lifting the hem of my floral-print dress, I move aside the lace of my panties and feel the heat and wetness radiating from between my legs.

  “I’d kiss you right behind the ear just so I could feel you shiver against me,” he breathes. “Smelling your vanilla perfume mixed with the scent of you all turned on would make me so fucking hard.”

  “And me so wet,” I whisper.

  “I lay my hand over yours,” he continues, “my fingers holding yours in place. You breathe in, the top of your robe falling open so I can see those big, round titties swollen for me, wanting my mouth on them.”

  “God, Dom,” I groan, spreading my legs a little wider. Flicking at my engorged clit, the sensation makes me gush a breath of pure need.

  “What are you doing right now?” he whispers.

  “Ah,” is my response as I roll the nub with my thumb, my eyes squeezed closed imagining it is Dominic’s hand on me and not mine.

  “Are you touching yourself, Camilla?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck,” he hisses. “Do you wish it were me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d shove your robe up, bend you over the table, and bury myself inside you so deep you almost can’t take it. Would you like that?”

  “Yes,” I almost moan. My back is now arched, my breathing heavy and panting, as I replay two days ago when his words tonight were almost a play-by-play.