by Nikki Chase
I haven’t met a girl that piques my interest for months. Now I just randomly run into the perfect specimen of the female species in this piddly town, in the middle of nowhere? And our families have been neighbors forever?
What the fuck?
I don’t know what it is about this girl.
She’s pretty, yes. And sexy, too, as Mason’s so helpfully pointed out. But that’s not what draws me to her.
There’s a certain . . . wildness to her. But it’s contained. She looks demure and elegant on the outside—great manners, too—but her eyes . . . there’s an adventurer in there, just yearning to break free.
She’s wearing lace and heels, but she looks like she wants her boots sticky with mud instead, and her sandals wet with salty ocean water. That girl wants to roam.
Just my kind of girl.
Ah, shit. Here I go being all melancholic again. I’ve met this girl once, and I’m already planning Amazonian jungle treks and visits to the wet markets of Southeast Asia.
Okay, I’ll admit it. Like Mason, I sleep around. This dick has seen more than its fair share of pussy.
But my deep, dark secret?
I only sleep around because all the girls I’ve been in a relationship with always said they wanted to travel, but what they meant was shopping in Paris or having high tea in London. They weren’t interested in getting down and dirty.
So just because traveling’s a big part of my life, at some point in a relationship, I’d inevitably take a girl on a trip.
What can I say? It’s what I enjoy doing with a significant other. Some guys like to take their girls to the movies, I like to take my girl to . . . well, everywhere. That’s kind of the problem.
After a couple of European shopping trips, it’s normally just a matter of time until I’d take a girl to Delhi/Jakarta/Antarctica/Nairobi/Pyongyang and she’d get pick-pocketed/food poisoning/malaria/pawed at by dirty street kids/tired. And then she’d get mad at me. As if I wanted whatever happened to happen.
After a string of failed relationships, I realized what the problem was.
Those girls didn’t really want to go to those places. They were just doing it to humor me. So when something bad happened, they blamed me for it. Because they were doing it for me and not for themselves.
I grew tired of trying and failing, and decided not to try at all.
Don’t get me wrong. Variety is good. Variety is great. I know I’m lucky it’s easy for me to get variety. Not every guy gets offers without even trying like I do.
But what I really crave is depth. Quality, not quantity. A deep, almost spiritual connection.
Still, there’s no basis to my assessment of Ava Green’s personality. It’s just a gut feeling. It doesn’t make sense.
But something tells me she just might be . . .
Dare I say it?
. . .
The one.
I know, I know. It’s too soon. There’s no basis for me to say that. We talked sometimes when we were younger, but not much, and that was a long time ago.
Technically, Ava’s a stranger. I’ve only ever met adult Ava once. Which was only about ten minutes ago. When she was with her parents.
It’s not rational, I know.
Maybe it’s just wishful thinking.
Hell, it’s most likely just wishful thinking.
But Ava intrigues me. Maybe I’m insane and maybe I’m just hearing voices, but I have to find out what it is about her that calls out to my soul so loudly.
Noah
“What’s the plan tonight?” I ask Nathan, who’s driving.
He gives me the side-eye.
“What?”
I don’t know what he’s annoyed about. He won the coin toss, so we’re driving to Ashbourne in his car instead of mine.
I wish I didn’t have to leave my shiny new baby in the garage at home, but Liam would kill us if we rolled into town in two separate cars. That’s one extra car to worry about.
Mom and Dad each have a car. There’s Mason’s car. And this one.
There are seven of us. Mom, Dad, me, and my four brothers.
I know that sounds like a lot of people. But four cars for seven people who spend most of their time together anyway? Even Nathan and I have to admit that’s superfluous. Mom and Dad only have one two-car garage each.
Yes, my parents live in two different houses. And yes, they spend a lot of time together. Oh, and they’re also divorced.
Whenever Liam starts lecturing me about how I spend my money, I like to point out the fact that our parents spent an arm and a leg on the most ridiculous, the most useless divorce ever.
They used to bicker all the time when all seven of us were living under one roof. So they got divorced. Mom got the house and Dad moved out.
At first, everything was normal. The house got quieter—or as quiet as it could get, with five boys inside. They didn’t want to separate us, so we spent one week with Mom and the next week with Dad, and the week after that with Mom. You get the picture.
But it didn’t take long for them to start lingering when they dropped us off at each other’s houses. After that came the giggling, the staring, and the “accidental” touching.
The five of us, in our early teens at the time, watched with disbelief.
I was the one who found Dad sitting at the breakfast table one morning. Eating cereal in his boxers. With hickeys all over his neck.
Jesus. My parents were acting like a couple of teenagers.
I gave Dad a flat stare. This wasn’t exactly unexpected. Still, I sighed at the ridiculousness of it all.
“Does this mean you’re moving back in?” I asked as I stood in my striped pajamas by the table.
“Oh. Hey. Morning, Nathan.” He always mixed up our names when he was nervous.
“The name’s Noah. Answer the question.”
“Uh . . . That is not . . . I don’t . . . Your mother and I haven’t decided.”
Five kids, and they still couldn’t commit to living together.
They never decided, by the way, to move back in together. They kept living in their separate houses, making us move every week . . . although admittedly, over time, they became pretty lax with who was staying in which house and when. Who had time to keep track of the kids when there was plenty of sex to be had, right?
Nah, I’m not seriously angry about that. What kind of a loser would I be? I’m twenty-seven. I don’t care if my parents are divorced or dating or whatever.
Okay, I’m not totally serious about that either. I do care that they’re together. I don’t care if they’re legally married.
I can’t wait to hang out with everyone tonight.
“Nathan, seriously, do you or do you not know what we’re doing tonight?” I ask again.
“No,” he says curtly.
“Okay. Jeez. You having a PMS or something?” I twist in my seat to check up on Sally. “How are you doing back there? You’ve been quiet.”
I don’t like it when it’s quiet. Maybe it’s because I grew up in a loud house. When it’s quiet, I feel a vague sense of doom. I don’t know. It’s weird.
“Yeah,” Sally says, glancing up from her tablet. “I’m just replying to some emails.”
I’d bug her again, but she’s already ignoring me. I’ll bet she’s working on a task Mason gave her.
I think she might have a crush on him. I don’t know why. He’s so bossy, but I guess some girls are into that.
“You’re so hard-working,” I say before I face the front.
I turn the radio on and it seems to pick the signal of a local station.
Okay. At least it’s not dead quiet now.
I look around us as the roads become narrower and the trees grow thicker. The leaves have turned all shades of brown, yellow, and red.
As 500 Miles comes on, I turn up the volume.
“Nope. Too loud,” Nathan says as he lowers it back using the buttons on the steering wheel.
“Come on. It’s the perfect ro
ad trip song,” I protest. “Are you seriously still mad about that last meeting this morning?”
“What meeting? We stayed back just for this one meeting, and she stood us up.”
“It’s just the nature of the job, man. Sometimes you get nice clients. Sometimes you get annoying ones. It all balances out in the end,” I say, trying to stay zen.
Nathan and I are both people-persons. (Or would that make us “people-people”?) That’s why we’re in charge of customer relationship management.
That means we get people to agree to buy our stuff and pay us money, which means that if we screw up, the whole business suffers.
That’s a lot of pressure on our shoulders, especially in the early days, when we weren’t quite so established.
Luckily, I have Nathan to share the burden with. Somehow, I’m always relaxed when he stresses out, and vice versa. We never both stress out at the same time.
That means when I’m burned out, I can always count on Nathan to give me some support and take some weight off my shoulders.
Nathan does get stressed out more than I do, but I don’t mind the task of lifting his mood when that happens. He’s more driven and more hardworking than I am. If it weren’t for me insisting on having meals together, he’d be an emaciated skeletal figure, sitting creepily at his desk.
As crazy as my family is, everything just works. And I wouldn’t have it any different.
Besides, stories about my family have successfully entertained dates and party-goers. In a way, my family’s also my wingman.
Actually, my brothers have been my actual wingmen, too.
Sometimes, when we go out, we bring home just one girl from the club. She always acts shy at once, but most of the time, she agrees to have sex with two, three, or four men at once. (For some reason, we’ve never done it as a complete team. I blame Liam. And Ollie too, lately.) It never takes long for the girl to drop the reluctant act.
What can I say? We Hunter men take good care of the ladies when we bring them to our beds.
I can’t wait to see the girls in Ashbourne. I knew everyone in town when I left, but it’s been a while and maybe there are new faces.
Maybe this time, all five Hunter brothers can finally find one lucky girl to share.
Ava
“Ava! So glad you made it.” Jessica wears her fiery hair loose tonight, and I get a whiff of her coconut shampoo as she gives me a hug.
God, she's so pretty, and she has the perfect body. Life’s unfair. But Jessica’s so nice I can't hate her.
“Oh good, Ava’s here. Come, take a seat,” Tony says as he scoots to the side on his banquette bench to give me some space in the booth.
“Thanks, you guys. I’m so glad you rescheduled. I really wanted to come last night.” I plant my butt beside Tony.
I flag a waiter and make my order. Sunny Side Up’s one of my favorite restaurants in Ashbourne, but it’s been so long since my last visit because Joseph hated this place.
I make my order and sit back. Nothing better than a full English breakfast to start the day—bacon strips, sausages, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, toast, and scrambled eggs.
Maybe I should eat less so I don’t gain even more weight, but I’m hungry, and the diet can start tomorrow.
The seat is still warm from Tony’s stylish ass. This being a Saturday morning brunch, he’s wearing a casual outfit. A white shirt, a pair of black jeans, denim jacket, and a bowler hat.
Yes, a bowler hat. And yes, somehow he’s pulling it off. He looks fabulous.
“No, no. The babysitter canceled on us last night,” Tony says. “Ugh. What could be so important in a high-school girl’s life that she had to skip work?”
“New single from Justin Bieber. Nail polish. A date. Her cat going missing. It could be anything,” says a brunette I’ve never seen before. Does she work at the school? She looks familiar, but I can’t place her.
“You’re right.” Tony’s face falls. “I should hire a lonely old person as my nanny. Someone who doesn’t have a social life.”
“Ooh, ask Bertha,” Jessica says from across the table, her green eyes glistening excitedly. “Your kids love her.”
My delicious breakfast food arrives, and the smell fills my nostrils even before the plate hits the table. I grab a fork and start with the juicy sausage as I listen to the chatter of my new friends.
“Are you saying Bertha doesn’t have a social life?” Tony asks in a teasing tone.
“Yeah, Jessica. Are you? Meanie,” the brunette says before she and Tony erupt into laughter.
“Oh, sorry Ava, I forgot to introduce you two. Sarah, this is Ava. And Ava, this is Sarah. She’s, uh, Jessie’s vet.” Tony makes a face. “Weird. I know. What kind of a professional hangs out with their customer, right? Must be some kind of a weirdo who doesn’t have friends.”
“Shut up. You’re my friend. You’re weird, too,” Sarah says. Even though she’s being goofy, she has a certain kind of poise to her. She smiles when she turns to face me. “Hi Ava, welcome to the weirdo club.”
I giggle. “Thanks for having me. Nice to meet you, Sarah.”
“So, uh, just to give you some context,” Jessica says, “Sarah is my vet, but the three of us also live pretty close together and our neighborhood holds these regular meetings. When I took Max, my Beagle, to see Sarah, I asked her to host one of the meetings, and the rest is history.”
I nod and give Jessica a smile. “Your neighborhood sounds cool.”
“Oh, honey, you spoke too soon,” Tony says. “What you see here is what’s called a skewed sample. We are the coolest people in the neighborhood.”
“Well, to be fair, the rest of them are old,” Jessica says.
“I thought you were all going to bring dates,” I say, scanning the restaurant in case I missed a bunch of guys who are impatiently waiting for brunch to be over.
“Oh, no.” Tony shakes his head. “The only reason I’m here at all is because Greg’s home taking care of the kids.”
“My boyfriend has to work. Luca owns the only tattoo parlor in town. The good people of Ashbourne need him,” Sarah says with a cheeky grin.
“Hard-working men, your partners are,” Jessica says with a sigh. “Jacob’s probably still asleep, or maybe he’s tinkering with his motorcycle. Who knows?
“I have no idea how he survived without sleeping in while he was a Navy SEAL. Sometimes I wonder if he feels like all those mornings when he had to wake up while it was still dark outside means that he’s done enough of that for the rest of his life now.”
“You’re just jelly because you have to wake up every morning for school while he gets to sleep in.” Tony takes a small sip of his latte.
“I’m not going to argue with that. It is annoying.”
“You’re just jelly Jacob works from home and can set his own hours,” Tony says again.
“Maybe. He does work late into the night, too, so it’s not like he’s sleeping all the time,” Jessica admits.
“When you two have kids, is he going to be the one to take care of them just because he’s always home?” Tony asks.
“I don’t know. We haven’t discussed that yet,” Jessica says.
“Oh my god.”
“Come on, Tone. It’s not that bad. I mean, we’ve only just gotten married. We have tons of time.”
“Yeah, Tony. I know you’re hurting for some friends you can talk to about poopy diapers and toilet training with, but you need to chill. It wasn’t too long ago that Max was poisoned,” Sarah says.
“Wait,” I pipe up. “Who got poisoned?”
Who are these people? Two teachers and a vet, and they’re talking about poisoning?
“Oh, Max is Jessica’s Beagle,” Sarah explains. “She took him to my clinic with a bad case of poisoning a few months ago.”
“Someone poisoned your dog?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s a long story,” Jessica says.
“It’s not that,” Tony says. As the three of us turn to st
are at him, he adds, “I mean, I didn’t say ‘oh my god’ because you’re not popping out a baby yet . . .” He gestures with his chin at the doorway of the breakfast restaurant.
“What is it?” Jessica asks. Both she and Sarah have their backs to the doorway, and they twist to look backward at the same time.
“Wait. No. God. Don’t look at the same time,” Tony says urgently. “Jesus, you girls have no subtlety.”
Carefully, I lift my gaze up from the cool, white marble tabletop and almost have a heart attack when I see what—or who—Tony’s peeking at. “Oh my god.”
“What? What is is?” It’s Sarah’s turn to be curious.
“It’s the Hunter brothers,” I say, dropping my voice to a hushed whisper.
“You know them?” Tony asks with a hint of admiration. Apparently, just knowing the gorgeous men is enough to gain me some cool points.
“They were my neighbors, growing up. They lived right next door.” I glance in their general direction and count. One, two, three, four, and five. That means the twins are back in town, too.
“Hot damn.”
“If you guys don’t start telling me what’s going on, I swear I’m going to hurt someone,” Sarah says as she impatiently starts to look over her shoulder.
“No. Don’t. Oh god. They’re looking this way.” Tony picks up his coffee cup and gulps nervously. Looking at Sarah and Jessica, he says, “They’re the most gorgeous men I’ve seen in a long time. Except for Greg, of course. And the handsome motherfucker I see in the mirror every morning.”
My three breakfast companions continue to chatter, but I can’t hear them over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. Their voices blend with the conversations of other diners until they’re just noise.
As the boys scan the restaurant, my heart’s thumping so loud I wonder if someone could hear it.
Are they going to find me?
Are they even going to recognize me?
I’m pretty sure last night, they recognized my parents and not me. It was dark last night, too, so maybe they didn’t see me clearly.
If they’re going to notice anyone at the table, it’s going to be Jessica. This is one of the reasons why I probably shouldn’t hang out with the popular, pretty girls.
