Love Sex & Other Games: Part 3

by Cheryl McIntyre

  Love Sex

  &

  Other Games

  Part 3

  by CHERYL McINTYRE

  Note From Author:

  Please note Love Sex & Other Games is a SERIAL.

  If serials aren’t your thing, then please do not read Love Sex & Other Games. This is the third and final part of the series, making it now complete. But please note: I may decide to revisit these characters again at another time.

  One wedding, one catastrophic speech, and two lovesick people searching for redemption in each other.

  This is the third and final part of the Love Sex & Other Games series.

  I was supposed to marry the girl across the street—my lifelong best friend and the love of my life, Roselyn Metz. So why am I playing best man at her wedding?

  One too many drinks and a vindictive one-night stand lead to a disastrous wedding toast.

  But it also leads me to her—Emerson Metz—Roselyn’s younger sister, now all grown up and just as brokenhearted over her sister’s new marriage as I am.

  Love Sex & Other Games is a serial—each part is the size of a novelette—and intended for an adult audience. Due to foul language, sexual innuendos, dirty talk, and adult themes, this serial is recommended for readers 18+.

  Also by Cheryl McIntyre

  The Sometimes Never Series:

  Sometimes Never

  Blackbird

  Before Now

  Long After

  Always Forever

  Let It Be

  The Dirty Series:

  Getting Dirty

  Playing Dirty

  Talking Dirty

  Fighting Dirty

  Staying Dirty

  Dirty: The 5-Part Serial Bundle

  Grit: A Dirty Sequel

  HARD

  Villain

  Infinitely

  Dark Calling

  The Love Sex & Other Games Serial

  Love Sex & Other Games (Part 1)

  Love Sex & Other Games (Part 2)

  Love Sex & Other Games (Part 3)

  Cheryl McIntyre

  August 2016

  Copyright Cheryl McIntyre 2016

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without prior written permission by the author except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real persons, events, or places are used fictitiously. The characters are the work of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to persons living or deceased, events, or locales are coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status, as well as ownership of products referred to in this work of fiction. The uses of these trademarks have not been authorized, nor are they associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Don’t be a dick—don’t steal my work. I put a lot of time and effort into writing this and when you steal it, it’s a slap in the face. If you obtained this book in any way other than a reputable book-distributing site, such as Amazon, iBooks, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play, Smashwords, etc., then please understand you have received an illegal copy, and that makes you an asshole.

  Cover design by Daryl Cunningham

  Edited by Dawn McIntyre-Decker

  2016

  This one is for you, Mom.

  I hope you’ll still love me and continue reading my books—even if you don’t approve of what’s lies within these pages… ;)

  Table of Contents

  Note From Author

  Love Sex & Other Games (Part 2) Recap

  The Older Sister

  The Persistence of a Fitzpatrick

  The Make Up

  The Confession

  The Sex Games

  Acknowledgements

  About Cheryl

  Other Books by Cheryl

  Love Sex & Other Games (Part 2) Final Chapter Recap

  Cooper

  It’s raining as I reluctantly drive home. Em has school in the morning and I have to work, so we decided to adult and get to bed early. This is, of course, after a round of the best game of chess I have ever played, and an episode of Daredevil, in which I found out more about what makes Emerson moan than I did about what Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson were doing to clean up Hell’s Kitchen.

  That’s okay, though. That just means we’ll need to watch it again.

  I smile, cutting the ignition. I need to Google the founders of chess and Netflix and send those people a huge muffin basket of appreciation. Because of them, I just had one of the best evenings of my life.

  Chess. Who knew?

  I duck my head and make a run for my door. The rain is falling hard, pelting against my skin in ice-cold drops. My fingers are slow to get the key in the lock, but I manage on the third try.

  Inside, I move through the house, shucking my wet layers as I go—jacket, t-shirt, shoes. As I set my phone on the nightstand, it beeps, alerting me to a text. I grin at the screen when I see it’s from Em. The chess queen.

  Her: I can’t sleep.

  Me: Probably because you haven’t tried. I left ten minutes ago.

  Em: Remind me again why you did that?

  Me: Because we’re adulting.

  Her: Adulting sucks.

  Me: I whole-heartedly second that.

  Her: If I showed up at your door right now, what are the chances you’d turn me away in favor of adulting?

  Zero.

  There is a zero percent chance I’d turn her away. Being responsible is not nearly as fun as making her come. Sleep is overrated anyway—at least when compared to having orgasms. I’m about to tell her that when my doorbell rings. Oh, thank god. I drop my phone on my bed and hurry to the door. She’s probably soaking wet and I cannot wait to strip her down and lick the raindrops from her skin. Maybe I’ll warm her up in the shower. And then in my bed. But I am definitely going down on her.

  My cock is already hard with the thought as I pull the door open. I blink several times, confused. It takes my lust-hazed mind longer than normal to comprehend my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me.

  That it is, in fact, Roselyn Metz—no, Roselyn Fitzpatrick—standing on my stoop, umbrella in hand.

  I don’t move, instead rooted solidly in place, still confused. I peer past her, looking for Em. Why would Ems bring Rosie?

  She wouldn’t.

  She wouldn’t bring Rosie to my place.

  What the hell is going on?

  “I need to know if I screwed up.” Roselyn says. The strain in her voice snaps my attention back to her.

  “What?”

  “I think I might have made a mistake.”

  He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where he ended and she began. ~Leo Tolstoy

  THE OLDER SISTER

  Cooper

  I need to know if I screwed up.

  I think I might have made a mistake.

  I replay Rosie’s words in my head on a loop. Nothing has ever killed an erection quicker.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, staring at her, and trying to make sense out of what she said. And why she’s here. And how this came to be. Questions I can’t seem to articulate.

  “Can I…?” Rosie trails off, stepping through the doorway and dropping her umbrella to the floor.

  I back up until my ass is resting on the back of the couch, still gaping at her. I refuse to jump to conclusions, so I need her to keep going. To explain, in detail, exactly why she’s at my house at nearly eleven o’clock at night, in the middle of a storm—and not at home with my brother.

  She takes a moment to smooth her hair, then her shirt, her eyes moving around the room, looking everywhere except at me. I watch her take a long breath, and I
know she’s summoning the courage to say whatever it is she came here to tell me. My heart hammers in my chest. In my head. In my veins.

  I don’t know if I want to hear this.

  And with that thought comes a hundred more racing through my mind.

  “I loved you first,” Rosie utters. Though I haven’t taken my eyes off her, I stopped seeing her, lost inside my head. That one sentence slams her back into focus with startling clarity.

  “You loved me first before what?” I have no clue why this is the question I give voice to. But I’m curious. She loved me first. Before I loved her? Before she loved my brother?

  I realize I should probably spend more time on the fact that she said she loved me. It’s like a wall, stopping that part from fully reaching me. Because I can’t allow it inside. I can’t…

  I just can’t.

  She shakes her head as if searching for the right words. “Before I ever loved anyone. Before I understood what love even was. Before I thought it was unreciprocated and you left for college and I assumed I would be alone for the rest of my life if I didn’t give someone else a chance.” She closes her eyes, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Before I loved Miles.”

  My hands form fists at my sides. There’s this thing—this feeling I have no words for—raging in the pit of my stomach and rolling through my veins. I think I’m sorry for the wasted time and missed opportunities. Pissed at myself for never having told her how I felt until the day she married my brother. Saddened that she never told me either. Shocked she’s telling me now. Disappointed. And even more surprised I’m not disappointed in the way I would have expected to be had I ever expected this day to come.

  Which I didn’t.

  “That’s all before,” I say.

  Her head shifts from side-to-side in a quick jerk, her hair sweeping the tops of her shoulders with the motion. “Not all. I still feel the same. I still love you, Cooper.”

  “But you love my brother.”

  She swallows and if the rain wasn’t coming down so hard, I think I’d be able to hear it, it’s that forceful. “I love you both.”

  And this is where that disappointment really settles in. Because this isn’t the Rosie I’ve loved all these years. Or maybe it was and I just didn’t know it. Maybe I loved what I thought Rosie was. Fun, smart, sweet. Loyal.

  Love doesn’t work that way. Does it? People can’t love more than one person. Not at the same time. Because if they did—if they really, truly loved the first person—how could they even notice the other one?

  I didn’t notice Em until I let Rosie go. And I did. I let her go.

  “Rosie,” I say softly. “I will always care about you and I appreciate you telling me, I really do…”

  “I sense there’s a but coming.” She laughs, but as much as she tries, there’s no humor in it.

  “But,” I agree, “you’re married to my brother. You’re my sister-in-law. That’s all you can ever be. And…” I press my lips together, loosening my fists.

  “And?” she prompts, her voice weak.

  I drag my fingers through my hair and let my eyes meet hers. “I caught feelings for your sister.”

  ~*~

  Emerson

  The rain is pouring down in sheets. I have to crank my wipers to the highest speed and jack up my defrost in order to see. Maybe this wasn’t the greatest idea. I’m pretty sure I already look like a drenched rat just from the trip from my front door to the car. I almost consider turning around, but I’ve already come this far. I’ll be damned if I’m cold and wet for no reason.

  I’m sure Cooper will have very interesting ideas of how to warm me up.

  When he didn’t respond to my last text, I interpreted that as a challenge. Or his way of leaving it up to me. That’s what he often does now—lets me set the pace in our relationship. Which is both nice and frustrating.

  So after staring outside at the storm, playing devil’s advocate with myself for less than sixty seconds, I decided I’d listen to my gut and go for it.

  I glance at my overnight bag sitting on the seat beside me, filled with a change of clothes, basic toiletries, and makeup. At the time it seemed like a good idea—I’d have what I need to go straight from his house to school tomorrow morning—but now I feel like it was rather presumptuous to assume he’d want me there all night. Because technically he didn’t say he wanted me there at all.

  I’ll just leave it in the car.

  I park as close to Cooper’s condo as I can and make a run for his door, which I notice is already standing open. Damn, am I that transparent? He is obviously expecting me. Not that I’m complaining. I’m freezing. The quicker I get inside and steal his body heat, the better.

  My shoes slap the concrete, splashing through a puddle and soaking them all the way through. Great. Then I’m bounding up the steps and through his doorway.

  The wet soles of my Converse squeak against the tiled floor as I slide to a stop. My clothes are clinging to me, my hair dripping, my teeth chattering. But none of that makes me feel as uncomfortable as the sight before me.

  Cooper’s eyes, wide with surprise, meet mine over my sister’s shoulder. My eyes, however, take in the way his arms are wrapped around her back. The way she clings to his bare chest, her face in the crook of his neck.

  My stomach tightens painfully, churning with realization. I almost throw up right there on his rain-soaked entryway. It took her a while, but she finally came for him.

  This is why we can’t have nice things.

  It’s such an inappropriate thought, but it whirls through my mind anyway.

  I don’t have time to consider what this means for Miles. All I can think about is what it means for me. Without a word, I turn and flee the way I just came. Cooper calls my name, but I don’t stop. This time, I don’t notice the rain or the cold. I slide into the driver’s seat and press the lock button as I start the ignition.

  Cooper’s hand touches my window as he tries the handle. “Em,” he calls. “Wait. Don’t go. Let me explain.”

  I put the gear in reverse. There is no possible way I can listen to him explain whatever is going on between he and my sister. Not now. Probably not ever.

  “EM!” he shouts, his hand now smacking against the glass.

  I don’t even remember backing up or shifting into drive, but I’m idling in the middle of the parking lot now.

  “EM, PLEASE.”

  I glance up to see my sister, her hand over her mouth, standing in Cooper’s doorway. I can’t make out the expression on her face through the downpour, but her posture says enough. Guilty. My foot presses on the gas. Cooper’s fingers slide from the window. After that, everything is a blur. I shut off my phone when it won’t stop ringing. I bypass my apartment because if he decides to come to my place, there is no way I can do a face-to-face. I contemplate going home to my parents, but I don’t think I can handle looking at the Fitzpatrick’s house right across the street. Or telling Mom why I’m there. That’s Rosie’s mess to clean up now. Not mine.

  A friend’s house would be better.

  How could she do this to Miles? How could Cooper?

  How could he do this to me?

  Ugh. Why? Why am I never good enough? I just lost another Fitzpatrick brother to her. No. I didn’t lose him. He was always hers. I knew that. He told me that. He told everyone that.

  Stupid.

  So fucking stupid, Em.

  He’s loved her his entire life. That doesn’t magically go away. Just because it was working for me, doesn’t mean it was working for him. Obviously. I can’t tell if the moisture on my face is rain or tears. My eyes burn. Shit. It’s definitely tears. I blow out a slow breath and try to steady myself, my thoughts. It’s not worth crying over. No guy is. Not even someone as great as Cooper.

  I repeat it over and over until there’s no use. The road is a blob through the unending moisture in my eyes. I pull off to the side of the road, drop my head to the steering wheel and let it all pour out.

 
; THE PERSISTENCE OF COOPER FITZPATRICK

  Emerson

  “What’s wrong?” Evan asks the moment I take my usual seat in our shared sociology class. Though I barely looked in the mirror this morning, I know what he sees. Red, swollen eyes, dark bags, no makeup, and a messy bun. At least my outfit is okay. It’s the one I packed before… Well, just before.

  Thankfully I found a friend to let me crash on her couch last night, but I didn’t get a lot of rest.

  “Cooper and I are no longer seeing each other,” I explain just so I don’t have to hear him ask me again. I give him a tight smile. “But it’s…whatever.” I wave my hand, trying to sell it. But it’s not whatever. Not at all. I really liked him—the first person I’ve liked since Miles. I opened myself up to him in ways I’ve never done before. And it all came to a crashing halt.

  “We should go out and get drunk,” Evan states, his gaze moving over my face. “Best thing for a breakup.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t feel up to it yet.”

  “That’s why you should do it. It will speed up the process.”

  “I’m not twenty-one yet,” I remind him.

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t drink.”

  “I’ll think about it. Not today, though. But maybe tomorrow or the next day. Getting drunk does sound nice right now.” It truly does. I just want this feeling to go away. If I can get that, even for a few short hours, I’ll take it.

  “It’s a date,” Evan says, beaming at me.