I slip through the kitchen to get another beer, then pause and think better of it. Instead, I grab a plastic cup and mix an impromptu cocktail. Vodka, over ice—and I may or may not tip in a little extra after I pour in two shots. I add some cranberry juice from the fridge. There. That ought to keep me company while I listen to the happy people out here, starting their new year off right.
“Hey, Ky,” a gravelly voice says behind me. “Where you running off to?”
“Hey, Braxton,” I say.
Selene’s twin brother looks so much like her. They have the same dark eyes, olive skin, dark hair. But where Selene is tall and slender—she’s a fucking Amazon warrior at five-eleven—Braxton is six-foot-four-inches of thick, solid muscle.
He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Where’s your, uh … date?”
“Found someone else to hang out with.”
Braxton’s expression darkens. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug. Despite the fact that I wasn’t into Steven, being ditched still stings. But I don’t want Braxton to know that. “Whatever. He was boring anyway.”
Braxton moves a little closer and I catch a whiff of him. I swear, the guy must have a cologne called Weak Knees. I always feel fluttery in the stomach when he’s around, always need a minute or two to find my grounding. It must be why he gets so much ass.
“He left you alone right before midnight?”
“Yeah, it’s no big deal.”
I glance around, looking for Hope, but she’s nowhere in sight. I want to ask Braxton how much longer I’ll have to deal with her murder glares, but I don’t. It would violate our unspoken pact, the other tenet that makes our friendship work: we don’t talk about our relationships, especially if we don’t like whoever the other person is dating—which is pretty much always. When a relationship ends, the pact is nullified, and the gloves come off. But prior to that, our dates are off limits.
This came about because the people we date are never comfortable with our friendship. Hope isn’t unique in that. No one minds Selene—Braxton’s girlfriends want to impress her and become her BFF. My dates see how hot she is, and try to hide it when they stare, but they don’t mind me spending time with her. But Brax always seems like a threat, and apparently so do I.
Why his girlfriends see me that way, I have no idea. The women he’s with are always more like Selene than me—tall, model gorgeous, with great clothes and perfect hair. I’m just … me. I’m happy with how I look, but I’m not going to grace the covers of magazines or anything. I’m average height, and a little too curvy for my taste these days (did I mention I am no longer in my early twenties?). I do have a nice rack, but I’m not crazy gorgeous or anything.
But Braxton? I get it. I don’t blame any guy I date for being uncomfortable with our friendship. Braxton is big and powerful, and not just physically. He’s one of those people who fills whatever space he’s in. His personality is as big as his biceps—maybe bigger.
And he’s fucking gorgeous. I can admit that to myself, although I’d never tell him. He has a strong jaw that he keeps covered in light stubble. His eyes are so dark they’re almost black, and when he stares at you, it’s like he can see through to your soul. He’s just the right type of muscular—big and strong, without looking like a meathead. He has a set of gorgeous tattoos down his left arm, adding to the bad boy thing he does so well. Women stare at him wherever he goes, and he knows it. Women are putty for him.
Except me, of course.
Mostly.
“That sucks,” he says. “You shouldn’t start the new year without someone to properly kiss that sweet mouth.”
Hope is definitely not around, and Braxton is definitely drunk.
I smile and take a sip of my drink so he’ll quit looking at my mouth. I hate it when he looks at me like this; I feel like I can’t breathe. “That’s okay,” I say. “I’ll be fine. It’s a stupid holiday anyway. Who fucking cares? It’s just a calendar flip. It’s not like a new year has to mean anything.”
I’m lying through my teeth. I’ve been looking forward to this night for the last month, feeling like this coming year will be different. I’m going to get my shit together and start living life on my terms. Set goals. Find a better job. Achieve things I can be proud of. Maybe find love—real love, with a future. Not this dating bullshit, with the games and uncertainty.
I’ve been planning to make this a year of change, a year of figuring out my shit. Which is probably why the fact that I’m about to sneak off to my room and start the new year by myself, nursing a strong drink, brings the sting of tears to my eyes.
Someone yells, “One minute!”
Braxton gets closer. “You need someone to kiss tonight, Ky?”
I force out a laugh. “Why, you offering?”
He meets my eyes and, for a second, I think he’s serious. My smile drops and my heart beats too fast.
“There you are,” Hope says, slipping her hand around Braxton’s arm. “It’s almost time.”
He steps back, his expression mischievous. He was totally fucking with me. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Come on, baby,” Hope says, trying to pull him out of the kitchen. Her eyes narrow at me, but her expression softens before Braxton sees the look she gives me.
Everyone starts counting down. “Ten … nine … eight…”
I watch Braxton for a beat longer as he lets Hope lead him away. He turns to her and puts his hand around her waist while she tips her face up to him, ready for his kiss. People around them pair off. Selene and Nathan are already busy playing tongue hockey on the other side of the room.
“Six … five … four…”
I can’t even deal with this scene. Clutching my cup, I cross the distance to my room and duck inside. I lean back against the door just in time to hear, “One!”
Cheers. Noisemakers. Whoops and hollers. I’m sure Braxton is kissing Hope, a prelude to him tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her upstairs to his room. I’ll probably have to suffer her dirty looks through breakfast tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get up early and go home before Braxton and Selene wake up. I’m not sure I want to hang out with people who all got laid the night before, while I’m spending the night alone in my room, with only my good friend vodka to keep me company.
I sink down on the bed and put the drink on the nightstand. As much as I want this year to be better, from the way it’s beginning I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a lot more of the same.
Click here to keep reading Always Have: A Bad Boy Romance
Afterword
So what’d you think of Weston?
Did he piss you off in the beginning? Did you love him by the end? Yeah, me too.
The core ideas for this book came from a few different places. I already had Kendra lined up to be a heroine—after writing Book Boyfriend, clearly Kendra needed her HEA. I also wanted to do a roommate story. There’s something so tantalizing about that version of forced proximity. And it gave me the admittedly cheeky title of Cocky Roommate.
But who was the hero?
Here was where I set myself up with a challenge. Actually, it’s more like the challenge was hurled at me (although the hurling of it wasn’t intentional) by my friend Nikki. She said something to the effect of, “I’d love it if you wrote a hero who was a champion asshole.”
So, of course I had to do it.
I loved the challenge of making Weston a dick in the beginning and finding ways to redeem him by the end. I knew it was possible. I’ve read some great books with asshole heroes who you grow to love. But it required careful attention to his motives, his backstory, his decisions, and his thought processes.
Believe it or not, I had a harder time making him an asshole than I did making him lovable by the end. Probably because I knew why he was that way. There always has to be a really solid why, particularly if I’m giving a character undesirable traits (or traits that make it difficult for them to get to the HEA). Understanding where W
eston was coming from made it easier for me to dig beneath his asshole armor and find his good side.
Weston broke when his mom died. He didn’t have anyone to care for him, so he quickly grew accustomed to being swept out of the way. Between spending so much of his childhood without anyone who was the least bit nurturing (arguably when he needed it most), and the pain of losing his mother, he becomes an adult who intentionally pushes people away before they can get close to him. But deep down, he craves the connection he’s been working so hard to avoid.
Kendra came alive for me in Book Boyfriend. She was straightforward and sassy with her brothers, but also very supportive. Alex might have been the one doing the heavy lifting for their dad financially, but Kendra was always there, quietly getting things done.
So why throw a guy like Weston at a sweetheart like Kendra? Well, I knew she could handle him.
Kendra isn’t about to take Weston’s shit. But she also believes that most people are generally decent, and from the beginning, she tries to see the good in Weston. And when he’s hurt, and she realizes he literally has no one else to help him, she doesn’t really see it as a choice. Of course she’s going to take care of him. To her it’s not an amazing feat of generosity; it’s just what she does.
And that’s kind of the heart of it. This isn’t a story about a woman trying to show a man how to be different. Kendra isn’t trying to change Weston. She just goes on doing what she always does. And that’s what starts to unravel Weston’s assholedom.
Kendra doesn’t seduce Weston with her sex appeal (although he fully admits she has it). It’s how she treats him, and the people around her, that gets under his skin. He can’t help but begin to care about her. She makes it impossible not to. She cares about him, and she doesn’t try to hide it. Because again, to her, it isn’t anything extraordinary. Of course she remembers what kind of pasta sauce he likes. Of course she packages up leftovers and leaves a little note. Of course she knows he loved her lasagna. That’s just Kendra.
But Weston has never been the recipient of that kind of care and consideration. As a child, he should have, but his parents were unable or unwilling to give it to him. As an adult, he doesn’t let anyone in his life; he stops them by being a jerk before they can begin to care for him. Kendra gets the chance to show him what it feels like to be cared for, and to care for someone in return. And it’s life changing.
Writing Weston through that transformation was really satisfying. I loved him in the middle, when he’s confused and frustrated. I joked more than once about poor Weston and all his damn FEELINGS. He didn’t know what to do with himself for a while there. I like it when characters really have to struggle against their flaws—when their view of the world is turned upside down. They have to reorient themselves and figure out what it all means, and who they really are.
I hope you enjoyed the book! And if you’re hoping for more from the Lawson family, I’m happy to say you’re in luck. Caleb and little Charlotte also have a story to tell.
Thanks for reading!
Acknowledgments
A big thank you to everyone who continues to help, love, and support me while I make shit up in my head and write it down.
Thanks to Elayne for cleaning up my manuscript and telling me hilarious and semi-relevant stories in your comments.
Thanks to Shayne for another great cover and for generally being awesome.
Thanks to Nikki for inspiring me to write an asshole. I hope Weston’s assholery made you happy.
A huge thank you to my readers who keep coming back for more CK. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, you crazy people are why I do what I do. I love you.
And thanks to David for… all the things.
About the Author
Claire Kingsley writes smart, sexy romances with sassy and often quirky heroines, swoony heroes who love their women hard, panty-melting sexytimes, romantic happily ever afters, and all the big feels.
She can’t imagine life without coffee, her Kindle, and the sexy heroes who inhabit her imagination. She’s living out her own happily ever after in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and three kids.
Join Alpha Ever After, my Facebook reader group. Come hang out with me!
@clairekingsley1
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www.clairekingsleybooks.com
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