Rushing In (The Blackhawk Boys #2)

by Lexi Ryan

  I try to swallow but my whole throat feels paralyzed. I can’t speak, can hardly breathe. I know him. My soon-to-be stepbrother. My soon-to-be roommate. Last night’s really bad judgment.

  “Her name is Grace,” Becky chides. “I’ve told you that, Dash.”

  He grimaces and mumbles, “Right,” never taking his eyes off me. There are no dimples for me now. Only disgust. He extends his bandaged hand. “Grace?”

  Becky is watching, so I take his hand, and little tingles of pleasure shiver up my arm at the contact. My body is my biggest enemy right now, and though I don’t normally beat myself up for the physical manifestations of a healthy sex drive, I’d like to lock my libido in a cage and throw it in the attic.

  I pull away quickly and tuck my hands in my lap under the bar.

  “Do you two know each other or something?” Becky asks.

  Chris—or Dash, or whatever the hell his name is—just stares at me, directing all sorts of righteous anger in my direction.

  “We went to high school together,” I say. I watch Chris’s eyes for that spark of recognition. Nothing.

  I look a little different now than I did then—poked some holes in my ears, put some ink on my skin, changed the color of my hair more times than I can count—but I’m still the same girl he found in that basement, and he doesn’t have a clue.

  It’s a good thing, Grace, I tell myself. But it’s only good in the way that it’s good not to get caught robbing a house when you know that at any minute, someone’s going to watch the surveillance footage and you’ll be found out.

  “Oh, right,” Becky says. “Grace, I always forget that you went to Champagne Towers for a few months. You know Dash? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I didn’t realize I did.” My heart does that simultaneous squeeze-and-expand thing again that really can’t be healthy. It wasn’t prepared for this. The knots in my stomach tighten around the pointed shards of my regrets. What have I done?

  This is so bad. Like, push-the-panic-button bad. All my genius plans for the summer are turning to smoke before my eyes, and I keep waiting to wake up and realize that this is just a terrible nightmare.

  I look to Chris. “When I knew him, he was Chris Montgomery.”

  Becky grins at her son affectionately. “Montgomery is his father’s name, and I’ve called him Dash since he was three and would do sprints in the backyard. I’ve never seen a toddler move that fast. Let’s see, when you were a freshman, Dash would have been—”

  “A junior,” I say. I don’t need help remembering.

  She turns to her son. “And you remember her too?”

  His neck works as he swallows. “Not from high school, but we’ve . . .” He swallows again and his face contorts as he tries to contain his sneer, no doubt for his mom’s sake. “We ran into each other at a friend’s house last night.”

  Becky frowns at her son. She’s not stupid. She can tell there’s something going on between us, that something’s wrong that we’re not sharing. She forces a smile and turns back to me. “Are you ready for the excitement that is Blackhawk Valley?”

  I laugh only because I know it’s expected, but my mind races, replaying that night from my freshman year in high school on a fast-forward loop in my head right next to flashing images from last night. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I remind myself that oxygen is important and that I need to take deep breaths. If I can just remember who and where I am, I can get through this. I can figure it out.

  They call it a crush because it hurts. When I was fourteen years old, I never expected my crush on Chris to go anywhere, but I also wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt. I wasn’t prepared to see him again, wasn’t prepared for how greedy I’d be when he offered me those smiles last night, or how much I’d love the way it would feel when he touched me. I never imagined I’d end up his stepsister or that I’d spend a summer living with him.

  I’m not sure the last part is going to happen anymore, judging by the anger in Chris’s eyes.

  “Are you ready, son?” Dad asks Chris.

  “The guys are going to the tux shop to pick up their suits this morning,” Becky says. She claps her hands together and grins. “I can’t believe tomorrow’s the big day.”

  Chris finally pulls those piercing blue eyes off me to smile at his mom. “I’m happy for you, Mama.”

  Dad steps between them and kisses Becky’s forehead before whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle.

  Her phone clatters against the granite countertop as it buzzes, and she grabs it quickly. “Sorry, it’s the wedding planner. I need to take this. You boys have fun. I’ll be right back, Grace.” She taps the screen then presses the phone to her ear as she heads to Dad’s study. “Hello, Patrice.”

  “I’ll see you at the rehearsal tonight,” Dad says to me. “It would mean a lot to me if you could be on time for once. And get rid of those damn sunglasses.”

  I’m so used to my father’s criticism that it wouldn’t even faze me if Chris weren’t standing here, but something about him witnessing this makes my cheeks heat. Luckily, he has gone from full-on glare to avoiding looking in my direction altogether, so he doesn’t see.

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “You could learn something from Dash here,” Dad says. “He knew we had a full day today and woke up at a decent hour. He was coming back from a run before Becky and I had even made it out of bed. I’m hoping his work ethic rubs off on you this summer.”

  I watch them head out to the garage, and then I hide in the upstairs bathroom. I strip out of my clothes, crank the shower to its hottest setting, and attempt to wash away my hangover.

  I feel trapped and exposed. Chris was never supposed to find out that I wasn’t who I said I was last night, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to be the guy I’m spending my summer with. It isn’t just that I made out with my stepbrother. I mean, that’s a clusterfuck all by itself. But the real problem is that I don’t want to spend my summer—or any time ever—with anyone who knows about that night, especially not the guy who saved me from it. Chris may not have made the connection between me and fourteen-year-old “Easy Gee-Gee,” but it’s only a matter of time before he does.

  I have to find somewhere else to stay this summer.

  Chapter Six

  Chris

  “Then I’ll ask for the rings,” the preacher says, giving me a pointed look. “Put them somewhere safe but easy to access. You don’t want them falling out of your pocket before the ceremony. I recommend the inside of your suit jacket instead of your pants pocket.”

  I nod. “I can do that.”

  “Just like when you’ll give your mother away at the beginning of the ceremony, the exchanging of the rings is symbolic. It feels good to get it right and have everything run smoothly,” the preacher says. “Your mom’s counting on you.”

  My eyes drift back to Grace, as they’ve been doing since we arrived at the rehearsal. She’s wearing this red dress with big white polka dots and red high heels. With the red bow tied into her dark hair and the tattoos peeking out from the low-cut back of her dress, she looks like sexpot Minnie Mouse. Last night I noticed the cat eyes on her arm, but I somehow missed the ivy that runs over her shoulder blades. It’s so detailed it almost looks three-dimensional, and I want to trace it with my fingers and follow it to where it disappears beneath her dress.

  And therein lies the problem.

  “I’ll say some words about your new family,” the preacher says, “and speak to the importance of Chris and Grace’s roles in this marriage and their new relationship as brother and sister.”

  Grace keeps her eyes cast to the ground but bites her lip at “brother and sister.” I’m glad to see this mess she made is at least a little awkward for her. Whatever she was thinking last night, she’s been avoiding me today. Her dad and I returned from getting our suits, and she was gone. She left a note for him explaining that she’d borrowed his old car because she had errands she needed to
run. She promised to meet everyone at the church in time for the rehearsal.

  I got here early, hoping we could talk before all the official stuff got underway. We need to sort out what happened last night. I need to know what the hell she was thinking. Only, she arrived five minutes late, and the minute she walked in the door we had to get started.

  “This is typical,” her father said. “Always late. Always in trouble. I’m counting on you to keep her out of trouble this summer, son.”

  I’m guessing the way I sucked her tongue into my mouth and felt her up last night wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.

  “Then the couple will kiss and begin the recessional,” the preacher says, and I realize I haven’t heard a word since “brother and sister.” “Edward and Becky, you exit first.” Mom takes Edward’s arm and they head down the aisle. “And Christopher and Grace follow.”

  “Not too far behind,” the wedding planner calls, waving us into the aisle. “I want the photographer to get some shots of the whole family walking down the aisle together.”

  Avoiding my gaze, Grace takes my arm, and we walk down the aisle. Touching her reminds me of last night, of her skin under my hands on the couch, of the way she pulled me tightly against her as I kissed her goodbye.

  The second we hit the church’s vestibule, she turns away from me and heads to the exit.

  I grab her arm before she can go far. “Grace.” Her name comes out like an insult because—well, because if she’d told me last night that her name was Grace instead of lying about who she was, we wouldn’t be in this predicament now. “We need to talk.”

  Mom’s been so excited about us all coming together to make a new family. She’d be so disappointed if she knew the truth—that all I could think about standing across from Grace today was how she felt under my hands, the way she tasted, and the sounds she made when I put my mouth on her breast.

  The only thought that wasn’t full-out NC-17 was that Grace is a fucking liar. And, luckily for my sanity, I’ve been thinking about that a lot.

  Grace stops and looks down at my hand on her arm and makes a face. “Fine,” she whispers.

  Mom deserves to be happy, deserves the perfect little family she imagined us becoming, and I can’t help but think I fucked it all to hell last night. Except there was no fucking. Not that I was thinking clearly enough to keep it from going there had Morgan—Grace—been interested. But she stopped me.

  Thank God. Jesus. It’s hard to believe, but when it comes down to it, this could be worse. I’ve built a reputation in football and life in general for being cool, calm, and collected. That’s who I am, but that wasn’t who I was last night. Did I really let the bullshit with Olivia get to me so much that I needed to prove I could be spontaneous?

  That has to be the explanation. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have touched a girl I didn’t know and wouldn’t be in this twisted mess we’re stuck in today.

  “Dash?” Mom frowns and drops her gaze to where I’m holding Grace’s arm. I release it. “Is everything okay?”

  Shit. Above all else, I don’t want Mom knowing what happened.

  Sexpot Minnie Mouse smiles. “Dash and I just need a minute to talk about your gift.”

  I glare at her when she uses my nickname. Only my mom calls me that.

  Mom’s face relaxes. “Oh, you two! Don’t you dare spend money on us!”

  Grace lifts her palms, the picture of innocence, then scurries into the hallway.

  I’m simultaneously grateful and annoyed. Grateful that my mom remains oblivious to our drama and annoyed that Grace is such an accomplished liar.

  I follow Grace, and she pulls me into a storage closet. The space is dark and barely big enough for us both. When she reaches around me to pull the door shut, her body presses against mine. Just like that, lust punches me in the gut.

  This is what they mean when they talk about chemistry. Chemistry isn’t the simple biological response of getting turned on when the moment is right. It’s this powerful, undeniable attraction that has me hard even though the moment is all wrong. And fuck am I turned on.

  Because she’s so soft. Because she smells like springtime and lavender. Because even if she’s a liar and the worst kind of trouble, I can’t shake the memory of how good she tastes.

  I don’t know what she was hoping to accomplish with her lies last night, but I’m not going to be part of it. Even if I do want to kiss her again. Even if I’m dying to know if touching her could possibly be as good as I remember.

  “What kind of game are you playing?” I ask, reminding myself who she is and that she can’t be trusted.

  “Game?” The word comes out in a low growl. “You mean the one where I don’t tell my dad that his precious new son had me underneath him last night?”

  “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

  “What?” She makes another growling sound. “No, I’m trying not to ruin their wedding day, which is exactly what will happen if you blab about our shared momentary lapse in judgment.”

  “My lapse in judgment? You lied about who you were.”

  “You made assumptions. I just didn’t correct you.”

  “Did you think it would be funny? Something to lord over me all summer? You thought it would be fun to screw with your new brother?”

  “First of all, there is no way we’re spending the summer together.” She speaks in a whisper that’s getting louder on every word. “Second, this isn’t entirely my fault. I thought my new stepbrother was Dash Dupree.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Morgan. I should have made sure you didn’t misunderstand who I was.”

  She throws up her hands, or at least I think that’s what she’s trying to do when they hit my arms, but the space is dark and I can’t see, and we’re so crowded in here there’s not much room to move. “I didn’t think it mattered.” She grabs my biceps and shoves me away, only there’s nowhere for me to go. “We were never supposed to see each other again.”

  “Which is why you programmed a fake number into my phone under your fake name?” Her hands are still on my arms, and I imagine I could kiss her like this. How am I supposed to have this conversation when she’s so damn distracting?

  “You called?” She sounds shocked.

  “Was I acting like a guy who wasn’t interested in seeing you again?”

  She drops her hands, and her fingertips skim down my arms in the process. Is she trying to make me lose my mind, or do I just have some faulty wiring in my brain that interprets every move she makes as sexy?

  “I texted when I got home,” I say, “but I guess the joke was on me. Wrong number.” I grit my teeth. I didn’t mean to let her know how much the wrong number thing upset me. It’s the least of my worries at the moment. “Would you please explain why you lied about who you were if you didn’t know we were about to be siblings?”

  “Not siblings.” She shudders against me. “That’s gross. We’re not related.”

  “Whatever. Answer the question. Why, Grace?”

  “It’s been a long time for me, okay? I made bad decisions because I was too . . . too thirsty to make good decisions.”

  What the fuck? “Thirsty? You’re blaming this on the booze?”

  “No, not thirsty.” She sighs. “Thirsty. You know.”

  This girl makes no sense. “Why didn’t you get some water?”

  She groans, and I wish I could say the sound doesn’t affect me, but it slingshots me back to last night on the couch, and my dick goes even harder. “Not thirsty, you idiot. Thirsty. As in, I haven’t had my needs met in . . . a while.”

  “Your needs?”

  Oh. Shit. Her needs.

  “You’re so dense. I’m saying I’ve been relying entirely on my Tumblr account for months. Many months.”

  This girl is trouble. I step back, but my shoulders hit the cold metal of a storage rack. Thinking about her needs fucks with my brain, so I’m about to let her off the hook when I realize she still hasn’t answered the damn question. “If you didn’t
know that I was Becky’s son, then why didn’t you correct me when I called you Morgan?”

  “Because I liked the way you were looking at me.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  I can’t see her face, but I hear her exasperated sigh loud and clear. “I remembered you from high school, but you obviously didn’t remember me. I didn’t want to help you remember.”

  “Why not?”

  Another sigh. “Because you were Chris fucking Montgomery, and I’m just . . .”

  I’ve had enough of the darkness—it’s giving me ideas about how I can help her with her thirst. And her needs.

  I need light to remind me why we’re in here. I reach over her shoulder and run my hand along the wall until I find the light switch. The fluorescent bulbs over our heads flicker to life, and I can see her clearly now. Her big green eyes, her full red lips, the swell of her cleavage in that damn distracting dress.

  Who am I kidding? Seeing Sexpot Minnie in the light gives my dick more ideas than being with her in the darkness did.

  “You’re just what?” I ask, trying to snap my brain back to the subject at hand.

  Grace squints, and as her eyes adjust she focuses them on her feet. “I’m nobody, Chris.” She turns around, pushes the door open, and rushes into the hall, leaving me alone with a bunch of church supplies and dirty thoughts about a thirsty Grace.

  Chapter Seven

  Grace

  Confession: After my shower this morning, I may have internet-creeped on Chris using Dad’s computer. Becky was signed into her Facebook account, so I was able to see pictures of Chris and “his boys” after football games, pictures of him accepting awards, and even a link to a newspaper article with a picture of him in front of a casket with his head bowed.

  I told myself it was for research. For self-preservation, I need to know as much as I can about him. And if I spent a little too long staring at the pictures of him on the beach last spring, a little too long admiring that V of muscle that dipped into his low-slung swim shorts, so what? I’m a grown woman with working parts. Looking is natural—healthy, even.