by R. R. Banks
It's always a great feeling to come out on top of the Longstreets – I just don't know if this is the way to do that. I don't know if I'm willing to ruin this girl's reputation, just so my brothers and I can be assholes and embarrass her family.
Dalton and Q grunt and groan out loud at virtually the same time in separate rooms as they shoot their loads deep into their respective girl. I only hope they were smart enough to strap on a rubber. Knocking up one of these girls is the quickest way to destroy their lives. That's a burden they'll carry with them forever.
I can hear Q pushing Cassidy off his lap as he steps away from her, pulling his pants back on. Zachary is still in his room, and is probably too high to leave right away.
I clap my hands loudly. “Time to go, girls,” I call. “We have things to do here.”
Cassidy and Monica both give me the finger in unison, so I blow them a kiss. Neither one is exactly thrilled with me for kicking them to the curb when I was done with them, but whatever. Not my problem. I made no promises to either of them. I don't believe in leading people on and hadn't done that to either of them.
Alyssa is buttoning up her blouse as she walks over to me, a playful little smile on her lips. She was no happier with me than Cassidy and Monica when I cut her loose, but she's pragmatic enough to understand the score. She hopes for better by banging my brothers, hopes that one of them will somehow fall madly in love with her, and want to make her their own. But, I have to think that somewhere deep down, she knows that she – and the girls like her – are merely playthings.
She leans in to kiss me and I pull back, giving her a wry grin. “Yeah, you just had my brother's cock in your mouth,” I say. “No thanks.”
I can see something in her eyes – a flash of pain – that sends a small stab of guilt through me. She cares about me. Even still. I knew it when we were together, and that's why I cut things off in the first place. I didn't want the emotional entanglement then and I don't want it now.
She sniffs and straightens herself up, her face darkening. She's doing her best to not let me see the hurt in her eyes, instead putting on an irate mask of outrage. Which is fine. Whatever helps her cope with her emotional bullshit. I'll take the hits.
“You really are a prick, Milo,” she says.
I shrug. “Yeah, I know,” I say. “Shocking as it may seem, you're not the first to say that, and I'm sure you won't be the last. But then, I've never pretended to be anything else.”
She snatches her purse off the counter and follows the other two girls out, slamming the door behind them. My brothers walk over to the counter, each of them grabbing a beer, looking at me expectantly.
“You really did it, huh?” Zach says, his voice thick with skepticism.
“Yeah, I sure did,” I reply.
Q and Dalton exchange a look and then turn their eyes to me – obviously eager to see the proof. Proof I'm unsure that I want to show them, bet or no bet. All of us have talked about wanting to bang Bree Longstreet for ages. Hell, every warm-blooded man in town has probably wanted to fuck Bree Longstreet.
And why not? She's the gold standard in Folson Forge. The epitome of Southern charm, grace, and femininity. And a damn fine lay, if I do say so myself. There probably isn't a guy in town who hasn't jerked off to images of her running through his mind. Yeah, me included.
“We need to see the proof,” Zach says. “There's a lot of money on the table, so you'll forgive us if we don't just take your word for it.”
I shake my head. This whole bet was a stupid idea to begin with. Not that I'm going to complain about reaping the rewards, mind you. It all started a few weeks ago. We'd been here, drinking, as usual, and talking about girls. Bree's name was brought up, of course, and my brothers all bragged about how they had the best chance to bang her. I told them that none of them had a chance, that she was way out of their league, and that she needed a real man.
Zach had challenged me, betting me a thousand bucks that I couldn't do it. That I couldn't bed Bree Longstreet. Not to be outdone, Q and Dalton had also ponied up a thousand bucks each. Money aside, I felt a tremendous amount of pressure to seal that deal. My brothers and I have always been competitive – though, my competition with Zach is on another level than with the Q and Dalton. It's more primal. Much more intense and personal.
But then, given that I'm the eldest, Zach has that second child syndrome, knowing that he's second in line for everything. Once the old man gives up control of the family's bourbon empire, it will naturally fall to me. Oh, Zach will have a role in the company, but I'm going to be the man at the top of the totem pole.
That's just the way it works. And I know he can’t stand it. Probably even hates me for it. Because yeah, it's my fault. Ever since we were little, he's nurtured this inferiority complex and has pushed himself to do better and achieve more than me at virtually anything and everything. He's always come up short and finishes second to me in almost everything. Which, of course, only adds to his pool of anger and angst.
But, that's not my problem. That's his baggage to carry and sort out.
Zach is a lot more like our old man than he'll ever care to admit. Maybe even more than he realizes. Definitely more like our father than I am. Which is probably what is adding fuel to the fire that burns between us. Everything is a competition and this bet about Bree is no different.
The idea to make the video public and shame the Longstreet family naturally flowed from that. Well, from that and too much booze.
Not that I'd gotten to know her on a profound level or anything, but now that I've spent some time with Bree, I'm seeing things a little differently. There's something about her that's sweet and kind. She's feisty as hell and burns with this inner fire that I find incredibly alluring. Compelling. I was only with her a short time, but in those intimate moments, I found her to be utterly intoxicating.
And she doesn't deserve to be publicly shamed or humiliated like that.
“Okay, listen up,” I say, “I'll show you a bit of the video. But, it stays here. That video is not to be made public. Period. This is between us and us alone. Everybody got that?”
“That's not the plan –” Q starts.
“Plans change,” I growl.
“You can't just change the plan,” Dalton says. “We're supposed to use it against the Longstreets. That was the plan.”
“Like I said, the plan changed.”
“Why?” Q asks.
“Because I said so,” I say.
Zach starts to laugh and shakes his head. Q and Dalton look at him like he's lost his mind.
“What's so funny?” Q finally asks.
Zach looks at me, that smug smile on his lips. “He knows.”
Both of our younger brothers look to me and I just shrug. “I have no idea what he's talking about.”
“Right,” Zach replies.
“Zach, tell us,” Dalton says.
“Our big brother here,” Zach says, “has a crush on the Golden Girl of Folson Forge. That's why he doesn't want that video getting out.”
“That's bullshit,” I say.
Zach shrugs. “It's either that,” he says. “Or there is no video. In which case, you owe us each a grand.”
“There's a third option you're not considering,” I say.
“Oh yeah?” Zach smirks. “What's that?”
“That I'm not as big of an asshole as you three and am not comfortable ruining an innocent girl’s reputation and life,” I say.
“Oh, but you'll fuck her,” Zach says.
“That's different,” I say.
“But, she's a Longstreet,” Q says.
“Yeah,” Dalton chimes in. “She's a Longstreet.”
Anger surging within me, I slam my fist down on the counter, rattling the bottles. My brothers all look at me, eyes wide. I'm the oldest of the Sheridan boys, so my word is law. That's the way it's always been and how it's always going to be. And right now, I'm tired of these shitheads questioning my word.
“I don't gi
ve a fuck if she is a Longstreet,” I say. “This video does not see the light of day beyond these walls. Period. Am I in any way, unclear?”
Q and Dalton shake their heads. As the youngest – eighteen and nineteen respectively – they still live in fear of me a bit. Zach, only a year younger than I am, has lost some of that fear, though he still abides by my word – albeit grudgingly. It's family tradition – and one the old man takes seriously – after all.
“Are we clear?” I ask.
“Clear,” Q says.
“Crystal,” Dalton says.
“Sure. Fine. Whatever,” Zach says, his smirk not fading in the slightest. “I think it's kinda sweet though – your crush on her.”
There's part of my mind screaming at me to not do this. To not show them the video. But, there is no way in hell I'm going to let Zach think he got the better of me. At anything. I started this, so now it's time to finish it.
“Shut the fuck up,” I say and hand my phone over to Quentin. “Go hook this up to the computer.”
Q takes the phone and scampers over to the computer set up on a desk in the corner of the room. Dalton, sensing the tension in the air between Zachary and me, scurries over with him. I step closer to my brother and take a long pull from my bottle.
“She's sweet and hot,” Zach says. “Trust me, I get it, Milo. I get it.”
“Our beef is with the Longstreet men. Her father. Her brothers,” I say quietly. “There's no reason to involve her or shame her like that.”
He shrugs. “Our beef is with the Longstreet clan in general, brother,” he says. “She's collateral damage. Sexy as hell, but collateral damage nonetheless.”
“Yeah, well, I'm not comfortable ruining this girl's life just because we hate her daddy and brothers,” I say. “There's no honor in that.”
“Honor doesn’t have anything to do with it, Milo,” he says. “You know what the old man told us about what the Longstreets have done to our family.”
“Yeah, I know what the old man told us,” I say. “But I'm not the old man. And what I say here goes.”
Zach holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, Milo,” he says. “I'm not arguing. I just never thought I'd see the day my own brother went soft on a Longstreet.”
“Shut the fuck up, Zach,” I say.
He gives me that crooked, stoned off his ass grin. “Okay, man. Shutting the fuck up now.”
“It's ready,” Q announces.
Taking my beer with me, we walk over to the desk and gather around. Q has the video set up and ready. He turns and looks at me. I didn’t want them to see it anymore. The sport's been taken out of it for me. It was never about the money. The bet was made in fun, meant to be just a gag between brothers. But, the fun has been totally stripped out of it.
“Play it,” I say.
Q hits the button and the video begins to play. As I watch it onscreen, I think back to actually doing the things I'm seeing with Bree. And I feel my body begin to react. My face suddenly feels hot and a sense of desire and longing begins to swirl around inside of me.
As I watch the video, it's almost like I can feel her cool, alabaster skin beneath my fingertips again. Can see the sparkle in eyes that gleam like polished jade, and can taste her sweet mouth behind her full, sensuous lips. The long, red hair that flows over her shoulders was smoother than silk, and her full breasts strained against the plunging neckline of her purple gown.
Physically, she is perfection to me. Recalling the feeling of being inside of her, of hearing those filthy words coming out of her sweet, angelic mouth – it sends a shudder of remembered pleasure through me.
The sound of my brothers laughing hysterically pulls me out of my reverie. I stop the video. Q and Dalton are high-fiving each other, eyes riveted to the screen.
“I can't believe you did it,” Dalton says.
“Yeah, seriously,” Q adds. “I didn't think you had a snowball's chance in hell.”
I smirk at them. “No, none of you clowns had a snowball's chance.”
Zach watches the screen through glassy eyes, sipping his drink. His jaw is clenched, and his body is tense. I know it bothers him that I succeeded where he'd failed. He'd tried to hook up with Bree several times over the years and had been shut down, viciously, every single time. And I know he proposed the bet originally, hoping that I would strike out as badly as he had.
I hadn't though, and I know it must piss him off.
“Man, the way she talks,” Q says. “Who knew little Miss Purity was such a slut?”
I smack him across the back of the head, the pop echoing around the room. Q turns and glares up at me, rubbing the back of his head.
“That fuckin' hurt!”
“Have a little respect,” I growl.
“She's a Long –”
I lean down and stare at him, my eyes narrowed, a dark anger rising within me. “I don't give a shit, little brother,” I say, my voice low and menacing. “She's a lady. You show her some fucking respect.”
Zach snorts. “Yeah, but you’re not sweet on her or nothin',” he says and heads back to the kitchen.
“Cue it up again,” Dalton says and chuckles, nudging Q in the ribs.
“Show's over, boys,” I say. “You got your proof, time to pay up.”
“Oh, c'mon, Milo,” Dalton says. “Let us watch the full video. I could watch her –”
I smack him in the back of the head, though far less roughly than I'd popped Q earlier. This time, it's more playful, and less angry.
“Show's over,” I say.
I drop my phone into my jacket pocket and walk into the kitchen, giving Zach a smug, satisfied smile. He looks at me with a mixture of amusement and disdain – a combination I wasn't aware one could actually combine in one expression. He opens a drawer and pulls out an envelope, dropping it on the counter before me.
“Well earned,” he says.
“It was a pleasure,” I say, picking up the envelope full of money and flashing him a smile. “Really. An absolute pleasure. Believe me about that.”
Zach snorts and gives me a derisive look, knowing that I conquered something he'll never be able to get a sniff of, let alone a taste of. I slip the envelope into my pocket and laugh as I walk out of the clubhouse and head for my room in the main house.
It's been a good night.
Chapter Three
Milo
A Few Weeks Later
I walk down Sutter Street, the main avenue through town, soaking in my last few days at home before heading back to school for the fall term. It's been a good summer. An eventful summer. But, the thing I'm going to remember the most is the night I spent with Bree Longstreet.
I'm not an overly sentimental kind of guy and I've slept with plenty of girls. But, there's something about Bree that's really sticking with me. Ever since that night, I can't seem to get her out of my head. I haven't reached out to her since then, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about her.
The sun is sinking below the horizon and the dark fabric of night is being pulled over the world. It's warm, but not unpleasantly so. Thankfully, there isn't much humidity tonight. Thank God for small favors. Even though this is where I grew up, I've never been a big fan of the heat and humidity that plagues the otherwise fine state of Georgia.
As I stroll down the street, a dark truck, raised well beyond normal or tasteful limits, with windows tinted so dark you can't see into the vehicle, comes to a screeching stop at the curb beside me. I only know of one person with such an absurdly gaudy truck, so I'm not surprised when the doors fly open, and Clyde Longstreet, with a look of pure rage on his face, climbs out from behind the wheel.
He stands in my way, his face less than a foot from mine, and I can practically taste the alcohol on his breath. A couple of his friends get out and stand on the sidewalk behind him. They've all obviously indulged in a little bit of liquid courage and have hyped themselves up for this.
Whatever this is.
“You're in my way,” I say.
I chuckle. “I guess that would depend on who you ask.”
“Oh, you think this is funny, asshole?”
I shrug. “Not sure what we're talking about,” I reply smoothly. “Depending on what it is, I might find it funny.”
His face darkens even more and his body tenses. Clyde came here looking for a fight. He should know by now that I'm not afraid of him, nor does he intimidate me. If he wants to throw down, we'll throw down. I'd just like to know why we're fighting beforehand.
“I should kill you right now,” Clyde hisses.
I shrug again. “Before you do, you mind telling me what your problem is?”
“As if you don't know.”
A wry laugh escapes me. “I really don't.”
“Right, because I'm supposed to believe you're not the prick who posted that video online,” Clyde sneers again.
At the mention of a video, I feel an icy fist grab my heart and squeeze tight. Clyde must have seen it on my face because I see his eyes widen with recognition as his lips curl into a snarl. I have no idea how he saw the video. It's on my phone. It was on my phone. I deleted it that night and I sure as hell didn't post it anywhere. I wouldn't do that to her.
The only way that video could have been posted – shit. The answer hits me harder than a mule's kick to the gut. Zach. I'd taken the phone, but they'd downloaded it to the computer to play it. If they didn't erase it, they could have uploaded it.
Yeah, heads are going to roll when I get home.
For now, though, I have to deal with what's in front of me. And what's in front of me is one pissed off big brother. I can certainly understand why he's upset – and although I’d done everything in my power to prevent a scene like this – I'm not about to give in to him. He is, after all, still a Longstreet.
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I say.
“The shit you don't,” Clyde says. “You have any idea what you did to my sister?”
I smirk at him. “Yeah, I've got a real good idea what I did to her,” I say. “She seemed to enjoy it too.”
