Stirred Up (Book 1 & 2 Complete Boxset)

by S. E. Hall

  “Cole!” Dylan turns his attention to his cyber buddy, leaving me and Brady standing beside each other.

  I steal an uncomfortable glance his way just as Ashley appears at his side.

  “Gotta say, never would have believed it if I wasn’t seeing it.” Cole laughs, slapping Dylan on the back. “You, of all people, about to run a business.”

  “My brother’s one of the best gamers out there,” I defend him instantly, earning me a bashful look from Dylan.

  Cole drinks me in. “No doubt about that. But this party—I wasn’t expecting it to be so formal, so put together,” he clarifies.

  “Oh.” I slink back, lowering my head. “Yeah, it’s gorgeous.”

  “Can’t take the credit for that. It was all Ashley over here.” Dylan nudges his head her way.

  Of course she put the party together, she’s superwoman, after all.

  Ashley takes the compliment with easy poise then excuses herself to the ladies’ room. Dylan retreats a moment later to go mingle, leaving Brady and Cole standing around me.

  One peek at each of them confirms that the “sizing up the competition” thing men do is in play, which is absolutely ridiculous.

  “Ashley looks beautiful tonight,” I say to Brady.

  His brows pinch. “She does.”

  Cole moves closer to me. “Lucky man. How long have you and her been together?” he asks Brady.

  Yeah, Brady? How long? Has he been stringing her along this whole time? My temper peeks at the unpleasant pang of jealousy that flares.

  “We’re—”

  I can’t bear to hear his answer so I cut in. “She’s good for you. I like her.”

  His eyes darken at my words then narrow a moment later when Cole’s hand slides around my waist. I don’t push him away, instead allowing the touch from a total stranger.

  Cole pulls me closer. “You wanna dance?”

  My eyes on Brady, I’m conflicted on how to answer. I don’t want to hurt my best friend, but he’s here with someone else, which means whatever he felt for me obviously wasn’t that strong. Our friendship will rebound and maybe seeing me with someone else will help put things back into perspective for him. I’m not his.

  “You should probably go check on Ashley,” I say over the music, “in case she needs your help or something. I’m good here.”

  I don’t give him a chance to reply. Cole takes my hand and leads me out onto the dance floor where he wraps his arms around my back, holding me close.

  Leave it to Brady to deal with things in a mature, classy manner.

  Or not.

  Apparently Ashley rebuffed his plans or wasn’t fast enough in the ladies’ room, so he’s now latched and I do mean latched, on to the tackiest bimbo in the room. Rolling my eyes and pulling Cole closer against my body, I try not to steal glances over his shoulder at Brady’s antics, but sometimes, like a car wreck, you just have to look.

  And when I do, his mouth may be on her neck, his hands groping her ass in true porn fashion, but his eyes…they’re on me. Hard, determined, and challenging, he glares my way but why I’m—for once—not sure.

  Is he begging me to pull him off her or outdo his brazenness with my current partner?

  Is he pissed off?

  I can’t pull my eyes away despite Cole’s whispering in my ear, which is incoherent since my brain is busily processing the sight that’s crippling me with emotions I can’t squash.

  As Brady’s fingers tighten and knead her tiny ass, he rolls his hips, pressing his pelvis into her—I have my answer. My brows raise, telling him I won’t back down.

  Challenge accepted!

  My hand slips down from Cole’s shoulder and grips the hem of my dress, hitching it up just enough to slide my leg higher up Cole’s hip. I dip my head back, my chest pushing forward, and giggle at nothing, praying Brady can hear it above the music.

  A deep, low growl escaping Cole freezes me in place and I fight from recoiling at the thick length hardening against my stomach.

  “So fine,” he whispers.

  I place my hands tighter against his shoulders and pull myself back into our previous, normal dancing position. That should be enough to show Brady two can play that game.

  Ashamed for involving Cole, I give him a sweet smile then chance a peek to assess Brady’s reaction and the saying holds true—play with fire and you will get burned.

  Which I am, scorching from head to toe in a blaze of excruciating fury as I watch Brady dip the hussy and feed feverishly at her mouth. When he pulls her back up and links his fingers with hers, the motherfucker winks at me while he whispers in her ear, then, to my horror, leads her off the dance floor.

  I’m frozen in agony, each of their steps leading to the double doors where their sordid tryst awaits sending a splinter of jealous agony through me till my gut is twisted beyond repair, about to explode.

  “Mmm, come back here,” Cole grunts in my ear.

  I robotically push him away, eyes still on that damn door. Brady turns back once and catches my stare, a passing flash of I can’t decipher what it is on his face before he turns and continues his exit…officially taking what I thought was a bratty game of torment way too far.

  “Mind if I cut in?” my father asks, appearing out of nowhere.

  Cole looks to me with guarded restraint. I’ve definitely led him on tonight, but the fury flooding my veins keeps me from feeling the depths of the guilt. I’ll simply add it to my recent list of sins as I never plan to see the man again.

  “Of course not, Dad.” I force a smile his way then press myself closer to Cole for a brief hug and whisper, “Thanks for the dance.” I place a chaste kiss to his cheek then turn and take my father’s hand.

  Cole leaves the dance floor, seemingly satisfied, after throwing me a subtle wave. It eases a tinge of the rage I have when I glance at the door again.

  Just like when I was a young girl, my father twirls me out then draws me back into his arms. I smile for him, always daddy’s little girl, but the thought of Brady out there somewhere with that…my lip trembles.

  My head rests against my father’s shoulder as I blink back tears.

  “You look beautiful tonight, baby girl.”

  “Thank you, Daddy.” I swallow past the knot in my throat. “Can you believe it? Dyl’s really doing it.”

  “Yeah, we always knew he’d find his way, just like you did.”

  “Right.” My way? Had I found it? Sure doesn’t feel like it.

  “Is something wrong?” He pulls his head back and I lift mine, his lowered brows pressing me to talk.

  “I’m just a little lost right now, that’s all,” I confess, shuffling my feet, constantly glancing to the infuriating door Brady has yet to reenter.

  “Is this about Brady?”

  My breath catches and I shake my head with adamant denial. “No, Brady and I are fine.” My lie is smooth.

  “Good.” He looks relieved but it doesn’t last. “You’d tell us if there was something wrong, right?” he asks, twirling me out again.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  He’s staring down at me as though he’s waiting for something, for me to spill some big secret. What exactly does he know? Did Brady talk to Dylan? Or someone else? It’s a small town, after all. I’m not sure what to say.

  “Addison, honey, it’s none of my business and you’d probably prefer to talk to your mother about it but…” His voice lowers and a hint of a blush creeps over his cheeks, one that I haven’t seen since he attempted the birds and the bees talk when I was fourteen. “There’s been some talk around town and I’m worried.”

  “Talk? About what?” The song winds down and I step out of his arms, suddenly apprehensive at the way his face tightens with worry. Dad’s always loved Brady like a son; I know he’d be thrilled for us to get together and wouldn’t understand my refusal. My head’s a wreck, forming a drawn out explanation why Brady and I are better as friends.

  “That you’ve been to doctor’s office
a lot lately. If there’s something you need to tell us, please, we’re here for you. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”

  Get through it? Get through what? Then it hits me. He thinks I’m sick. It has nothing to do with Brady. It’s about all my appointments.

  I laugh, almost manically so, until his worry turns into horror at my outburst. It’s official—my life can get no worse.

  “Addison!” my mother calls out, stepping beside us.

  “Mom, hi.” I embrace her, shushing my chuckle.

  “I told you not to say anything to her tonight,” she chastises my father in a whisper.

  “If my daughter’s sick I want to know it!” he retorts.

  They lock eyes, a discussion with no words being held between them. I’ve seen it before; they rarely fight, just exchange looks that put issues to rest, but tonight it baffles me.

  “When you’re ready to talk to us, we’ll be there to listen,” my mother says to me.

  My father wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her hair; I have to smother a sigh at their easy comfort with each other.

  “How do you do it?” I ask. I’ve never questioned their relationship before, but I need to understand why some people have it so easy.

  “Do what, honey?” my father asks.

  “You never fight. You’re always affectionate, still stealing kisses after all these years. How do you do it? How does it work so well for you?” But not me I want to add but don’t.

  “That’s simple,” my mother starts then looks up to my father to finish.

  “I married my best friend,” he says.

  My mother snuggles him closer, nodding her head.

  Best friends. I swallow hard, a tight smile forming to appease them, but it’s filled with sadness and before I can help it, my chin starts quivering, my eyes prickling with tears.

  My head bounces in understanding. “I need some air. Excuse me.” I back away and turn quickly, pushing through the guests littering the dance floor searching for an escape.

  My mother’s voice calls my name but I don’t stop, rushing my steps, shouldering people aside until I realize there’s only one escape and I refuse to run into Brady macking on some bimbo. I can’t handle it.

  Darting my head back and forth, I’m granted a moment of mercy when I spot an exit sign glaring along the back wall. I nearly sprint toward it as imagines of Brady kissing her, sliding his hands under that skimpy dress riddle my flustered mind. I tug at my necklace, now choking me, suffocating me. I desperately need air.

  It’s not just Brady I picture, but Dr. Reynolds now too, groping her in his office, spreading her legs in his stirrups. She’s probably his patient, after all. It’s all some bad joke.

  I knock over a poor waiter, champagne flutes flying off his tray and shattering on the ground, spraying guests with the bubbling liquid. A quick “sorry” is all I can offer, though. I’m too close to freedom to stop.

  I spot Ashley beside my brother, laughing at something he’s saying. She’s a sweet girl; I feel bad that she fell for Brady’s charm. I wonder if she spent any time looking for him when she came out of the ladies’ room. Brady’s a jerk, I’m a jerk and this whole mess is deserved.

  My palms slam open the doors and I suck in a deep lungful of cool night air. I’m standing on a gated alcove covered with a massive awning overhead with no guests around, nothing but one dying light hanging down. I welcome the darkness. It suits my mood.

  Clawing at the back of my neck, unable to remove my damn necklace, my sobs begin to spill out. “Dammit!”

  “Shh.” A gentle voice caresses my back as do strong hands that move mine away to easily unclasp the jewelry. It’s Brady that steps around me and places it in my hand, but I already knew at first touch that it was him.

  “That was quick!” I snarl, stumbling back, swiping angrily at my damn tears. “Where’d you fuck her? In the parking lot?” My laugh is harsh, cruel even to my own ears. With a sinister sneer, I step back into him. “You’re such a goddamn prick!”

  “Is that so?” His voice is steady, indifferent. Nothing but a cool façade, albeit his glittering eyes that sheen with something else.

  “Yes! Yes, it is so. Why even bring a date if you were going to screw around, huh? You just don’t care who you hurt!”

  His arms fly out to the sides, teeth bearing with his roar. “Oh, I care! I care too damn much! It’s you that’s heartless.”

  I recoil at his tone. “Heartless?” I breathe.

  When he takes a step closer, the dim light highlights the sharpness of his tense features. “I didn’t bring a date tonight. I asked the only girl I wanted here with me and she turned me down. Like she always does.”

  I shake my head. “No, no you brought Ashley. You wanted to make me jealous and—”

  “And it did,” he finishes.

  My head shakes violently this time. “I was just angry that you were ignoring me. Not jealous. We’re friends, Brady. I want to see you happy. If Ashley makes you—”

  “She’s not my fucking date!” He grabs my forearms as if to shake me but holds me firmly in place. “Do you hear me? She’s here with Dylan.”

  “What?!”

  His grip tightens and I can’t ignore the way his fingers press into my chilled flesh. “If you got out of your own fucking head, you’d see that Dylan’s crazy about her. She was never anything but a friend and if you knew me like you think you do then you’d know that.”

  “She’s beautiful…smart.”

  “No comparison. You’re everything, Moe.” His head dips, mouth skimming my ear. “Come home with me.”

  I inhale his scent, my hands clinging to his jacket, when I’m hit with the smell of cheap peaches, his dance partner’s perfume who he just—

  I shove him away. “Get off me. Let go!”

  He does so immediately, his voice and expression arctic. “No more excuses!”

  “Excuses? You just screwed some nobody just to piss me off! You really think I’d want anything to do with you after that?”

  Brady’s noticeably affected, his hands clenched at his sides, nerve in his clenched jaw twitching. He looks past me with an anguished sigh. “Explain to me what you really want. Please. Just some trashy affair with your doctor?”

  “Don’t!” My voice squeaks, no idea what more to say, how to explain what I feel in Dr. Reynolds’ office. But I know it isn’t fair to Brady. He wants more, needs more, and I can’t give it.

  “What? You think you can go in that office whenever you have an itch and no one will be affected? No one will gossip? This is a small town, Moe.”

  “I’m not talking about it.” I can’t. It was just fun. Dr. Reynolds allowed me to live a fantasy, one that I refuse to regret.

  “Fine, then answer me one question, and I’ll walk away. You won’t have to worry about dealing with me again.”

  The thought of him leaving damn near breaks me, but I hold firm.

  He stands in front of me, wary vulnerability in his eyes. “Tell me the truth. Tell me why, despite our attraction for each other, you won’t let us be happy. Because, babe, I would do anything for you. I’d make you the happiest woman alive if you’d let me.” His hand moves to my cheek, thumb brushing over my trembling bottom lip. “Tell me why you’re pushing me away.”

  I close my eyes, unable to look at him as I answer. “Because I need my best friend and if we don’t work out, I can’t risk losing you forever.”

  Eyes still shut, his hand drops away and I feel him move back. “It’s too late. You’ve already lost me.”

  I open my eyes, watching him start through the side gate. He doesn’t look back, but I hear him clearly. “And if you really think I slept with that girl, you never knew me at all.”

  There’s nothing for me to say. I stand there, tears spilling out, arms crossed over my chest, holding myself together while I watch him walk further into the darkness.

  My chest constricts, something shattering deep inside at the thought of never seei
ng Brady again, of never laughing or joking with him, never holding him close. I lose myself in the grief, sinking down to the ground where I deserve to be. I screwed up. I lost the only man I can’t bear to live without.

  Chapter 16

  Everyone gets their fifteen minutes of fame, right?

  Well, mine are up. For a brief blip of time I’d felt special, amazing, alive…and just as quickly, it’s over.

  I sold my soul to the devil—the snarling beast awakened inside me—for a few visits with a “happy ending.” Now I’m left a shell of myself. An empty, hollow ache in my chest, rats in my hair, and stains on my three day old pajamas.

  After the fifth time I was told, “His schedule is full,” I quit trying to make an appointment with Dr. Reynolds.

  After the seventh failed rendezvous with my almost forgotten little blue friend, I threw it away.

  And Brady…

  I miss him like fat kids—which I’ll soon be if I don’t snap out of this funk—miss cake. Speaking of cake… I rouse my dumpy, frumpy self off the couch, pausing my Will and Grace DVD, to shuffle into the kitchen.

  Knowing I’ll regret it later, I plunge my fork into what’s left of my beloved turtle cheesecake. My eyes close, delighting in the cool and creamy sweetness.

  Brady hates caramel, so I always make sure I have one with cherry topping for him…

  Stop it!

  Slamming the licked clean fork down on the counter, sick of myself, I almost don’t pick out the knock on my door from the sound of my own admonishment. Another knock echoes and I twist back to stare at the door, painfully aware I’m in no way ready to greet visitors. One look around the room says my home isn’t either.

  I wonder if I can hire Kathy to at least pull my apartment back together when my pity party ends.

  Smoothing my tousled hair, I duck to catch my reflection in the small mirror by the door. Oh hell! I grab a baseball cap from the rack and as I’m about to shove it on to cover my mess, I stop. It’s Brady’s cap. He must have left it here…God knows when.

  My fingers run over the brim and before I can stop myself, I fling it across the room and grab a thick wool cap instead. Who cares if I look like an escaped mental patient? I’m feeling a little mental.