by Stella Rhys
EX GAMES
by
Stella Rhys
EX GAMES
Copyright © 2016 by Stella Rhys
All Rights Reserved
Cover Design By Vivian Monir Design
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table Of Contents
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
From The Author
Bonus Material: IN TOO DEEP by Stella Rhys
What’s ice-cold but hotter than hell? Rebounding with your ex’s brother, of course.
A perfect storm led me to this place. Ghosted by my fiancé, I was suddenly broke, heartbroken and facing eviction. Enter Mason Leo, the six feet and two inches of pure muscle and arrogance I’ve hated with a passion since the day we met. The man is cocky, womanizing and ruinously gorgeous.
Worse than that, he’s my ex’s brother. And for the next two weeks, he gets to do with me as he pleases.
I’ll explain.
With both our exes – wait for it – set to marry each other in St. Lucia, I’ve agreed to let Mason pay my debts so long as I play his date. My only job is to keep my clothes on while I get my closure. Because as much as I hate Mason Leo, the man is a walking sex god. And in the name of revenge, he gets to take me out, show me off – dress, touch and kiss me with those wicked lips. It’s all for show, but every night with him brings more drinks, more drama and another temptation, so no matter what I do, I can’t stop reminding myself this:
There’s absolutely no good to come from f*cking my ex’s brother.
No matter how good it’ll feel.
Chapter One
Mondays had a bad rap but since the breakup, Wednesdays had become my mortal enemy.
I’d gone through nine of them since the one on which Aaron packed his bags overnight and left me with just a note on the kitchen table. Which was almost humorous, really, because for the last year of our three-year relationship, we had only two struggles: his inability to clean up after himself, and his refusal to write a card instead of agonize over gifts. Lucky for us, he finally got past both those struggles in one shot. Not so lucky for us, the achievement came in conjunction with him dumping me out of the blue, without so much as a word of explanation. Were it not for the goodbye he scribbled on the back of a Duane Reade receipt, I’d have alerted the press and filed a missing persons report.
Not that I didn’t end up doing other dramatic things. Though to be fair, they sounded more dramatic than they were. On paper, calling Aaron’s friends, colleagues, boss and a couple gym buddies might sound borderline-to-fully batshit insane, but in my own defense, I thought he had either lost his mind or been kidnapped by the Sicilian mafia.
Because nothing had led up to him leaving me.
Nothing. In fact, we’d had that steamy, breathy, fingers-tangled-in-his-hair kind of sex the night before. The last fight we’d gotten into was a petty one about the sheer amount of butt shots he liked on Instagram, and we settled that one fast with a new rule: No more double-tapping booties for Aaron as long as Taylor agreed to stop moaning every time she saw a picture of Charlie Hunnam. It was easy. We’d become so good at settling our silly stuff, and as far as I knew, silly stuff was all we had.
But then he left me. And all he gave me was that shitty note.
Tay. I hope you’ll forgive me but I had to go. Please keep the ring because you have been nothing but amazing to me, and you don’t deserve this at all. I don’t have a choice, but I promise I love you. And I promise you’ll move on. – A
I stood in the middle of the kitchen for a solid five minutes as the room spun around me. Then I snapped out of my daze and called him, all the while tearing through our Columbus Circle apartment for any clues that this was just a big, cruel joke.
He didn’t pick up, but it took two Wednesdays for me consider I might actually be single.
It took another till I realized I was.
Several more passed before I truly accepted that this was it. Aaron and I were over. Done.
The man who had seen me through my absolute worst trials and tribulations – the man I had spent the past six months planning a wedding with was gone. And not only that, he wanted to be. As it turned out, he had premeditated leaving me for at least a month considering he’d put in two weeks at his job, had a fucking goodbye party with his colleagues and even finagled his way off our lease, leaving me to pay solo for the four-grand-a-month studio he claimed we “needed” for its prestigious address.
That one left me dumbfounded all over again.
Because it was one thing to abandon me, but it really took some nerve to also leave me with the bills he knew I couldn’t afford alone. After all, he was the one who needed to impress his rich friends. He was the one who decided that we couldn’t reside anywhere but the thirtieth floor of a high rise, with a weekly maid service and the most absurdly expensive gym membership known to man. Since the rent came out of Aaron’s checking, I footed our other expenses and paid the difference owed every month.
It worked fine for three years.
But now, every last dollar sign was mine to tackle, including that of the cancellation fees from every vendor and venue we booked for the big fat wedding that wasn’t going to happen. It was like rubbing financial salt into the wounds of my life turned upside down.
Four Wednesdays ago, I picked up a night job as a waitress.
Two Wednesdays ago, I maxed out my second credit card.
Last Wednesday, I got a late notice on my rent, and I was sure it couldn’t possibly get shittier than that. But today, I woke up to something a solid thousand times worse than the last three combined because this Wednesday, the bad news was waiting impatiently outside my apartment and rapping nonstop on the door despite the fact that it was 7:15AM, and even if it weren’t, he had to know I’d want nothing to do with him. I generally preferred a good fifty streets separating me and the man whose guts I’d spent the past three years hating with every last fiber of my being.
“Taylor, come the fuck on. Open the goddamned door.”
Ever the charmer, that one.
Today, I got Aaron’s brother, Mason.
Chapter Two
“Taylor, I know you’re in there. I can hear the TV.”
Panicked, I popped up on the couch that had been my bed since the breakup. Throwing the sheets off my body, I shoved my hands between the pillows, my foggy morning brain convinced that Mason would go away if I just turned off the volume.
“Don’t bother looking for the remote. I can clearly hear you watching The Real Housewives of Your Shitty Taste in TV.”
Standing now, I cut my eyes to the door, trying to decide if I wanted to blow my cover with a retort.
“Trust me, I’d have no interest in being here if it weren’t an emergency. And I’m trying to give you the chance to do this on your own terms. Either open the door or I will, and before yo
u say I don’t have a key, I do.” He paused. “So for both our sakes, put on some pants.”
Asshole. I tried to tell myself he was bluffing but my lips betrayed me. “Mason, don’t you dare come in.”
“There she is,” his smug voice came back straightaway. “Morning, sunshine. Hope you slept well. Now open the door.”
“I don’t want to or have to. Whether I like it or not, this is my apartment now and mine alone.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s not your apartment. You don’t own this building, it’s just a rental that you haven’t paid for in a month, according to this gorgeous pink note I’m staring at.”
Shit. My cheeks went aflame as I realized my landlord had left another notice. I tried to think of a response, but suddenly, I was frozen at the sound of metal jimmying in the lock of my door. No way. In my mind, I ran to grab the blanket on the couch and cover myself up. In reality, I stood there, useless and unmoving because despite knowing Mason Leo for three whole years, I was still shocked that he was in fact shitty enough to barge into my home without asking.
“Mase…” I watched the doorknob turn. “Wait – ”
“Incoming.”
With that casual announcement, the door swung open and my jaw hit the floor as Mason Leo strolled right into my home, wearing a damp white T-shirt and dark grey sweats. Holy shit. I froze, a knot jumping into my throat because one, I’d never seen Mason in anything but an expensive suit and two, I’d never seen this much of him before. The cotton of his shirt was saturated in sweat and it clung to his every muscle. He’d been on a morning run and I could very much see that – as well as some rather clear outlines of six-pack.
And cock.
Wow.
Just like that, I forgot my instinct to cover myself up and suddenly, in a see-through shirt and ugly panties gifted by Sofia as a joke, I was standing before Mason Leo’s famously lusted-for body, watching his blue eyes move leisurely up my bare legs and over every inch of my mortification. Silence stretched between us till finally, he raised his eyebrows and gave a low laugh.
“Well. The top half almost makes up for the bottom.”
I blushed something furious, clasping my hands over my breasts before acknowledging the panties. “They were a gag gift.”
“Gag or not, today’s Wednesday.” He squinted at the pink cursive on my crotch that read ‘Sunday.’ I snapped my fingers in front of my eyes.
“Up here. And I don’t actually wear these according to the day,” I sniped as he ignored me to amble into my kitchen and grab a mug out of the cupboard. “Please don’t make yourself at home.”
“I could never feel at home in a five hundred square foot studio.”
Five-fifty, I thought bitterly as I tore my gaze off Mason’s Superman shoulders stretching the life out of his shirt. Crossing my arms, I forced my stare elsewhere, instead watching his long fingers work the buttons on the espresso machine I never knew how to use. “Mason.”
“God, I love how much irritation you fit into just the syllables of my name.”
“Can you not act like you didn’t just waltz into my apartment without asking?”
“How should I act then? Like I spent the night?” He turned around, his blue eyes glinting behind the fresh coffee he brought to his lips. “You’d need more of a glow to make that look convincing. But the hair’s messy enough.”
“Yeah, let’s also not talk about made-up scenarios in which you and I have made any sort of physical contact,” I said, heading for my dresser.
“Sorry. I must have misread the way you stared at my dick before.”
“It was kind of just there, so don’t flatter yourself,” I retorted, cursing my bedroom-less apartment for the millionth time as I rifled through my drawer in clear view of Mason. “So, are you planning to tell me at all why you’re here? The only reason I haven’t called the cops is because I have a feeling that whatever you have to say has to do with your brother.”
“Don’t pin his existence all on me. He’s your ex, too.”
“I’m aware,” I scowled, yanking on a pair of yoga pants and crossing my arms over my chest. Standing across the studio from Mason, I cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. “So, what is it? Did you finally track him down?”
“Something like that. I didn’t get in direct contact with him yet, but I received something in the mail that pointed me in his direction.”
“What does that mean?”
From his back pocket, Mason took out a folded card. He held it out and when it was clear that he wouldn’t be walking it to me, I sighed and dragged my feet over to him. I didn’t want it to show but I was deathly curious about whatever the hell it was he had in his hand. But the second I got close enough to touch what he was holding, my heart beat out of my chest.
“What is this?” I whispered despite having a hunch once I plucked the card into my own fingers and felt its weight in my hand. It can’t be. It was a six by eight-inch rectangle and not just any kind, but one I knew well having looked recently through a million samples from a dozen different calligraphers. But I told myself it couldn’t be, and I tried to ignore the heat of Mason’s stare as I turned the embossed vellum around, letting my horror and confusion settle on the sweeping cursive printing three names I knew well.
~
Mr. and Mrs. Glenn Tully
Request the Honor of Your Presence
At the Marriage Of Their Daughter
Eva Cecilia Tully
To
Aaron Easton Leo
Saturday, the Seventeenth of December
At The Sundara Resort in St. Lucia
~
My stomach turned.
No.
No, no.
It was a misprint. It had to be. Eva Tully was the daughter of tech mogul Glenn Tully and his third wife, Ana Livia. She was also the swimsuit model who’d barked at me for spilling Cristal on her Manolos at her twenty-sixth birthday last year. Though I hadn’t. She had. She was just too drunk to realize and Aaron urged to me take the blame, hissing, “Christ, Taylor, it’s her birthday,” though he might as well have said, “Don’t fight her, she’s hot.”
And she was. Eva was also dating Mason at the time. In fact, they were running on a nearly six-month relationship at that point, which was apparently his longest since junior high. I knew that because Aaron tracked Mason’s every move like some kind of secret paparazzo, and he anticipated Mason’s potential nuptials in the most oddly obsessive manner. “I’ll fucking kill myself if those two ever get married,” he always used to mutter. Whenever I asked why, he’d say, “I’ll never beat him.” It was vague, but clear enough to make me feel like crap.
Of course, it made me feel even worse now that I was holding the invitation to their fucking wedding.
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. Nauseous, I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to either process the information or wake up from the dream. Aaron and Eva. Eva and Aaron. I repeated their names over and over, and while it didn’t make them feel any more real, tears started burning in my eyes. Nothing was sinking in and worse than that, Mason Leo was the only person I had to talk to. “I don’t understand. What is this?”
“It’s a fucking golf catalogue. What does it look like?”
“For God’s sake, just tell me in words, Mason. I’m sure you can guess that my mind can’t exactly wrap around this concept right now!”
“I can talk to you when you stop crying.”
“Don’t. Don’t act like I’m being crazy or too emotional when you just handed me an invitation to a wedding between my fiancé and a woman who is not me,” I seethed, turning away from him as the tears finally spilled. I trapped my sobs in my throat, refusing to let them out because I knew Mason would yell at me. But when a tiny one escaped, I heard more of a sigh.
“Taylor, I know this is a mindfuck. If it’s any consolation, it was probably Eva’s idea.”
“Why would she be with Aaron after being with you?” I demanded, blushing the s
econd the question left my lips. But I couldn’t pinpoint why – at least not till I realized I was asking how a girl would settle for Aaron after having had Mason. Jesus, what kind of question was that, Taylor? I’d never entertained that way of thinking before. Ever. I had always loved having Aaron over Mason, no matter how hard my friends lusted over Mase and pressed me to confess that I fantasized about him. I didn’t. Not consciously, at least. Aaron was my choice Leo brother because he was handsome and smart and he made me feel safe because he wasn’t a heartless playboy.
He was loyal.
At least I thought he was.
Cheeks burning, I slowly returned wet eyes to Mason, waiting for him to pounce on my slip of tongue and point out that I’d given him a hugely inadvertent compliment. There was a glint of amusement in his eye that I wanted to strangle him for but to my surprise, he took mercy and gave me answers instead of grief.
“From what I heard, Eva thought she’d be the one to get me to propose. Her friend told me she already started picking out bridesmaids dresses, so yeah. She took it hard when I ended things.” He tilted his head. “You might’ve heard.”
“Yeah,” I said flatly. I didn’t read the tabloids that covered Mason’s sexcapades – mostly because I didn’t want to encourage Aaron’s bad habit of devouring them – but the news about Eva and Mason’s breakup had been absolutely everywhere. “TECH PRINCESS VANDALIZES LEO GROUP OFFICE!” The headline was emblazoned across every blog, paper and magazine, and Aaron and I had literally made a bag of popcorn to watch the viral footage when it came out. It was admittedly hilarious. The surveillance cameras at Mason’s Park Avenue office shot practically in HD, and they caught Eva with four friends breaking in just past 4AM. They all looked gorgeous in their mini skirts and stilettos as they trashed the entire floor, drawing dicks on the walls with lipstick and taking breaks only to wink up at the camera.
