“I can’t believe we’re only in the next state over. It feels like we’re in another world.”
“You should see it during the winter. It’s like living in an actual snow globe.”
“I’d love to live somewhere like this. You know, with actual seasons.”
I nod, because that’s my favorite part about being here, too.
We make our way toward the rowdy voices in the backyard, finding Camden and Cordell in the hot tub with three chicks. They’re randoms. Tourists. I’d bet my life on it.
“Well, if it isn’t the fucking King of the Mountain,” I say to Camden. He and Cordell both snowboard, like everyone else who lives here, but Camden went pro, and he’s achieved somewhat celebrity status around here.
“What’s up, motherfucker? Who’s that fine ass looking female?”
“You’re not going to be very good at snowboarding with two broken legs,” I warn, and he holds his palms up, laughing. “This is Briar.”
“Oh, shit, you found someone to deal with your brooding ass?”
“Seems that way,” I grumble, but fuck, it feels good to be with her like this. I link my fingers with hers, just because we can, and she smiles up at me.
“This is Serena and Sasha,” Camden says, referring to the two blondes next to him. “They’re from Canada. And this is beautiful creature is Mila. I’m not really sure where the fuck she came from, to be honest.” The girls giggle, thinking he’s joking, but I can tell by his expression that he genuinely has no clue.
“You guys coming in?” Cordell asks. “There’s beer in the cooler.”
Usually, that would be a hard pass. But the Jacuzzi is big, and they’re only taking up one side. Plus, any excuse to see Briar in a bikini has my vote. I look at her to see what she thinks, and she shrugs, as if to say might as well.
I lead her up to my room, tossing our bags onto my bed.
“I really love it here,” she says, taking in the plain walls and minimal furniture. Just a bed, a dresser, and a TV.
“It’s not much, but living in this environment, you don’t need much else.”
“I can see that,” she says, plucking her bathing suit out of her bag. This time, it’s plain black.
“Well?” she asks, lifting a brow.
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to turn around?”
“Fuck no.”
Briar giggles, and surprises me by dropping her shorts and underwear. Next is her tank top and her bra. She’s standing in front of me, completely naked, and I gulp at the sight. Tiny waist, curvy hips, flat stomach. Her light blonde hair falls over her perfect little tits.
I take a step toward her, but she holds up a palm.
“Nuh-uh,” she says, already reading my intentions. “That can wait. Your friends are waiting.”
“Fuck my friends. You’re naked.”
“I told you to turn around,” she teases, pulling her bottoms up her toned legs. “Later.”
“Fine.”
We both finish getting dressed and join everyone in the hot tub. They all love Briar, and I’m not surprised. The girl could make friends with a brick wall. Even Dare seems to like her, which is saying a lot. He only tolerates most people.
Eventually, they move the party to the fire pit a few feet away. Briar’s on my lap, and I squeeze her thigh, letting her know I want to hang back. Once we’re alone, she turns to straddle my lap.
“Thanks for bringing me here.”
I nip at her lip and grip her ass, pulling her into me. I’m hard as a fucking rock, and I know she feels it when she flexes her hips toward me on a gasp.
“Can you be quiet?” I ask, tossing a look over my shoulder to make sure no one else is watching.
“Asher…”
“Yes or no?” I ask, pulling my cock out of my swim shorts, and it bobs between us.
Briar reaches down to pull her bikini bottoms to the side before sinking down onto me.
“I can try.”
“That’s my girl.”
Chapter 12
Briar
It’s been a few weeks since Asher brought me to River’s Edge. Something shifted that day, or maybe the night of the gala, but things have been different. Good different. After we finished in the hot tub, he brought me up to his room and we showered together before calling it a night. We had to leave the next morning, before people started wondering where we were, and I was surprisingly sad to go. And if I wasn’t mistaken, I could’ve sworn that Asher looked a little disappointed to leave Dare’s, too.
Dare. That man. He’s equal parts intimidating and beautiful. Jet-black hair peeking out from under his beanie and striking blue eyes. Both of his arms were covered with vibrant, intricate art, and his eyebrows were cinched together in a perpetual scowl. He was the broodier version of Asher, and that’s saying a lot.
Asher was quiet on the way home, but so was I. I think we were both contemplating what our futures held. The deeper we fell, the harder it was to hide. So, tonight, when I got a text from Ash earlier, saying he wanted to talk, it was just vague enough to worry me. I can’t help but think he already has one foot out the door. That our secret is already taking its toll.
My dirty black Vans struggle to keep up with Natalia’s nude pumps as she quite literally drags me toward the music blaring from the two-story house that’s only a few minutes’ walk from the university. Of course, Adrian’s spoiled ass wouldn’t even entertain the idea of staying at the dorms. Unless they were co-ed. He’s going on his fourth year of college, and I’m convinced he’s only here for the parties and fresh meat. It took a fair amount of time convincing me to come, so there’s a good chance that we’re the only sober ones. And judging by the two chicks that are trying to lift their friend, who is doing a fantastic impression of a limp noodle off the lawn, I’d say that’s a safe assumption.
I wasn’t going to come tonight. Wasn’t in the mood after receiving that text, but Nat insisted she needed a wingman. Apparently, she and Adrian have some kind of bet going on, so, she went full-on predatory female tonight. With her incredibly tight, incredibly short, black bandage dress from her mom’s boutique, you’d think she was hitting up the Las Vegas strip instead of a college party. Her dark red, messy hair is tussled in that perfectly imperfect kind of way. Adrian doesn’t stand a chance. Me, on the other hand? I’m wearing black jean shorts, a black tank, and a flannel. Her pursed lips told me that she wasn’t happy with what I chose to wear, but she knew better than to argue once I agreed to come if she wanted a wingman.
We step over the drunk girls, who are now all three sprawled out on the ground, and walk in the front door. “Do Re Mi” by Blackbear assaults my ears as we shuffle through the sweaty, drunk bodies and the cloud of smoke from some dude’s bong rip. Natalia is on a mission, pulling me by my elbow straight toward the kitchen, ignoring the looks and whistles. Once we’re in the kitchen, I’m immediately aware of Asher’s presence. I haven’t even spotted him yet, but I know he’s close. And like a magnet, my eyes find him through the glass patio door, sitting on the beer pong table, smoking a cigarette with my brother. He nods as someone talks, but I know he’s not paying attention, not really. I’m focused on those thick, calloused fingers and the way the cigarette sits between them. The way he draws it up to those full lips and his eyebrows tug together before taking a drag. I hate smokers—I hate that Ash is a smoker—but there is something undeniably sexy about watching the act. I’m just glad he only does it when he’s drinking these days.
“Here.” My attention snaps back to Nat when she shoves a blue plastic cup of God knows what into my line of vision.
“What is it?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Whatever that is,” she says, gesturing toward some mysterious red juice in a bowl. She takes a tentative sip. “Vodka. I think.”
I take the cup, but I don’t drink it. I’m not in the mood tonight.
“So, where is he?” I look around for Adrian, but I don’t see him.
&nb
sp; “Oh, he’s here,” Nat says, looking like she’s preparing for battle with the way she scans the room for her victim, eyes narrowed to slits. “Somewhere.”
Just then, Adrian walks around the corner, and his jaw drops when his eyes land on Nat. She ditches her drink and saunters toward him with a victorious smile. He checks her out from head to toe, biting his bottom lip as she gets closer. Once she’s within reach, he holds out his hand, but she bypasses him instead, wrapping her arms around some random guy’s neck. The guy is clearly caught off guard, but he doesn’t dare complain. She leads him into the living room where the music is, and his hands land on her hips, squeezing. She’s putting on a show, rolling her body seductively, and the poor guy doesn’t even know it’s not for him. Adrian’s eyes burn a hole into the back of his head, and I can’t help but laugh. When I grow up, I want to be just like Natalia. Balls of steel.
I stand near the counter, not really wanting to venture outside, but also not having any desire to mingle with randoms. I recognize a lot of these people—some of them friends with my brother, and others that graduated when I was a freshman—but I don’t know any of them well enough to call them friends.
“Hey, little Vale, right?” a guy who’s vaguely familiar says, invading my personal space. He has light brown hair and kind eyes. Very red, high on marijuana eyes, but kind nonetheless.
“Heyyyy,” I say, letting the word linger between us, unsure of his name.
“Tanner,” he supplies.
“Right.” I snap my fingers. “You graduated with my brother. How are you?”
“I’m good, I’m good. Just graduated from MIT and came back for a visit.”
A stoner engineer. Impressive. Before I can respond, the sliding glass door opens, and Asher is suddenly at my side.
“Can we talk?”
“What, now?” Surely he wouldn’t break it off in a public place. Right?
His nostrils flare, cutting a glare at what’s-his-face, probably not liking the fact that I’m making him talk in front of him.
“Yeah, now.”
I lift a brow.
“Please,” he grudgingly tacks on.
I give an apologetic wave to stoner engineer guy and reluctantly follow Asher.
“I really don’t think this is the place,” I say, pausing before the stairs. “My brother is here. All his friends are here. And this,” I say, gesturing between us, “does not look good.”
“I don’t give a fuck what it looks like, and I don’t give a fuck who knows anymore.”
There it is. That little spark of hope that Asher is so good at giving me, just enough to keep me on his string. I hate that it’s there. I hate that some part of me believes it’s different this time. And I hate that it has me accepting his proffered hand and following him upstairs.
He tries a door, but it’s locked. The next one is the bathroom. But the third time is a charm. Or so we think. The room is dark except for a light from the closet off to the right, but I can just barely make out two figures on the bed. I laugh when I hear moaning and go to close the door, until I hear something that stops us both in our tracks.
“Fuck me, Jackson. Fuck me like you want to fuck her.”
Whitley? I’d know that voice anywhere. Like nails on a chalkboard. And Jackson? I don’t even think they know each other.
“You get off on this, don’t you?” The voice that I know to be Jackson’s asks as his bare butt moves between her spread legs, and I can’t look away. Why are we still watching this? “You like knowing you can have what she does? That it?”
“Yes,” Whitley whines.
“Briar,” he growls. “Fuck yeah, Briar.” My eyes widen, and I feel like I’m going to vomit all over my shoes.
“Don’t fucking call me that,” Whitley grits out.
“Why not? It’s what you want, right?”
“No!” Whitley smacks him in the face, and to my shock, he slaps her right back. Whitley moans, clearly enjoying their depravity as Jackson pins her hands to the bed. I sneak a glance at Ash to gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t look at all surprised. Disgusted, maybe, but not surprised. It makes me wonder what kind of sex they had together.
I’ve seen enough of their fucked-up little games. Tugging on Asher’s hand, I start to lead him away from the doorway. He’s stiff. Unmoving. And the hard angles of his jaw are sharp enough to cut glass right now.
“You wanna do something Briar never did for me?” Jackson asks, and Whitley moans her response. Asher’s head cocks to the side—like a predator zeroing in on his prey—hands squeezed into fists, and I know I need to get him out of here in about one second, or all hell is going to break loose.
“Suck me off.”
I hear some rustling around, and I try again to pull Ash away, to no avail. He’s rooted to this spot.
“She won’t suck my dick, but she’ll get finger fucked in public like a whore. Do you want to be my whore, Whitley?”
Whitley gives a breathy yes.
Ash lunges forward, and I bring both hands up to clasp his face between them. To force his focus on me. I shake my head, silently begging him to walk away. This isn’t worth it. They aren’t worth it. Who cares what two shitbags say or do together?
“I’ve seen the bite marks he leaves on her. Maybe that’s what she’s into. Maybe she just needs a little more convincing next time,” Jackson says darkly.
Everything happens in slow motion. I see the minute his eyes turn black. I see the second there’s no going back.
Ash rips his face from my hands.
Kicks the door open.
Whitley screams.
Jackson springs away from her.
There aren’t any words exchanged. Asher charges at him in the dark, and I hear the sickening sound of fist meeting flesh and bone. I slap at the wall in search of the light switch. I finally find it, bathing the room in brightness, and see Asher straddling a very bloody Jackson.
I bolt toward them, trying to pull Ash off Jackson without leaving him vulnerable to getting hit.
“Stop!”
“Briar, get the fuck out of here!” Ash yells, not taking his eyes off Jackson, one hand gripping his polo shirt by the collar. Jackson’s jeans are around his ankles now, exposing his boxers. He tries pulling them up, but he can’t reach with Asher crushing his abdomen with his weight. Jackson throws a fist, grazing Ash’s cheekbone, but he doesn’t even flinch.
Whitley takes her time adjusting her skirt, then stands back by the window, arms crossed. Asher lifts Jackson by fisting his collar with both hands and throws him into the desk, sending a computer and a lamp flying.
“I told you what would happen the next time you so much as looked at her,” Ash says menacingly before cracking his forehead against Jackson’s. He pulls back, and Jackson’s head lulls to the side against the wall for a beat, dazed, before he regains control. “You’re lucky you’re even alive, motherfucker.”
Ash cocks back and lands punch after punch. Whitley still stands there, looking mildly entertained, if anything. This isn’t going to end well. If I don’t break this up soon, Asher is going to end up in jail, and Jackson in hell. Because he’s going to kill him.
Coming to a decision I know I’ll regret even before I act on it, I run out into the hallway, stopping at the top of the stairs. I have no other choice.
“Dashiell!” I scream, cupping my mouth with my hands. “Adrian! Someone get my brother!” The music is still loud, but my screams are louder. I run back to the room, hoping someone heard me. I can’t get through to Ash right now, and I don’t have the physical strength to stop him.
They’re rolling around on the floor, and it’s all Jackson can do to block his face from the blows.
In a last-ditch effort to get through to him, I wrap my arms around Asher’s waist as he pummels Jackson. He pauses, hesitating, fist poised for another hit. I press my lips to his spine, resting my forehead in between his shoulder blades.
“Please, baby. Stop,” I beg him.
Asher whips his head around, panting and heaving with exertion. His black hair has fallen into his eyes, and he flips it out of the way with a jerk of his chin. Dash shakes his head in disbelief, and Adrian stands with his arms folded across his chest, eyebrows pinched together, with his usually playful demeanor nowhere to be found.
“Dash—” I start, backing away, but before his name leaves my lips, Jackson takes advantage of the distraction and clocks Asher. Not expecting the hit, his head flies back, and he stumbles, almost taking me out. I lunge for Jackson, suddenly no longer concerned with his safety. I slap and claw at his face for all of two seconds before he shoves me away and all three guys are on him, pinning him back against the wall.
“What the fuck!” my brother yells. He has Jackson’s right shoulder, Adrian his left, and Asher? Asher has his throat. “Somebody better start fucking talking. Now.”
A feminine giggle reminds me of Whitley’s presence, and we all turn to see what could possibly be funny. She stands there, black thigh-high socks askew, laughing and shaking her head. Next to her is a glass mirror with little white lines cut into rows, a rolled up hundred-dollar bill, and a credit card on top of the nightstand.
“You’re so fucked up, Whit,” Adrian says. “This is low, even for you.”
Her face falls, her eyes narrow, and I already know what’s coming. She’s about to drop a bomb that’s going to leave my world in ashes without giving one, single fuck.
“I’m fucked up?” she screeches, pointing a finger in our direction. “You four want to act like you’re all so close. So loyal. Untouchable to outsiders. But you’re the fucked-up ones. You’re keeping more secrets from each other than you know what to do with.”
I lock eyes with Asher, both of us mentally bracing ourselves for what we know is coming. I want to tell my brother about us. I want to tell the world about us. But not like this. It shouldn’t come from Whitley.
Adrian huffs out a laugh, letting go of Jackson, and starts toward the door. “I’m out.”
Bad Habit Page 16
