SweetHarts (5 Book Box Set)

by Kira Graham

  “Babe, you had one shot of tequila and about eight shots of plain old tea, and then you fell off your chair and passed out, while Nefertiti laughed so hard that she snorted a whiskey sour out of her nose,” he tells me, his frown growing when I weave and slam into his chest with a groan.

  “This is a hangover,” I point out, the smell of the food in the other room so intense that I gag again and feel my pits let out a belch of sweat.

  “Can’t be. Come on, do you really think that I’d let you drink that much when you were upset?”

  “Well, yeah! We’re supposed to be friends, and you said that some liquid comfort was just what I needed.”

  “Sinai, I was trying to distract you from going back into the house and attacking Paris.”

  “What? Pfft. I was not,” I lie, crossing my fingers behind my back as the words leave my mouth.

  I totally was.

  What? Like I was really going to just let him screw me over and then parade that floozy around on his arm as if we hadn’t just had mind-blowing sex in the bathroom?

  “You reached into your purse for your pepper spray and your knife,” Grange chuckles, his hand rubbing circles on my back in a soothing, tender way that soon has me slumping and melting into his chest.

  Grange is a good guy, and if I were smarter than I am, I would have done something more last night than pass out after offering him the couch. Hell, I should have foregone the bar, brought him home, and attacked him like I’d threatened to in the car on the way to Tee.

  “I wouldn’t have done anything. Tee and I made a pact that I won’t keep doing things that make a fool out of me,” I mumble, pushing away from his chest only when I feel my head clear.

  My legs are slightly unsteady as Grange helps me back into the bedroom, and I moan in relief when he moves the food away and helps me back to bed, his brow furrowed thoughtfully as I shiver and throw an arm over my eyes.

  “You also promised that you would never, and I quote, ‘let that cock anywhere near your lady business,’” he points out, snorting when I hiss and throw a glare at my vagina.

  “Blame her. She’s got no brains. Literally,” I grumble, giggling when he snorts and pulls my arm away so that he can gaze into my eyes.

  “You’re not hungover.”

  “Ugh! Please don’t tell me that I’m getting the flu. I had that shit last week,” I mutter sleepily, exhaustion hitting me so hard that my eyes fall closed before I can stop them.

  Grange clears his throat, and if not for my sudden lack of energy, I would open my eyes and glare at him. This is all his fault. Somehow. I think. Okay, fine! My being sick isn’t his fault, but he’s yammering on about Paris when I feel like I’m dying, and he finds it amusing that Tee tricked me last night—

  “Wait. What do you mean, I had two drinks? I was fall-down drunk,” I say slowly, my memory of the night clear enough that I can recall face-planting in Grange’s chest before I passed out.

  And I did pass out. I know I did, because I remember waking up just as Grange opened my apartment door, and then grunting at him to hit the couch or bounce, before I fell into my own bed. Heck, I’m still wearing the dress I had on last night.

  “You were fall-down exhausted,” he argues, his eyes narrowing to slits before they fall to my stomach.

  Snorting, I close my eyes and try to forget the full breakfast that he’s brought me, the thought of food turning my stomach violently enough that I have to swallow and pretend that it isn’t there at all.

  “Impossible. I fell asleep on the bus yesterday, and woke up two hours later with Nate sitting beside me, glaring at everyone,” I point out, giggling at the memory, because boy, did I have to eat a lot of shit for that.

  Sometimes, I just like being alone, and nothing is more alone than hiding on a bus while my security goes ballistic. Of course, they found me eventually—they always do—but by then, I was calm enough that I had some things sorted out in my head.

  Like the fact that I’m going to open my own place soon. Just something small. Maybe a bistro or a food truck, something small enough that I can start cooking again while avoiding the pressures of staffing, payroll, and supply chains. Maybe I could even cater, I think now, the idea distracting me until Grange slaps my thigh and forces me to look up at him.

  “You need to go to the doctor. You need to remember that you were severely injured recently, and that you need to take precautions,” he says seriously, his eyes going to my stomach again with a frown when I roll over and purse my lips.

  “You can stop thinking what you’re thinking. I’m not pregnant.”

  “How would you know? You’re too much of a mess to notice things like missed periods and sore boobs.”

  “Ugh! Stop being gross.”

  “Sinai.”

  “I’m not pregnant!” I yell, sitting up fast and taking a deep breath when my head spins. “Trust me, Grange. I am not pregnant.”

  “Think about it. You’re tired. You can’t hold your liquor, and—”

  “And my ovaries are broken,” I cut in, swallowing a lump of regret when he rears back in shock. “Don’t get all weepy-eyed on me, Grange. It’s fine. I can’t have babies because I have like a billion cysts on my ovaries. Whatever,” I mutter, throwing the blanket back to slip out of bed, my need to move more urgent than the fatigue I feel pulling at me when I rise.

  I have been tired lately, but I’ve put my lack of spunk down to depression, apathy, and a little thing I like to call wallowing in self-pity. Maybe Grange is right. I should go see the doctor, just to ensure that I’m okay. As a selfish, self-involved woman of the modern age, I take my health seriously, and even more so since the accident.

  “Sinai—”

  “Don’t. Okay? Don’t say anything about it. I’ve heard it all, ever since Tee spilled her guts to the other girls. ‘Sorry. Oh my God, I’m so sorry.’ I’ve already heard every single version of their sympathy, and I’m done with hearing it,” I say softly, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “I’m fine. I’ve had almost a year to get over it, and you know what? I totally have. I don’t even want kids,” I tell him, ignoring the pang I feel.

  “But—”

  “I mean, they give you stretch marks, and they poop and puke all over the place. That’s not my thing. I don’t even like this new dog I got,” I try to reason, my throat going tight when Grange looks at me with tenderness and, instead of saying anything, comes over to pull me against his chest, his arms hugging me tightly as I sag and try to remember that list of Tee’s.

  She and I sat down one day and made a list of all the gross stuff that motherhood entails, and just in case that didn’t put me off the condition, she also put on a DVD of childbirth that made whatever ovaries I have left curl up and die.

  Plus, I saw Alex push out Seth and Axel, for God’s sake! That was gruesome beyond the limit of tolerance.

  “You need to go to the doctor. Just to get checked out, and no, I won’t give you the pregnancy speech. But something is definitely wrong, and we need to find out what it is.”

  “Fine. But you’re buying me chocolate,” I mumble, my stomach grumbling at the idea of rich, oozy chocolate and sweet filling.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sinai

  “Well, the urine test showed a negative, but with your condition, I’d feel more confident about a result if we wait on the blood work,” Dr. Payne says softly, her eyes filled with sadness when she meets mine.

  I’m fighting the need to cry, stupidly, because I don’t know what the hell I was thinking getting my hopes up here. I have PCOS, for God’s sake. I can’t have babies, and yet here I sit, my hopes crushed because I somehow got it in my head that I could maybe, possibly, be pregnant.

  “Sinai, I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, getting up from behind her desk to sit beside me, her hand resting over mine as I grip them together in my lap.

  “Don’t be,” I sniff, looking away to blink back tears and dry my stupid cheeks. “It was dumb. I already know it isn’t
possible,” I croak, clearing my throat and taking a deep breath.

  “Honey, I just…am so, so sorry. I know this must have been hard for you. We’ve briefly discussed various options, and I think that if motherhood has become this important to you, then we should look into them, just to settle your mind.”

  “I don’t—I don’t want those options. I want to be able to mess around with my boyfriend and get pregnant and…and not have to think about it all the time!” I sniffle, one tear streaking down my cheek before I swipe at it angrily and sniff loudly, all kinds of angry with myself. “This isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. There are millions of women all around the world who get knocked up every day. Most of them don’t even want to get pregnant. Hell, I was one of them just a few months ago.”

  “Sweetheart, I know this isn’t easy to hear, but that’s not something you should bank on. I read your file from Dr. Freeman,” she says, reaching out to grab the box of tissues from her desk.

  “What the hell does that old geezer know, anyway?”

  “Well, he knows enough that I feel confident that his diagnosis is a good one. The chances of your getting pregnant without some sort of intervention are low, and from the exam I just did, I’m not happy with the prospect of you carrying to full term, even if you did conceive. Your health is as important to me as that of any baby you’d carry, Sinai, and as your doctor, I’m cautioning you against unprotected sex.”

  I snort, my mind going back to the other night, when I had the dirtiest, hottest sex of my life with Paris. It was everything that I’ve ever thought an angry hookup could be, and, if I’m honest with myself, I want to do it again. But now this woman is telling me that I need to think about protection in order to avoid getting pregnant, when I’d be over the moon if I were. With Paris’s baby.

  “Well, you can stop, because I’m not likely to be having any, at least not any time soon,” I snort, cleaning myself up as best I can before rising to shake her hand. “Don’t worry—I’m good,” I assure her, when she frowns and looks me over, no doubt not liking the pale face and tight lips I’m rocking.

  “Please call me if you experience any more spells. Like I said, the blood work should answer any questions we still have, but I’m thinking that you’re overstressed and need some time away regardless. Think about going away for a bit, just to unwind and relax.”

  “I will,” I promise, my mind hitting upon the Greek island that I’d been planning to visit before the accident. “Thanks, doc. And next time you see Rosetta and have to look inside her dirty cooch, tell her it’s me who keeps sending her the bottle brushes and Bactine.”

  That makes the doctor laugh, and we’re still smiling when I walk out of her office and into the waiting room, where Grange is waiting. The look he gives the doctor is hot enough to make her flush down to the roots of her hair, and I find myself snorting and rolling my eyes when she scuttles away and leaves me to wrangle the huffing bull that’s taken over Grange’s body.

  “Down, boy.”

  “I want that one,” he murmurs, practically dragging his feet as I pull him out of the office and towards the elevator, my amusement picking up when the doors nearly close on him because he’s craning his neck out between them.

  “She’s not a ‘one,’ you big pig. Now would you please get in here and take me home? You can come back and eye-fuck her on your own time,” I huff, giggling when he falls back into the elevator and clutches at his heart dramatically.

  “I think I’m in love.”

  “You sure that that’s not just your cock?” I snort, laughing when he flushes and gives me a dark grin while adjusting his dick.

  “He loves her, too. Tell me that that fine fox isn’t married, and I’ll be the happiest man alive.”

  “That fine fox isn’t married.”

  “Praise God, and hallelujah. I need her number!” he groans, giving me a look so filled with longing that I giggle harder and snort as I dig in my bag for Doc Payne’s card.

  “God, you’re such a man. Just yesterday, you were telling me how hot I was,” I grunt, giggling so hard that I step off the elevator without looking and run into a wall with an oomph.

  “Yeah, well, that was before—” Grange’s words die just as I realize that I haven’t run into a wall, but rather a solid wall of muscle that envelops me in a crushing hug.

  I start to panic, and then panic harder when his smell hits me, telling me exactly who is holding me even before I lift my head and stare right into the stormy gray eyes of one Paris Hart. Oh, for hell’s sake, why is he suddenly turning up everywhere?

  “Before you realized that she’s mine,” Paris says silkily, the words shocking me for all of three seconds before I punch him in the balls and pull away, my temper flaring fiercely.

  “Yours? Oh, my God—are you drunk?” I ask, shaking off Grange’s restraining hand while Paris wheezes and attempts to straighten up, the fire in his eyes making me so hot for him that I could kill him right now.

  “Jesus, Sin!” he hisses, rising slowly and painfully while I cross my arms and tap my foot against the floor, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of the people coming in and out of the office building.

  “You’d better pray to Jesus, you asshole. Yours, my ass!”

  “Your ass is mine!” he yells, grinding his teeth when I huff and storm past him, flipping off an old lady who is now shaking her head at me as if I give two shits about her opinion.

  “Smile without half your face folding, and then you can have an opinion,” I yell at her, silently apologizing because, come on, I like old people.

  Well, some of them. I don’t like the kind that try to steal your parking spot and then act as if you’ve committed a crime when you refuse to give it up. Freaking old bat got me good in the ankles with that scooter of hers the other day.

  “Sinai!”

  “Shut up and leave me alone, Stalker Joe. I am not yours. Oh, for the love of God,” I hiss when I walk toward the automatic door and slam into it face first, realizing only belatedly that it’s an emergency door. “Owie!”

  “Are you okay? Are you bleeding? Grange, call the doctor,” Paris barks, rushing over to help me, while the old bat I just flipped off laughs her ass off and then takes off running when I shove by him and try to get at her.

  “That’s right, Wrinklestiltskin! Run for the few precious minutes that your powdery ass still has left on this earth!” I scream, waving a fist at her before someone grabs me and starts to drag me out of the building in order to avoid the crowd that is now forming.

  Like I care.

  “Jesus Christ, would you stop yelling curses at that old woman and calm down?” Paris bellows, his breaths wheezing out in shallow pants as he tries to get me into his car while I plant both feet against the doorframe.

  Who cares that I’m wearing a dress with a thong underneath? If people don’t want to see my bits, then they shouldn’t look.

  “Put me down!”

  “Sinai, for God’s sake, stop it, and get your stubborn ass into the fucking car. I’m not kidnapping her! She’s my wife!” he yells when people stop to grab their phones, at least half of them taking a video as I struggle, yelling for Grange to help me.

  “I am not, you stupid pig! I said, let me go. I’m not going anywhere with you,” I scream, my legs giving out as he gives me a shove.

  I hiss, curse, and bang at the door, abruptly stopping my struggles when I see Grange, Heath, and another security guy going around the crowd and grabbing people’s phones before hitting a few buttons and then handing them back. Those traitors are erasing the footage, I think, my temper going from unreasonable to downright homicidal when the idiot I sort of like jumps into the car and peels out of the parking lot in seconds.

  “You are coming with me, and we’re going to talk.”

  “Didn’t you get the hint when I refused to answer all of your calls?” I ask, snapping my teeth when he tries to reach out and touch my leg.

  “Sinai, for fuck’s sake, would you calm the hell
down and just listen to me?”

  “No! I don’t want to hear a word you have to say, because I don’t care,” I hiss, my anger dying a rapid death when I take in the strain on his face and the wild mess of his hair.

  I didn’t do that, did I?

  “Well, you will when I tell you that your apartment is fried to a fucking crisp!” he screams, the eyes that he turns on me a red mess.

  Now I stop, what’s left of my anger melting away when I really look at him. His eyes are red, his face is covered in black smudges, and now that I’m not hormonally murderous, I realize that he smells faintly like smoke, and that his jacket is torn at the shoulder of his right sleeve. I think that I must be in some sort of shock, because it takes a minute for his words to register, and when they do, I feel my body go slack against the seat.

  “Wh-what?”

  “Sin—”

  “My apartment burned down?” I ask, my voice trembling with each word as I realize the implications.

  I just bought that place.

  “Sinai…Christ. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you like that,” he mutters, pulling the car over when I swallow, struggling to take it in.

  “But—but I just bought that place, and…and I just got my life back on track!” I wail, the enormity of everything hitting me at once.

  My home and my new start are gone in the blink of an eye, and there isn’t a thing I can do about it. I chose that apartment because it was the only place I’d been to lately where I didn’t feel like the walls were closing in on me, and yeah, okay, you can roll your eyes at my melodrama, but—but goddammit, I spent so much money on that place, and it was supposed to be a haven for new beginnings.

  Thanks a fucking lot, Dr. Phil. There goes a million dollars and the chance to prove to Uncle Jack that I am not a black hole of money, even if I do have a shopping addiction that makes me cringe just thinking about it. Let’s put it this way: there was a lot of stuff to burn up in that apartment. Shit! And I was going to return all that stuff, too. I promised Doc Tory that I’d return it all.

  “It’s okay. Shh. It’ll be okay,” Paris whispers, unbuckling my seat belt in order to pull me over the console and into his lap.