Keep My Heart (Top Shelf Romance Book 7)

by Lex Martin

  “You’re so vile,” I hiss, narrowing my eyes at him.

  He tugs his bottom lip and runs his perfect teeth across the plumpness. It’s a pity those features are being wasted on such an asshole of a man. If I didn’t hate him as much as I do, those lips might actually be considered kissable. He leans in, his mouth too close for comfort and whispers in my ear. “You have no idea just how vile I can be.”

  I grit my teeth and channel all the pent-up aggression I have toward him. As my body tightens, I twist my wrists, trying to loosen the grip he has on me. Strands of my hair start falling from my messy bun, and I can feel my chest and neck flushing.

  I know I must look ridiculous. Adrenaline rushes through my veins as I try to gain control. After struggling for what feels like minutes, I drop my legs from under my body. If he wants to keep me here, he’ll have to hold me up with those big muscles he likes to flaunt around. But he doesn’t allow me to dangle for too long. Travis releases me, but on his terms— when he’s ready—and my ass hits the floor with a loud thump.

  “Aww, little V is all worked up.” He stands over me with a confident smirk that I’m tempted to slap off.

  I pull myself up on my feet and push a finger to his chest. “Touch me like that again and it’ll be the last.”

  “Are you sure you’d want that, princess?” He’s not at all affected by my threat, and it pisses me off even more.

  “Fuck you,” I hiss.

  “Now you’re talking about fucking,” he says with amusement in his tone. “All these mixed signals are getting confusing.” He glances down my body and pauses on my nipples that are so hard they could etch glass.

  Quickly, I cross my arms, but it’s way too late; they’ve already given me away.

  He slowly lingers over my curves, and I realize every insecurity I have is on display for him to judge. As a sarcastic laugh escapes him, somehow I know it’s at my expense.

  With nostrils flaring, I try to speak in the calmest voice I can as he moves toward the doorway of his bedroom. My hands find their way to my hips because I’m not standing down. Not this time. Not ever.

  “This is war, King.”

  “Game on, princess,” he says before slamming the door in my face.

  Chapter 6

  Travis

  Viola has me so fired up, I hit the gym extra hard Friday morning. Since I’m off work, I don't have to rush and can do an extra three miles on the treadmill. Maybe that’ll get my mind off her.

  I focus on the TV screen in front of me, but no matter how much I fight it, memories of her invade my mind.

  It was the first summer I met Viola and Drew, and they had immediately made me feel welcomed into their home. Their parents often invited me to stay for dinner, but I always felt too nervous to accept until I finally ran out of excuses. I knew my parents wouldn’t mind—or even notice—so finally I agreed to stay one night.

  Viola sat across the table from me, her brown hair pulled back in pigtails. She twirled one around her fingers and nervously chewed on her lip. Drew sat next to me, tapping his foot against the table leg until his father cleared his throat to stop him.

  “Dinner’s just about ready,” their mom announced from the kitchen.

  “Do you need help, sweetheart?” Mr. Fisher called from the table.

  Moments later, Mrs. Fisher walked through the swing door, carrying a platter of ribs. “No thanks, darling.”

  I watched them together as Mr. Fisher took the platter from her hands and placed it in the middle of the table. He gripped her chin and placed a quick kiss on her lips, thanking her for preparing such a wonderful meal. The love they shared was evident, but I’d never witnessed it in my own home.

  Was this what a family was supposed to look like?

  “Stop sucking face,” Drew blurted out. Mrs. Fisher’s cheeks turned red as Viola giggled.

  “Drew,” Mr. Fisher warned. Drew slumped back in defeat.

  “It’s fine,” Mrs. Fisher reassured. “We’re so glad you could stay, Travis.”

  “Glad to be here.” I cleared my throat as I sat up straighter.

  “You know, I’ve been meaning to invite your parents over for a cook-out—”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t bother,” I cut her off without thinking. Everyone froze, staring at me. “They aren’t really the grilling out kind.”

  More like they aren’t really the sitting-at-the-table-eating-as-a-family kind, but I wasn’t about to admit that out loud.

  With a nod and small smile, she dropped the subject.

  I watched as Mr. Fisher sat on one end of the table and Mrs. Fisher on the other. They mirrored a picture-perfect 1950s sitcom family. They gazed at one another from across the table, completely in sync, as they served up our plates. I watched as he winked at her, and she smiled wide.

  I’d never seen anything like it before.

  There was no yelling. No tension in the air. No feeling like you were stepping on eggshells and had to watch what you said before you said it.

  It was nice. Freeing.

  Drew and Viola went on eating, unaffected by how their parents looked at each other as if they were still newlyweds on their honeymoon. It was normal for them. Normal family behavior.

  To them.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ever seen my parents act like that. I couldn’t remember because it’d never happened. Not in my family. I knew then my parents weren’t in love. They were together for appearances, and it hurt. Watching the Fisher family interact showed me what I had been missing for all those years. The adoration in the room was almost contagious.

  Looking back, I could remember a time when my mother would at least pretend to be happy. She’d paint a smile on her face to cover up the hurt and pain and tell me everything was just fine.

  Then she eventually stopped pretending. I was just a kid, but I knew. I heard my father yelling over inconsequential things, and I saw the way it affected my mother. I didn’t realize just how dysfunctional my family truly was. Until I saw what it meant to be a family, how a man was supposed to treat his wife, and how loving the Fishers were to one another.

  Drew and I grew up together, but we didn’t grow up the same. He was rugged on the outside but wore his heart on his sleeve. After that dinner, I prayed for a family like the Fishers. But every day, I woke up in a house that served as my own personal prison.

  When you’re told to get over it and be a man, you bury any feelings that threaten to surface. Showing emotion meant you were weak, and if my father saw weakness in me, he’d exploit it. I learned to be numb. Men don’t cry, he’d tell me. Men definitely didn’t show remorse.

  I knew, even as a young teen, that my dad was a hard-ass. He never said he loved me or my mom. He didn’t express love or show affection or give any indication at all that he wanted us. We were a burden, and yelling was his way of communicating. It was his way or the highway. His iron fist ruling was eventually what drove me away. Once I left, I swore I’d never move back home, regardless of how much I struggled. Struggling was better than being around the man I grew to hate.

  The first time I ever liked a girl, I was eleven years old. She was in the Sunday school class that my mom made me go to every week. I knew she liked me because every time I sat by her, she’d avoid eye contact with me, and she’d blush anytime she caught me looking at her. A girl who sat on the other side of her giggled and stared at me. The more she laughed, the more I wanted to scream at her to shut up. Stop laughing. Stop looking at me. Why the hell is she laughing at me?

  It was the first time I’d ever felt uncontrollable anger. I didn’t understand it. I jumped up, mumbled an excuse about going to the bathroom, and hid out until the class was over. My palms were sweaty, and my body shook with anxiety.

  My first reaction to a girl’s attention was to yell at her. I knew yelling was rude and would’ve been completely out of line, but it was my gut instinct. It wasn’t until a couple of years later that I understood exactly what had happened. Yelling and
anger were the only emotions I’d been taught growing up. It was the only means I had of reacting to an uncomfortable situation. Then when I met Viola, the urge to protect her overwhelmed me and for a while I thought maybe I wasn’t like my father. But then she started asking about boys, and how she could tell if a boy liked her, and I could only see red. My throat tightened, my hands balled into fists, and I nearly drew blood from my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. The urge to scream at her came out of nowhere, and I barely managed to stop myself.

  Her soft voice calmed me down, and I reeled my emotions back in check, but I knew from that day forward, a part of my father would always be inside me. He’d been treating my mother like that for years, and now I knew—I was built from the same blueprint.

  I didn’t have to protect Viola from boys at school.

  I had to protect her from me.

  “Hey, Travis.” Jeni’s voice brings me out of the past and back into the present with a small wave and knowing smile as I wipe down the equipment. “Lookin’ pretty good out there.”

  I clear my throat, shaking the thoughts from my mind. “Thanks. Not looking so bad yourself, babe.” I wink, knowing it’ll get her excited. I finish cleaning the treadmill and walk over to put the spray back. She follows.

  “How’ve you been?” I ask, remembering the last time we hooked up in the co-ed shower.

  “Not too bad. Heading to Florida for spring break in the morning, but I don’t have any plans tonight.” I know exactly what she’s implying, and after Viola ran off my date last night, I don’t hesitate to take the bait.

  “Well, we can’t have you leaving without a farewell party.” I grin, and her eyes sparkle. I let her take my hand and follow her into one of the vacant shower stalls.

  “How do you want it, babe?” I ask, ripping my clothes off before turning the water on.

  She smiles, undressing as she lowers her eyes down my body. “No limits,” she responds, making my dick jump.

  “Fine by me…” I turn the water on and pull her chest to mine. The water cascades down my back, and before I can maneuver both of our bodies under the warmth, she has my dick in her hand.

  I tilt her chin and bring her lips to mine. She hums into my mouth and strokes me harder. It feels fucking amazing. After dealing with Viola’s bullshit for the past twenty-four hours, I need a release.

  I glide a hand up her side and palm her breast, rolling her nipple between my fingers. The way her body responds to mine has my skin on fire. One moment, I’m kissing and touching Jeni, a girl who means nothing to me, and the next, images of Viola surface in my mind. Ones of a wet and naked Viola with her gorgeous tits and ripe ass on display as she walked away from me. Then there was the way her body felt against mine last night. I know she was turned on just as much as I was. My cock was so fucking hard that I had to jerk off before bed just to calm the hell down.

  “Travis…” Jeni purrs in my ear. She’s waiting for me to fuck her, but I can’t.

  I remember the way Viola’s visibly taut nipples rubbed against the fabric of her tank and how I wanted to taste them. Goddammit, Viola Fisher! Even when she isn’t around, she’s cockblocking me.

  “Jeni…” I say, trying to gently push her away.

  “Yeah, baby? Want to bend me over?”

  Fucking hell.

  “Jeni, no.” I finally break away from her hold, forcing her to look me in the eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t right now.” I can't believe I'm saying this.

  “Are you fucking kidding?” Her face turns a dangerous shade of red, her temper hot.

  I brush a hand through my wet hair, flustered just as much as she is. “I wish I was.”

  “You son of a bitch,” she hisses, pressing both hands on my chest and pushing with every ounce of muscle she has. I stumble back, slipping as I try to regain my stance, but end up slamming my face against the shower faucet.

  “Shit,” I curse, trying to find my balance. “The fuck was that for?” I press a hand to my cheek, already feeling the bruise form.

  “You know exactly for what, asshole.” She grabs the shower curtain, pulls it open, and immediately grabs the only towel on the hook. She turns and glares at me. I watch as she wraps the towel around her body and storms out. Great.

  I close my eyes and brush both hands over my face under the water. What the hell is wrong with me? And why am I letting Viola Fisher get in my damn head?

  When I return to the house, there’s a car in the driveway I don’t recognize. I know Viola had her last day of classes today, but her car is here too, so she must’ve come back with someone.

  Grabbing my gym bag from the car, I head in and am surprised to see Viola on the couch with another guy. The corner of my lips tilt as I see what a scrawny little shit he is.

  “What’s up, V?” I ask in an overly friendly way, setting my bag on the table and grabbing the dude’s attention.

  “We’re studying,” she says dryly, not even looking up at me. “Don’t get in the way.”

  “You remember this is my house, right? I don’t have to go anywhere.”

  “I-We can study another time…” scrawny boy interrupts.

  “No, we’re in the middle of a session,” she tells him, ignoring the fact I’m standing right behind her. “Travis won’t be an issue.”

  I raise my brow at that. “Not at all.” I grab the remote off the arm of the couch and click the TV on.

  She sighs immediately. “Do you have to do that right now?”

  “I watch the news every day, princess.”

  “So, go watch it in your room.”

  “Go study in your borrowed room,” I retort. “I pay rent here.”

  “Maybe I should go.” Scrawny boy starts shuffling his books, preparing to stand until Viola grabs his wrist and yanks him back down. Even she is overpowering him with her small frame.

  “No,” she demands, her lips pull in a tight line. “Just pretend he isn’t here.”

  I scoff. Right. If she were capable of that, we wouldn’t be in this little war.

  I busy myself in the kitchen, grabbing a bag of frozen peas, and just because I need a little extra pain reliever, the bottle of tequila.

  I sit on the chair adjacent from the couch where Viola and her little study buddy are sitting. She avoids looking at me as she scoots herself closer to him, pressing a hand to his arm.

  “So Professor Gable’s study guide is only about half of what he actually puts on his finals,” she explains, leaning over to show him the packet. And by leaning over, she’s actually giving him a VIP look down her shirt. Intentionally, I’m sure, considering they were at least a foot apart when I first walked in. “What we’ll need to focus on is everything else you took notes on during the semester.”

  “I don’t have any notes,” he states, and I roll my eyes. Sure, he doesn’t.

  “I might have some notecards from his class in my binder. We can go look in my room if you want.” She emphasizes dramatically as she stacks her notebooks on her lap. “Plus, it’ll be less distracting.”

  She finally turns and glares at me until she sees my cheek, and then her face drops.

  “What happened to you?” Her voice is sincere, worried even, but I don’t take the bait. She leans over to get a better look and cringes. “Jesus.” Her hand reaches out to touch it, but she catches herself and drops it back in her lap.

  Her little boy toy looks annoyed, and I use it to my advantage. I look back and forth between them and can see what he’s obviously doing here. He’s not here for his tutor session. He’s probably been eye-fucking her and undressing her in his head since before I arrived. I can’t blame him.

  I tilt my lips up and stare into her blue eyes, filled with genuine sincerity and shrug casually. “Sex injury. No big deal.”

  Her lips part as a soft gasp releases, her eyes narrowing as if she’s ready to pounce me and claw at my throat like a vicious animal. Just the reaction I was hoping for.

  “Uh, I’m going to get going, Viola. I’ll
see you next week.” Her little fun toy grabs his things, and this time, she doesn’t stop him.

  She crosses her arms and keeps her eyes locked on mine long after the front door clicks. We’re alone again, which has already proven not to be a good thing.

  “You aren’t blinking,” I say, furrowing my brows.

  She finally moves, collecting her books and storming off.

  “Okay, then!” I yell as she stomps down the hallway. “Good talk.”

  I shake my head and decide to shut the TV off and jump in the shower instead. I need a release after dealing with her.

  I hear the bathroom door shut, and the shower starts a moment later. This is my chance to get the asshole back.

  I wait a few minutes and plan my revenge. After grabbing a few large garbage bags, I head to his room and clean out the couple of drawers he has filled. Then I head to his closet and stuff all his expensive suits and shirts in another bag. I grab everything from his boxer shorts to his bed sheets.

  If that motherfucker wants to take my towel and clothes to humiliate me, he’s going to have to walk out of the damn house to get his back.

  A devilish smile breaks across my face, and soon, the adrenaline takes over my body. I head to the linen closet and grab all the towels and put them in another bag. I know I’m running out of time, so I quickly collect all the bags and drag them to the door. Before I walk out, I run back in, lock Drew’s bedroom door, and tiptoe into the bathroom. I collect his towel and clothes off the floor, leaving him with absolutely nothing. Then just for fun, I flush the toilet and dash out of the door as fast as I can, hearing him scream at me in the distance.

  Take that, asshole.

  Rushing to the door, I grab the three bags and run out of the house. I open the trunk to my car and stuff them all inside.

  If he wants them, he’s going to have to come get them—naked.

  “Viola!” I hear him yell from the bathroom shortly after I walk back inside the house. “Goddammit, Viola.”