BUTT ENDING
A BIG STICK NOVEL
R.C. STEPHENS
Copyright © 2019 by R.C. STEPHENS (Irene Cohen)
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover artist: Okay Creations
Editor: Lauren Clark
Proofreader: Renita McKinney
Cover Photo: Wander Aguiar
Model: Forrest
Created with Vellum
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Untitled
Chapter 35
Acknowledgments
About the Author
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM R.C. STEPHENS
Prologue
Nine and a half years ago
Sloane
“Oh man. This movie is rad,” my date practically scream-shouts into the dark movie theater while I lower myself in my seat and roll my eyes, embarrassed by his outburst. Why did I agree to see The Hangover on a first date?
“I haven’t been to Vegas but now I totally wanna go,” David continues. His hot breath against my ear makes me cringe; his musky scent fills my nostrils, making them sting.
He is one of those people who likes to talk during a movie. I personally prefer to sit quietly and watch, since I’m finding this movie to be a cluster-fuck of funniness.
He places an arm around my shoulder. Great! Now he’s trying to put the moves on me, and I’m just not feeling it.
We are seated in the back row of the cinema. A row of high school kids sit beside us. They are chatting it up too, which freaking sucks.
Not one to keep her mouth shut, I lean forward. “Do you mind keeping it down please?” I ask one of the boys sitting in the group.
He nods, his lips curving seductively. “Sure sorry.”
Is he flirting with me? I blow out an exasperated breath. Because I’m petite I sometimes get mistaken for a teenager, like I presume I am now
David falls silent beside me. Maybe he took the hint that I want quiet.
The girl sitting beside the high school guy elbows him in the ribs.
“Ouch!” He winces, giving her the stink eye and lapses into silence.
“Thanks.” I smile and lean back in my chair, relieved that my own date’s hand is no longer at shoulder level. Okay. Good. I have space.
Wait—is that his hand on my ass? HELL NO. He gives my butt a squeeze. An actual squeeze! My blood pressure rises.
“Hey,” I hiss at him narrowing my eyes. “What are you doing?” This is a first date. I’m not that kind of girl, fucking airhead.
“Your ass is so fine, Sloane. I want in later.” He grins, tilting his chin up looking like he thinks he’s suave. Freaking college boys. Did he think that statement was attractive? It can’t actually work for him.
“Excuse me?” I can’t let the comment slide.
“Oh! Come on, baby. You gotta know your ass is fine.” He smiles wide as his head bobs. He speaks with a beat almost like he’s rapping. He’s no Eminem, for goodness sakes. He should really quit while he’s ahead.
I’m kicking myself for saying yes to this date. He’s in my women’s issues course. I should have known he was there to get some.
The way he’s looking at me with his eyebrows raised tells me he must be waiting for a response to his ridiculous suggestion.
“Hell no. That is no way to talk to a lady,” I snarl grabbing for my purse. “You’re a real dick. I was enjoying this movie, and now I have to miss it because of you.” I stand up and place my purse strap across my chest. His jaw practically drops to the floor.
“Aw! Come on. I meant it as a compliment,” he whines, and he’s making a commotion. Fucktard.
I shoot daggers at him with my glare. I’m about to open my mouth and teach him some manners when the high school kid leans over to him. “You need to show some respect,” he says to my date, then winks at me. Huh! At least the kid has it right.
“Thank you.” I give him an assured nod and turn to leave the theater. My date mutters something but I don’t bother to pay him any more attention.
I walk out of the theater and into to the cool fall air. What do I do now? It’s a Saturday night; there’s no way I’m going back to my dorm room to sulk on my own. I pull my cell out of the back pocket of my jeans and call my new friend Flynn.
“Hello.” I hear her voice after one ring. She sounds groggy.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?” I ask her.
“No, no. Just watching a movie and, uh, eating nachos,” she says.
“You’re home alone on a Saturday night?” I ask, a little surprised. Not many first-year college kids spend their Saturday nights at home.
“Yeah,” she sighs, and doesn’t say much else.
“Well, are you up for some company?” I ask, because she sounds pretty down. “I’d be cool to do some emotional eating right now if you want to share those nachos.”
She giggles. “You’re so weird. You know that?”
“Yeah, I mean . . . normal is boring.” I shrug to myself, because she clearly can’t see me.
“Sure, come on over,” she says, but she doesn’t sound too enthusiastic.
“Okay, uh . . . can you text me your address?”
“Will do.”
I hop in a cab and give the cabbie her address. When he pulls up to the building, I see a doorman. Holy shit! This place is fancy.
Security in the lobby is expecting me, and I make my way up in the elevator.
Flynn opens the door wearing a pair of Small Paul pajama pants and a white t-shirt. Her blond hair is in a messy bun on her head and her lips are turned down.
“Hey.” I smile, then wince.
“Is it okay I’m here? I mean, if it’s not cool we can always catch up another time,” I shrug pinching my lips together nervously. Truth is, I don’t have many friends, and Flynn and I have really connected at school.
“Don’t be silly. Come in. I’m just . . .” She doesn’t finish that sentence. “I still got nachos.” She raises her brows and gives me a small smile.
“Nachos.” I rub my hands together. “I freaking love nachos.”
She laughs at me. “I swear I don’t know how you stay so thin with all the unhealthy food you eat.” She shakes her head.
“It all goes to my butt.” I do a little bootie dance.
“What are you watching?” I look to the TV, no sound plays as I watch Julia Roberts talking on the phone, a handsome man on the other end of the call.
“My Best Friend’s Wedding. The heroine falls in love with her
best friend who is about to get hitched,” she explains.
“I’ve seen it but it’s one of those movies I can watch a hundred times.” I take a seat on the couch, crossing my legs and digging into the nachos. They are covered in salsa and guacamole. “Thanks so much for having me. My date was a bust. The thought of going back to my dorm room to sulk wasn’t exactly appealing.”
“All your dates are a bust,” she huffs. “You go out with all the wrong guys.”
“I go out with guys who ask me out.” My lips quirks on one side, and I dig into the nachos. “You don’t go out with anyone. Don’t go giving me lectures. I saw that hottie ask you for a date after class on Friday. I couldn’t believe you said no to him.” I roll my eyes. “He was dreamy.”
“He was a frat boy. I’m not going to be another notch on his belt,” she snickers and eats a few nachos.
“Ooh this part is so good,” I say.
We watch the part of the movie where Julia Roberts confesses that she’s in love with her best friend. I wonder if I will ever find love or someone to give up my V-card too. Being a nineteen-year-old virgin is a rare commodity in New York City.
I watch the movie with Flynn until the end. Then I stand to grab my purse. “Thanks for allowing me to hang.” I reach down to give her a hug.
“It’s past midnight. If you want, you can crash here,” she offers. “This couch is pretty comfortable. I wouldn’t want you to have to walk through campus alone this time of night.”
I’m grateful to her because I’m a wuss. “Thanks. That’d be great, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. My brother will probably get in late, but he’s no bother.” She stands, taking the empty nacho bowl over to the sink.
“Cool. Thanks.”
“Let me grab you some PJ’s.” She heads to her room. A minute later, she passes me a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Hope this is okay. I figured my pants will be way too long on you and most of my stuff still needs to be laundered,” she explains. She’s really tall for a girl, but she looks like some gorgeous model with her figure.
“Thanks, babe.”
“Night.” She saunters down the hall and disappears into her room. I flop back down on the couch once she leaves. My stomach feels bloated from all those nachos I ate. As I sit quietly, my gaze runs over this way-too-luxurious apartment’s modern contours and fancy furniture. It isn’t normal living arrangements for a college student; it’s freaking ginormous, with all the horns and whistles. Flynn’s twin brother is some NHL hockey player. I don’t know much about hockey, but I figure those guys are raking in the big bucks. Truth is I’ve never met Flynn’s brother or anyone famous for that matter. I’m more than curious.
Feeling spent, I trudge over to the washroom down the hallway. It’s got a full bath and shower. Everything is black and white marble, and squeaky clean. After washing up, I change into the sleep shorts and tank Flynn loaned me. The tank is a little long and the shorts a little loose, but they will do.
I head back through the dark apartment to the couch. It’s soft, plush, and the pillows seem extra deep. I grab an extra-soft throw blanket that was sitting on the backrest, finishing off my makeshift bed, and I fall back into the heap of softness and cover myself. I don’t need much space anyway.
I stare blankly into the dark space, taking in the huge television, the paintings on the walls . . . The place is beautiful. I notice there isn’t one picture of family anywhere. Not even on the fridge in the kitchen. I would never ask Flynn about it because other than her brother Oliver, or Oli, as she calls him, she doesn’t mention anything about home. The only thing I know about her background is that she’s Canadian. I hear movement in Flynn’s room and I guess she’s having a hard time falling asleep too.
I turn my cell to silent and place it on the large coffee table. Within minutes, I’m sleeping . . .
Heaviness . . . Crushing pain . . .
I can’t breathe.
My eyes fling open as I gasp for air. What’s happening?
Earthquake?
No.
I’m being crushed. I heave a breath, feeling like I’ve been buried alive.
I try jerking my arms and kicking my legs but something prevents me from making progress. That’s when my mind clears. The panic I’m feeling is real. There’s muttering . . . a man. Shit!
A giant has fallen asleep on me. What the hell?
“Uh excuse me?” I call out pushing at the large figure. “Excuse me? Please . . . you’re crushing me. Please get up.” I huff, pushing with all my might against a pair of thick, strong-as-steel shoulders. I gain no leeway. “Dammit,” I yell. “Wake the hell up. You’re going to kill me, idiot,” I scoff as I thrash beneath the giant limiting my movement.
Oliver. His name is Oliver.
“Oliver, dammit, wake up,” I whisper loudly into his ear, not wanting to wake Flynn since. I try to adjust my knee to give myself leeway to knee him in the balls or something, because he’s clearly passed out. He smells like he’s doused himself in a bottle of whiskey and some delicious male cologne. I shift my knee toward his dick, hoping to get enough leverage to hurt him. He doesn’t budge. I continue thrashing beneath him. He begins to mutter as I try to move my hands from beneath his body.
“Thank goodness you’re waking up,” I gasp.
He lifts his head. A questioning look covers his perfectly angular face that is looking to the side of the room instead of under him, where I’m being squashed.
“What the fuck?” he asks, looking at no one in particular. We have the plush throw blanket between our bodies, but he can’t honestly think I’m part of the couch.
“Look, buddy, you’re crushing me, so get up. NOW!” I hiss loudly, losing my patience. I can barely breathe. My body has turned into a human pancake.
His eyes bug out of his head and he scrambles to his feet. He’s all over the place. I’m guessing he’s still drunk. I push myself up and take a few long breaths, needing to fill my lungs with air. In, out, in, out.
I’m lightheaded.
The moon has cast a light into the room through the window. He narrows his eyes on me, and even though the room is dark, the moon’s glow provides enough light for me to see that his eyes are hazel with a light green hue running through them. He isn’t what I was expecting, with his dark hair and sun-kissed skin. He and Flynn aren’t identical twins, but I assumed her twin would be blond-haired and blue-eyed like her. Flynn is a real beauty, but holy shit, her brother is smokin’ hot.
“Who the hell are you?” he barks, while blinking his eyes and rubbing at them. He sways a little and loses his balance, hitting a lamp on the side table. I rush for the lamp and catch it before it hits the floor. He mumbles something incoherent.
“I’m Sloane, Flynn’s friend from school. We were hanging out tonight. It got late; she said I could crash here,” I explain, feeling nervous and jittery. I don’t know why I’m jittery though, because I’m not fazed by hot guys. Especially ones who are too drunk to probably remember their own name.
He gives me a lazy look as he runs his hand over the few days’ stubble on his jaw. His eyes roam over my body hungrily. “You’re fucking hot, shorty.” He grins devilishly.
My jaw drops. Did he just call me hot and short in the same sentence? “Excuse me?” I jeer, my head shifting back. Is this guy for real? How rude.
His eyes drop to my chest. He clearly has no manners. He probably thinks he’s hot shit because he plays for the NHL.
“No excuses. You’re a good-looking girl. Just saying it how I see it,” he says with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. The damn jerk looks hot when he grins too. He’s towering over me. A giant, like I originally thought, but a hot giant with smoldering eyes and a panty-dropping grin.
“How about you apologize for almost crushing me to death. Then let me get back to sleep,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he replies with nonchalance.
“What? Teach you manners?�
� I growl. He is hitting my last nerve, and after that flakey date earlier, I’m done with these idiotic players who think they got game.
He shakes his head. “No. Cover your chest.” His hazel eyes sparkle, like he’s privy to some secret. “Yes, your breasts are small, but they look like they could fit perfectly in my hand and your nipples were just saluting me.” He smirks, keeping eye contact.
My mouth falls open. Flynn never mentioned that her brother was a chauvinistic pig. My face scrunches up in disgust as I turn around and fling a throw pillow from the couch straight at his head. He almost topples over as he lifts his hands to guard his face from the attack.
“Would you chill?” he calls out, holding his arms up in a shield-like manner.
“No,” I respond, holding another throw pillow. “Your sister always spoke highly of you. I can’t believe you’re such a douchebag.” Is this really the guy Flynn can’t stop talking about? The one she says always has her back and would do anything for her? This guy seems like a selfish player who’s used to getting what he wants.
He has the audacity to laugh, his shoulders rising and falling with the movement. He can take his chiseled jaw, sharp cheekbones, and thick, solid body, and shove it.
His eyes hold mine in a challenging glare. I hate to admit something about him stirs a warm feeling in my belly. GAH! I hate him for being so good-looking. I clench my thighs together, surprised by the flood of heat between my legs.
He holds his hand to his chest. “Look! I’m sorry,” he sulks, but his words are slurred. “Truce.” He extends his hand. “I’m drunk,” he mutters.
Butt Ending: A Big Stick Novel 2 (Standalone) Page 1
