“I noticed, Einstein. Thanks,” I snicker.
He grimaces, but that mischievous smirk is still on his perfect lips, taunting me. “I simply wanted to come home and crash on my couch. I wasn’t expecting you.” His tone speaks of innocence as he rakes his hand through the air, waving up and down the length of my body. He shrugs. "I woke up with a hot chick buried underneath me . . . It’s an occupational hazard . . .” He laughs.
My jaw drops, leaving my mouth gaping open. “What the fuck?” Was he just telling me he’s used to having chicks underneath him because of his job? Ew. “You’re gross.”
“I’m drunk,” he retorts, lifting a finger, as if he’s made a good argument. “I can’t be held responsible for anything I’ve said. Fuck, I probably won’t even remember you in the morning.” He chuckles, like it wouldn’t be a first. I grimace. What a waste of a beautiful man, and this guy is all man.
His eyes run slowly over my body, causing another spark of heat to shoot through me and explode. What the fuck is wrong with me? This has never happened, not ever. I do not get hot and bothered by devilishly handsome men giving me the one-up. I need to get my shit together and show him he doesn’t affect me at all. He clearly has a lot of women drooling over him. His ego doesn’t need to get any more inflated.
“Night.” He waves his hand lazily in the air and stalks off down the hall to the back of the apartment.
I let out a breath of air, then walk around, gathering all the pillows I flung at him bringing them back over to the couch. I need to get some shut-eye so I can focus on my homework tomorrow. I cocoon myself back into the couch with all the pillows and blanket over me, and doze off. Only this time, I’m dreaming of a handsome, foul-mouthed giant.
“Sloane.” Someone is shaking me awake. “Sloane.” It’s Flynn’s voice pulling me from my slumber. “I’m just about to make some breakfast. You good with turkey bacon, and eggs?” she asks.
My stomach grumbles from the thought of food. “Hell, yes,” I murmur with my groggy morning voice.
Male laughter grumbles in the background. Must be the giant.
I sit up on the couch, knowing I must look a little ruffled. My mid-length hair usually needs some taming in the morning.
“I’m just going to get washed up,” I say quietly, grabbing my purse as I walk with my head bowed to the bathroom. My father is a pastor. I’m not used to walking around half-naked around men. Even though the handsome giant already saw me in this state last night, I still need to get my wits about me because I don’t want him to see the effect he has on me in the light of day. Who would have thought that a mix of arrogant and handsome would light my body on fire? In the past, I’ve dated nice guys—preppy, even. Ones who are focused on school. None of them had this giant’s athletic body or his sexier-than-hell good looks. I must have had my own signals crossed in the past, explaining why I’m still a virgin. None of those other guys had me feeling wet with just one look.
After brushing my teeth with my finger and smoothing out my hair with some water, I get dressed and head toward the kitchen, willing myself not to blush.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Flynn smiles as she pours some orange juice in a glass for me.
“Good morning,” I reply dryly. Her brother gazes at me like he’s never seen me before as he picks at the toast on his plate. He looks like he just stepped out of the shower, with his glistening wet hair. His white T-shirt hugs his broad chest. I don’t know why, but I let my eyes roam over all of him, taking in his blue–grey plaid pajama pants and his bare feet.
“Sloane, have you met my brother, Oli?” Flynn asks, pulling me from my stupor.
Shit! I need to get my act together. Do I tell her what happened last night?
Her brother lifts his head to look my way. He hasn’t even acknowledged my presence. You would think an apology would be in order, but not from this guy. He has the audacity to brush his rudeness off. His ego must be just as big as his . . . I swallow the word.
“Nice to meet you. Oli,” he says with a rough dry voice, and he nods. As drunk as he was last night, he doesn’t even seem hungover now. Maybe he truly doesn’t remember last night. For some reason, the thought stings. I decide not to mention it either.
I clear my throat and try to even my breaths. “Sloane,” I reply.
“Ignore Oli. He can be a bit of a grumpy ass after a night of drinking,” Flynn says, rolling her eyes at her brother.
I can’t argue with that.
I take a seat between Flynn and Oli and begin to pile my plate with some eggs and turkey bacon. I can do without the toast since I tend to watch my figure, and after all those nachos we ate last night, I better pass. Since I’m so petite, every pound I gain counts toward my ass.
We continue to eat our breakfast as Flynn and I discuss our week at college. We don’t have any common classes this year. Her brother stays quiet while we chatter. At one point, he rises from the table and places his plate in the sink and stalks off. Friendly guy.
With her brother gone, I ask Flynn how she’s feeling this morning. She bites her lip nervously before responding quietly, “I’m fine, Sloane. Sorry I was a dampener last night. I’m a . . . dealing with things . . . they’re still fresh on my mind,” she whispers, clearly not wanting her brother to hear. “I just need time. That’s all it is. Time,” she repeats, as if she’s trying to convince herself.
I’ve known Flynn for a year, and in that time, a dark cloud has hovered above her. Whatever happened can’t be that recent, and time doesn’t seem to be helping her.
“If you want to talk about it, I’m here,” I offer.
“Yeah, thanks,” she replies, but I sense the brush-off in her tone. Truth is, I have my own dark cloud hovering above me, and I don’t like to talk about him. . .
I finish breakfast and head out to my dorm on-campus. Those Russell twins are definitely complicated.
One
Sloane Present
“Sloane, it’s Flynn. I need you to call me when you get the message.” I listen to my best friend’s phone message as I leave the news studio. We only tape an hour before the eleven o’clock news airs. I’m surprised Flynn would call this late. Since she gave birth to her twins two months ago, she’s been going to bed around eight o’clock every night. I can’t say I blame her; those two babies are a handful. I usually don’t call her this late, but I sense anxiety in her tone.
Speed-dialing her number, my mind races with possibilities.
She picks up on the first ring, “Sloane?” she huffs out a puff of air, and the anxiety in my chest tightens.
“What’s going on?” I ask, because Flynn doesn’t get flustered. She’s a lawyer, a mom of twin babies, and one tough cookie. She’s definitely come a long way from being the broken girl I met almost ten years ago.
The line remains silent, and I wonder if we’ve gotten disconnected. “Flynn, you there?” I ask, then I hear her breaths coming through the phone. “Okay, babe, you’re officially scaring me,” I say as I enter the Uber car waiting for me in front of the studio.
“Yeah. Myles’ father had a heart attack,” she blurts out, her tone stressed and frantic.
I gasp. “Shit.”
“Yeah. His mother called, said we should come to Canada. Myles hasn’t seen his father in over seven years. He’s scheduled for a quadruple bypass in two days. We need to go home,” she explains.
“Home, as in Canada?” I ask, my voice rising an octave too high. I’ve never heard Flynn refer to anything as home other than Chicago.
“Canada,” she confirms with a sigh.
This is big. Like, really big. Flynn hasn’t been home in a decade. Not since tragedy struck her family.
In an attempt to gloss over my weirdness, I say, “No! Ya, for sure . . .” I murmur as if that makes sense somehow. I’m a bloody mess, and it isn’t me who has to face their past. I have my own reasons for staying away from home—that’s why I understand Flynn’s anxiety about facing her past. I know her well enoug
h to know that is where her anxiety stems from. I give myself a little shake. “I mean, how does Myles feel about all this? I know his parents were pretty shitty to him,” I say, trying not to sound like a blubbering idiot, but it’s like I can read her thoughts and feel her nerves through the phone. I'm a shaky mess because Flynn is my person. I think of Myles—this must be so hard for him. He once confided in me about how neglectful his parents were when he was a kid. It made my stomach roil. Having to be there for his father, a man who neglected him, won’t be easy.
“They were,” Flynn confirms. “He was hesitant about going home at first. I convinced him we should go. I don’t want him regretting not seeing his father if something bad happens in the operation,” she explains, always the voice of reason. Flynn lost both her parents on the same night when a drunk driver tragically hit their car and killed them on impact. Myles and Oli were in the car, too. It was a miracle they both walked away almost unscathed, although the Russell twins and Myles all carry their scars from that night in different ways. I can understand why Flynn feels that Myles should be there to support his dad. Maybe there are unresolved things to say.
“You’re right, honey. He should go. What’s the plan? Don’t tell me you want to leave your babies with me, because I don’t have enough experience,” I snicker, knowing full well she can’t be without her babies for an hour, let alone a night.
Flynn huffs into the phone, like even the thought of me watching those two adorable babies is moronic. She’s right; it’s moronic. I’d have no clue what I was doing.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She pauses her tone turning from sardonic to iffy. “I need a pretty big favor.” She pauses.
Okay, now I’m curious and worried. “Just spit it out,” I say lightly with a smile, trying to move past the tension.
I hear a large intake of air. “I need you to drive Chance down to Canada. We can’t leave him behind. I need to fly because there’s no way Kevin and Patty will make it through a nine-hour drive,” she says, referring to her twin babies. “And Myles and I don’t want to have to sedate poor Chance for a flight and . . .” Her voice trails off as sweat breaks out on my forehead. I love her dog. He’s real cute, but he’s still a puppy and not fully trained, and when I come over, he usually likes to hump my leg.
“What exactly is the ‘and?’” I swallow. She’s killing me here.
“Going back home is hard . . . I haven’t been back since . . .”
“I know, hon,” I softly exhale. “This can’t be easy.”
When Flynn’s parents died, she and Oli moved to New York, since he was drafted into the NHL and played for the New York Rangers. Flynn hasn’t been home since. The thought of her facing her past makes me think of my own life and my own reasons for staying far away from Kansas City. My heart begins to palpitate, and a sheen of sweat breaks out on my forehead. I force my thoughts aside, because I need to be strong for Flynn.
“I just don’t want to send Myles on his own. He’s been a mess since his mom called.” She hiccups. and I sense she’s crying. “Even if he had no relationship with his dad, he’s still his father, and that affects a person. I need to make sure he’s okay through this.”
“Of course you do. And you will. You’ll be there to support Myles, and I’ll drive Chance to the great white north. I’ll hold your hand and do whatever you need. Just remember to breathe, and know I love you and I’m here for you.” I sigh. Needing to lighten the mood, I add, “Whatever you need, schnookums.”
That buys me a laugh.
“Thank you. I really appreciate your support.” She lets out a breath. When I first arrived in New York and met Flynn, I had no one. I lived in a dorm and hid behind four walls, studying and watching too much television and dating guys I had no interest in. Over the years, Flynn not only became my best friend, but my person, my shoulder to lean on no matter what. I’m not going to let her down now.
The Uber pulls up to the front of my building. The rain is still coming down hard. I give the guy a tip and step out of the car and into the downpour. Running toward the door, I hear Flynn’s muffled voice. “Oli . . . drive. . . Canada without him. . .Chance. My doggy. . . nervous in the car,” she says.
“Sorry I didn’t hear you.” I shake out my hair and dry my phone on my sweater. Luckily, my phone case is waterproof.
“What?” she asks, sounding confused by my question.
“I didn’t hear what you said. The rain is coming down hard, and I just made a run for it into the building,” I pant. “I thought you said something about your brother and Chance.”
There’s dead silence on the receiver. I check that it hasn’t disconnected. The minutes are still running, indicating we are still talking.
“Flynn?
She clears her throat. “Oli will drive with you. He can help you with Chance. My puppy gets nervous in the car,” she says hesitantly.
“You must be joking,” I say with my jaw dragging across the floor.
I sense she’s flinching from her tone of voice. “Oli will drive with you. Please,” she pleads. “I need this. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t,” she says, and I understand her words. Flynn is a tough and sassy girl, but she’s haunted by her past.
“Okay. I’ll do it. When do I need to leave?” I puff out my chest, taking a lungful of air. I can be a supportive friend once the butterflies in my stomach decide to take a chill pill. I can’t imagine being cooped up with Oliver Russell in the same car for many hours. I turn into a horny mess after being around him a few minutes here and there. I’ll never survive. My libido will overtake my senses and turn me into a wanton mess. It will be super embarrassing.
“Tomorrow. Bright and early. Oli said he’ll take the Rover, since that’ll give Chance some extra space. I’ll be flying out with Myles and the twins tomorrow morning. I’ll see you in Richmond Hill later tomorrow night,” she says so calmly while my heart ricochets in my chest.
“Uh, where will we be staying?” I ask, wondering if she’s thought about everything with the stress in her life.
“My parents’ old house,” she mumbles.
“What?” I ask with surprise. “You guys didn’t sell the house when you moved to New York?” I’m flabbergasted that they would keep it. I know Flynn and Oli haven’t been back home since they left Canada ten years ago. I would’ve figured they’d sold everything when they left.
“No, my brother couldn’t bring himself to sell. Once a year, he has a maintenance crew come in and fix things up. They were just in last week for spring cleaning,” she explains, and it sounds a little eerie, but I don’t want to judge. Flynn and Oli had an epic childhood with the best parents. It sounds almost too good to be true. I can understand why they would want to hold on to those memories.
I know what’s it like to hold onto the past. I know what’s it like to not want to let go.
“Um, okay,” I reply, at a loss for words.
“Thanks for doing this, Sloane.”
“No worries. Me, your brother, my hostile vagina, and Chance in one car. It’ll be fine. Right?” I tease, my voice a little higher-pitched than I’d planned.
My mom had a mid-life crisis my senior year of high school. She left our conservative family life in Kansas City, Missouri, and found her calling in India where she became a sex guru. To make the story short, she attributes my virginal status to my vagina being hostile. In reality, I don’t think my vagina is hostile. I think it has more to do with the fact that I can’t let go of my past. Although a psychiatrist would probably have a very different take on my virginal status.
“Sorry, babe. I gotta go. Patty woke up. I don’t want her waking Kev. I told Oli to be at your place by eight a.m. sharp. Will you be okay with work?” she asks, her voice hurried.
“Go, yes, I’ll figure it out,” I say, and I hear the line disconnect.
I enter the elevator, since I waited in the lobby to finish the call, not wanting the line to cut off while Flynn was on the phone. My mouth feels dry, and
my stomach is not only somersaulting, but cartwheeling, and not in a good way. Oli and I bonded a couple years back when Flynn moved to Chicago. She was having a hard time. Oli came to me when he set up an intervention for Flynn to try and get her life back on track. Oli knew I had a crush on him. He sure as hell had the chance to act on it if he shared the same feelings. Problem is, things never moved past the friend zone. Well, except for the night of the intervention. We somehow briefly locked lips. It was hot and passionate, the best kiss of my life, but it was one crazy night, and all our emotions were running high. He’s never mentioned anything about it since. Now I get hot and bothered every time I see him, and in the past decade, I’ve compared all my dates to him. Hmm, maybe Mom has a point. Maybe my vagina is hostile . . .
Back in my apartment, I head straight for the freezer and pull out the ice cream. It doesn’t make sense that I want ice cream at midnight, but the thought of spending so much time with Oli in a closed space, taking in his scent, his large body, and . . . I moan from the deliciousness of my Brownie Supreme ice cream. Or maybe it’s the thought of picturing Oli thrusting inside me. Probably option two.
I snap the ice cream closed and head for the shower. I need to shave my legs and wax my bikini line. I laugh at myself, because it’s not like Oli will actually see me in a bikini.
I place the hot wax in the microwave and wait for the minute and thirty seconds to pass while it warms. I’m fully aware that this prepping isn’t necessary. Oli is a manwhore, I remind myself. I don’t know why I would want a man who sticks his cock in numerous women every week. It’s gross. There are also two facets to Oli. I’ve learned over the years that yes, he is a hot hockey jock who scores with the bunnies. But he is also Oli, Flynn’s twin brother, the man who put his own feelings of loss aside to make sure his sister weathered the storm of her parents’ death. He put her through school, and was a shoulder to lean on. He’s a doting uncle and godfather to Flynn’s twin babies. He’s a person who heads charities, and if you need him, he has your back—at least in relation to Flynn and Myles. Even if I’m not the object of his affection, I can admire the charming, beautiful man he is from afar. I just hoped my crush would have simmered down by now.
Butt Ending: A Big Stick Novel 2 (Standalone) Page 2
