by Kenya Wright
Mia frowned. “Just the first few lines of one notebook. Tyson finished his shower before I could read more...so...I snuck them all away and left with you. Do you think I’m crazy?”
“No, I think you want to know the type of man you have had in your bed. He’s saying one thing but acting another way. That’s a problem. You have every right to be concerned.”
“You sound like my brother.”
“Good. That’s what I would’ve said to my sisters. Know who you spend time with, and frankly, every man you date should be guilty until proven innocent.”
“That’s harsh.”
“That’s life.”
“I can’t imagine anyone bothering your sisters. You keep then under a tight reign.”
“Like any good brother should.” I opened the notebook. “Do you mind if I read some of it?”
“No.” She scanned the area and scooted closer. “Do you mind reading it to me? I really want to know if he messed with Ashley or not. I texted her, but she hasn’t responded. In fact, we haven’t really talked in weeks. I figured something was up, but I was busy trying to get Tyson out of my place. Whether she calls me back or Tyson ever is truthful when I break up with him, this notebook will at least give me some answers.”
“Are you sure you want all of the answers?”
She waited for a few seconds and then she nodded.
I flipped the notebook open and read Tyson’s filthy lies out loud, keeping my voice low enough for Mia to hear it without the couple in front of us catching my words.
Chapter 5
Tyson’s notebook
July 4th
I don’t know when the games started. I just know I can’t stop. Ashley lets me do anything to her. At this point, I’m wondering if I can break her.
I guess it started on July Fourth. That’s why I dated it today.
Logan had pissed me off. He was happy when I knew my place, but when a brother had something to say, he lashed out like a slave master. He knew he wanted to see Mia’s plump breasts just like me, but he took the high side just to stand above me. He pretended like the video was bad and I was a creep. He liked to be above me, never below.
Mr. High and Mighty while he wanted to fuck Mia just as bad as me.
He made a big show of not liking the video and sucker punched me. Had we not been on his boat, I would’ve beat his ass. But he wasn’t worth it. No one was worth it.
The rest of the night, Logan hovered over Mia as if she was one of his sisters and he was protecting her from a sexual predator.
Oh God, his sisters.
I could dedicate a whole notebook to them. I loved to come to his house and use the bathroom right as his baby sister Monica—just legal—did her homework at the breakfast bar. It provided a great view of the bathroom. I bet she sat there every time she knew I was visiting. And each time, when Logan cooked or droned on about something, I would take a break and use the bathroom, keeping it half-closed.
I waited until she turned eighteen of course. I wasn’t a sicko. A week after her birthday, I visited Logan and started our little game.
I always pissed right at that bathroom that gave her a good view, keeping the door half-closed. Just enough for Monica to see my cock. Just enough of a crack for her to see that fat meat in my hands, hard and spurting out.
It made me excited to say the least, knowing she was watching, knowing that her little young pussy got wet. I’d asked her once, when Logan left the room, if she was a virgin. She’d nodded, blushed, and left.
As overbearing as Logan was, I knew she didn’t lie.
The bathroom trick was how I got Ashley, but she was no sweet innocent thing like Logan’s little sister.
On July 4th, Ashley was all alone on that boat, constantly staring at Logan like some love lost idiot. Anytime he said something, she laughed like someone was paying her. Even though half the time, he was telling the joke to Mia.
And Mia was so fucking oblivious. Or did she know how much Logan craved her?
Probably.
Most bitches played innocent, but they always knew how to make our cocks hard, how to keep us sniffing after them.
I’d left Logan and Mia cuddling at the top of the yacht and went down to sleep my tipsiness off. But then I realized Ashley was alone too. Maybe she needed company? A shoulder to lay on? A cock to stuff in her mouth and make her forget about how no one was paying any attention to her.
Women always needed attention.
Ashley lay down on the bed in her cabin.
I walked in and faked shock. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were in here. Do you mind?”
I pointed to the bathroom.
She yawned and slowly sat up. “No, that’s okay. Did the fireworks start? I hear booming.”
“Naw,” I lied. “The fireworks haven’t started yet.”
I held my cock over the jeans as it grew in my pants.
She stared at my hand and widened her eyes.
“Sorry. I’ve got to go bad. Let me take a leak.” I stumbled toward the bathroom, making a show of being drunk. This time, I didn’t even close the door halfway like with Monica. I kept it wide open, pulled my jeans and boxers to my ankles, pulled my big cock out, and pointed it toward the toilet.
“Did you have a good sleep?” I turned to her as my piss did a direct aim into the toilet.
“Uh...yeah.” Ashley gazed at my cock, not even caring about what I was doing.
That was when I knew she was a nasty little bitch. She didn’t shy away like Logan’s little sister, blushing and pretending to be all awkward when I was around.
Ashley looked intrigued.
Finishing, I shook my cock off, grabbed some tissue, dabbed at the tip, and threw it in the toilet.
“You’re a bold one,” she whispered.
“Am I?” I faced her with my cock still out, hard and jutting toward her. “We’re friends. What’s modesty to friends…?”
Chapter 6
Mia
Logan stopped reading from Tyson’s entry.
I felt like vomiting and tried to grab the notebook. “Why did you stop?”
Logan moved the notebook out of my reach. Anger blazed in Logan’s eyes. “He was showing my sister his dirty little dick.”
“And sleeping with Ashley apparently.” I tried to grab the notebook again.
He raised it in the air and kept it from me. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I want to know everything.”
“You already know you’re ending it with him...and now Ashley—”
“I want to know. What other bullshit has he done?” My stomach twisted. “And he’s just so proud of himself, writing it all down. What’s wrong with him?”
“I told you he wanted to be a writer.”
A woman tapped my back. “Excuse me. Could you two move up?”
Logan and I looked forward. The people ahead of us were several feet away.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
We hurried to the end of the line.
Logan rolled the notebook in his huge hand like he was about to swat someone. “I’m going to beat his ass.”
“If I don’t get to him first. He might not be alive by the time I’m done with him.”
Logan sighed. “At least, she’s still a virgin.”
Confused, I asked, “Who Ashley?”
“No. I’m talking about my sister.”
“Oh!” Shockingly, I laughed. Only Logan could do that in a moment like this, bring humor to a bad situation.
“Yes. At least Miss Monica is a virgin.” I reached my hand out to his. “Give me the notebook back.”
“Not happening.”
“Excuse me?” I frowned.
“I’ll give it back to you, after we enjoy our day.”
“What?”
“We’re getting the Kingmaker, then we’re going to our spot and eating. Tyson’s bullshit is ruining the morning.”
“It isn’t.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m having
a fabulous day.”
“You’re not. Let’s get the books, go to our eating spot, and then we can read more.”
“You’re so bossy.”
“I’m not.”
“The twins tell me all the time, but I’d never experienced it.”
He smirked. “The twins would never say that about me. I’m their favorite person in the world.”
I snorted.
Lucky for Logan, the bookstore opened, and I could push the disgustingness of Tyson out of my mind.
The Yellow Brick Road bookstore was the perfect place to get lost in. It wasn’t just a store, it was more a book castle or palace. It had been a church fifty years ago. I could still see the property’s history in the neo-Gothic architecture—opulent carved wood, gilded pillars, ornamented ceilings, and a gorgeous red staircase lit by a stained-glass atrium. There must’ve been over 100,000 titles. There were four levels to the book palace, offering different literary related items on each level—magazines, CDs, and antique books.
It was even so grand, the first floor had a cozy living room vibe—rugs, crackling fireplaces in the winter, and a massive model railway connected between the book columns, the walls, and comfy seats. In the attic, there were expensive secondhand books on a variety of subjects, leather-bound and reeking of history and money. Sometimes I went upstairs just to touch them.
Usually, when Logan and I came, we hung out on the third level. With amphitheater-style seating in the center and sleek designing, it was the most modern space on the whole property and was where the bookstore hosted their events—readings, signings, book launch parties, and pop-up art exhibits. The best part was that they always had live music on that level, no matter what time of day.
Today was no exception. They’d held the Kingmaker release up there, probably so the first floor wouldn’t be packed with crazy fans.
“No more Tyson for now.” Logan put his big pinky in front of me. “Promise.”
Sighing, I rolled my eyes. “Promise.”
“If our pinkies don’t touch, then it doesn’t count.”
“Is that how this works?”
“Exactly.”
I slipped my pinky along his big one. We held our fingers there. Our gazes met. An intensity spread between us. At least, I felt the warmth of it for sure, the comfort and sensation of being next to someone who really cared about me. Or maybe it was how low I was feeling, after reading the notebook. Perhaps the shock of the news had made me vulnerable. But in that moment, touching Logan’s finger, I felt a bit of peace like everything was going to be okay no matter what.
It doesn’t matter.
“No more Tyson, until after the books,” I whispered to him.
He curved those sexy lips into a delicious smile. “Only Logan and Mia.”
He triggered another damn blush. Whenever I was around him, I became a nervously giggling school girl.
A few people hurried by us, heading toward the higher level.
“Oh shit.” I pointed to them. “We need to focus.”
“Yes.”
We let go. Shot with excitement, Logan and I rushed up the stairs along with everyone else.
Someone screamed out Mulligan’s favorite chant before going into war, “Onward and sun-bound!”
Logan and I yelled back like obsessive nerds, “Not even the moon will block my star-destinies!”
A few kids chuckled behind us, probably laughing more at us—this ridiculous muscled man and short woman donned in Kingmaker scenes racing up the stairs and relishing in the geek moment.
The best thing about Logan was that he understood my Kingmaker mania and had been infected with it all on his own. We could stay up all night, yapping about it for days. He loved Kingmaker for the fantasy warfare and political intrigue. Those things were great, but I turned the pages for the sex and romance. The hero, Mulligan ranked as number one on my book boyfriend list. He seduced his women, captivating them with words and heroic actions. And the man had a nice body too—one similar to Logan—cut muscle and satin skin, massive arms that could carry the weight of this world and a heart as big as his cock.
I need a real Mulligan.
“Almost there.” Logan glanced over his shoulder and grabbed my hand as we continued up the stairs. “You better not read ahead and spoil this book.”
“I promise. I won’t this time. It’s Kingmaker. I wouldn’t ruin this series.”
“You would.” He pointed at me. “If you spoil this book, you owe me.”
“Owe you what?”
“Everything.”
“Oh my God. Whatever.”
We hit our favorite level. A punk rock band rocked on the stage, playing their unique rendition of The Kingmaker TV theme song. The drums collided with the guitar’s rugged melody. I bobbed my head, unable to help myself. Logan laughed and pumped those big shoulders.
It was a sad fact among us that no matter how hot Logan was, his dancing could have anyone laughing on the floor. The best part was that he didn’t give a damn if he looked bad or not. He loved music and moving with the rhythm.
He bumped my hip with his. It would have been cute, if not for my inability to take in that muscled ass in his jeans and that nice hump in the front. He may have used socks to give his crotch definition as a kid. Now, he no longer needed it.
In horrible rhythm, he clapped and pumped his fists some more.
“Oh God.” I laughed.
“We’re going on the dance floor after we grab our books.”
“It’s not a dance floor.”
“It is today.” He gestured to the area in front of the stage where tons of cosplayers held their bags of new Kingmaker novels and jammed.
The book’s fanbase had thrown publishers and America for a loop. The group of dancers were a great representation of that fact. In front of the stage, adult geeks high-fived little kids with crowns. There was every ethnicity one could think of and probably every religion. An old graying couple swayed and laughed with two tattooed faced guys dressed in tight leather. On the side, a mom had sat next to her sleeping baby in a stroller and started reading the new novel.
Waiting in another long line, it took us about twenty minutes before we could get the books. Logan paid for both of ours no matter how much I tried to give him my money. Once we had the books in our bags, Logan held them like they were the most expensive items on earth.
Logan grinned at the pop-up bar over by the fantasy book section. Like in the Kingmaker series, wizards donned midnight blue velvet robes. Long gray beards hung from their faces down to their knees. White smoke rose from the pots in front of them as they poured violet and green liquid into vials.
Holding our books, Logan gestured at the bar. “Do you want to get an Oxi Potion?”
“Do you really have to ask?” I rushed before him and went into my pocket. “This round is on me.”
“No, it isn’t,” he called after me.
This was a small competition we’d started. Logan was old-fashioned about some things. Even though we were friends, he was adamant about paying for everything. It got to the point where I had to race ahead and order before him. Sometimes I had to rush my credit card out, quickly hand it to waitress, and tell her to run off with it.
I reached the bar before him. “Two Oxi’s please.”
The bartender nodded.
Logan reached my side. “Really?”
“You bought the books.”
“I owe you.”
“For what?” I smirked at him.
“I always tell my sisters that men always pay.”
“We’re not on a date, Logan.”
“Not the point, Mia.”
“It totally is.” I ignored his frown, turned around, and clapped with the music.
The band had shifted into one of their songs. Some of the crowd continued to dance in front of the stage. Others rushed off with their books as more people stumbled in.
I checked my watch.
8:00am and this place is packed thro
ugh the roof.
The bartender returned.
Logan handed her a twenty and grabbed the vials.
I shook my head at him. “Really? I was paying.”
“What?”
“You’re such a gentleman.”
“This is the bare minimum of what you should expect from a man.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s not about the amount of money or what he’s buying, it’s about the willingness to take care of you, whenever he can. The dedication.”
I tried not to blush again. Instead, I took the vial and cheered, “To Beautiful Gentlemen that take care of their women.”
He tapped his vial against mine. “And to the wonderful women who deserve it.”
There was something about the way he gazed at me that made me want to dance in his eyes for eternity.
Why couldn’t I have talked to Logan first? It should’ve been Logan, not Tyson.
Logan gestured around The Yellow Brick Road. “This is what I want to do with my bookstore. This is what bookstores are about. Exciting places where you can commune with others who love books and reading.”
“I can’t wait for Patricia and you to open one. I’ll be there every day.”
“Let’s hope it will be soon. Patricia is so stubborn. She’s dragging out the whole process.”
I eyed him. “And you’re not, Mr. Bossy?”
“I’m not bossy.”
“You’re stern, especially with your sisters.”
“I can’t help it. I’m the big brother. I’ve always been the smartest and best.”
“You’re so full of it.”
“Yes.” He shrugged. “I really am full of it.”
“To your bookstore and success.” I held up my almost finished Oxi.
Logan raised his. “To you being happy...no matter what.”
I sighed, knowing he was referring to Tyson. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
We tapped our vials and swallowed down the rest. Oxi potions weren’t alcohol. They were these super sweet concoctions of goodness that pushed me back to my childhood. Those days where all I wanted to do was get quarters so I could buy this candy or that. Nothing else mattered but sweets and sugar.
