Want You

by Jen Frederick

  She waves her fingers toward the deck. “Go on now. Leka, sweetheart, could you come here and look at something? The bulb on the front porch has burned out. We should change it before it gets dark.”

  Mr. Moore lets his wife drag him away, but he casts a stern glare over his shoulder. Don’t fuck it up, it says.

  Uncertainly, I stand in the now empty kitchen. Does not fucking it up mean I should leave or stay? The back door slides open and a wave of kids crashes through.

  “Mom! Dad! We broke the table,” Beckett cries. She races across the tile floor, coming to a halt when she sees me. “Zach. Finally! I thought you weren’t coming.”

  My heart thuds against my ribcage at her welcoming smile. She has her hair pulled back with some kind of floral bandana that would probably look ridiculous on anyone else. A see-through yellow shirt covers her arms and shoulders and falls to the top of her thighs. I try not to look at her bare legs. I try very, very hard.

  “Yeah,” I croak, “here.”

  I don’t have good verbal skills around Beckett Moore. My mind goes south whenever I’m within shouting distance. Get it together, boy. Her brother’s five feet away and her dad’s in the other room. Both would squash you like a bug.

  It’d take two of them to get one hand on me and by then I’d have her out the door and in my car, retorts the smartass side.

  My smartass side is all brawn, no brains. “Here,” I say and start to offer the bowl of fruit and get the hell out of Dodge, but my retreat is stymied again.

  “What happened?” queries Mr. Moore, striding back into the kitchen.

  “We broke the umbrella off the table,” Beckett answers.

  We all turn to see the yellow sunbrella lying forlornly on its side. One white, thin metal rod is poking up past the cover it’s supposed to hold in place. I brace for an explosion. If we were home, my dad would be screaming by now.

  “Thing needed to be replaced last year,” Mr. Moore says. “I probably have some tape to hold it in place for now. Be right back.”

  He disappears out the side door. The latch barely catches before Mindy, a short-haired girl with legs like spindles, cries out. “Your dad is so hot, Beck.”

  “So hot. Like, if I had daddy issues, he’d be the first person I’d apply to fix them,” murmurs her friend Sarah, who swings her heavy blonde hair over one shoulder to better display her huge rack.

  “You do have daddy issues,” Sam supplies. Sam’s the starting guard on the All Star Shooters basketball team.

  “Sam. Stop.” Mindy slaps Sam playfully on the shoulder.

  “What?” Sam protests. “She announced it when Kincaid was role playing as the psychologist in Mrs. P’s society and behavioral issues class.”

  “He has a point,” Sarah concedes. “I do have daddy issues and I’d be happy to enact my destructive behaviors all over the Moore men.”

  “Can we not?” Beckett replies, her dark, gorgeous eyes rolling upward to the ceiling. “He’s my dad and he’s married.”

  “Happily,” Kincaid adds.

  “Sorry. I’ll try to contain my thirst,” Mindy says, but her grin implies the opposite.

  “I’m happy to offer my services,” Sam offers. “I can slap an ass with the best of them.” He swats the air with the flat of his hand.

  Beckett shudders. My fingers tighten around the bowl, ready to crash the plastic against the side of Sam’s face.

  As if sensing my impending implosion, Kincaid grabs the bowl from my hands and gives it to his sister. “Let’s hold off on any sex shows while we’re standing in my mom’s kitchen,” he orders. “I’m going to take Zach up to change.”

  “Great. See you outside,” Beckett chirps, and all thoughts of leaving dissolve like ice cream in July.

  “See you outside,” I echo and follow her to the deck.

  A hand hauls me back. “Swim trunks,” Kincaid reminds me.

  My cheeks grow hot and I duck my head so Beck’s brother can’t read every lecherous thought I have in my head. “Yeah, lead the way.”

  As I’m tracking Kincaid out of the kitchen and across the dining room to the stairs, I hear someone comment, “Your parents are so chill. Mine would’ve had a cow and a half if we broke a table.”

  “Mr. Moore wouldn’t hurt a flea,” a guy proclaims.

  I hope my friends are never out alone. They have the instincts of a dodo bird. Chill, easygoing, laid-back are never words I’d use to describe Kincaid’s dad. Don’t they see how he watches everything they do? He’s mentally calculating the risk they pose and stands ready to flatten them the second he has a whiff of danger to his family.

  I don’t think I can come here again. He sees too much. Beckett’s a lot like her old man. When we first met, she ignored my frowns, my monosyllabic answers, and my general unfriendly demeanor. She told me once it was because she could tell it was all a front and that she’d wear that same cloak of indifference if she was shuttled around to five schools in six years. She’d said it so matter-of-fact, like my hate-the-world outlook was completely normal, so I couldn’t be mad.

  Not that anyone could be mad at Beckett Moore for more than a second. She’s sunshine personified. Every room she’s in is brighter. Every song sounds better. Every piece of food tastes more delicious.

  She caught me more effectively than a fisherman’s net captures a tuna.

  At the top of the stairs, there are three doorways. I force my feet to go left into Kincaid’s room instead of to the right, which is Beck’s yellow and white garden bedroom. I’ve caught glimpses of it before—enough that my dreams have a very solid setting of a twin bed covered in yellow and white stripes, floral stickers on the wall, and a yellow rocking chair. I’ve done a lot of things to Beck on that rocking chair in my dreams. Things that probably aren’t legal. Things that aren’t physically possible. Things that her brother standing in front of me, rooting around for an extra pair of swim trunks, would likely kill me for if he had a clue.

  “These should fit.” Kincaid tosses me a pair of shorts. “You can change in the bathroom or here.”

  “Here’s good.” Kincaid and his sister share a bathroom. The last time I used it, I almost got caught sniffing her shampoo. It’s better I stay away from temptation. Besides, Kincaid and I are teammates. He’s seen my junk before, just like I’ve seen his.

  He crosses over to his window that overlooks the backyard and stares down at our friends, giving me a bit of privacy. It takes only seconds to strip out of my jeans, socks, and underwear. My sneakers are at the front door in a pile with everyone else’s.

  The borrowed swim trunks feel tight around my waist. I cross my arms around my chest, feeling awkward wearing the T-shirt to the pool but knowing that if I take it off, there’ll be more questions that I don’t want to answer. I should’ve never come, but those Moore kids are hard to turn down.

  Kincaid’s still at the window, smiling at something. He’s a good friend and a good teammate. I like him—a lot. A sense of shame falls over me. I shouldn’t be wearing this dude’s swim trunks, eating food in his house, swimming in his pool when all I want to do is run down there, swing Beckett over my shoulder, and find a private place where I can defile her in a million different ways.

  “Dude, I want to bone your sister,” I blurt out.

  “I know.”

  I nearly swallow my tongue. My jaw comes unhinged and it takes a moment before I can respond. “You know?”

  Kincaid lazily turns around, as if I hadn’t confessed the worst sin. He snorts. “I’m not blind. Everyone knows.”

  “When you say everyone…”

  “Sarah, Mandy, Sam, Venny, Claud,” Kincaid rattles off more names than I know of and ends with, “Mom and Dad.”

  My knees grow weak. “Your dad?” I bleat.

  “My dad,” the asshole confirms with a smile.

  “Then why am I here?” I fling an arm out. “Why haven’t you and your dad taken me to the garage and beaten me senseless with every power tool you have in t
here? Don’t you care about your sister at all? Christ, she needs protection! She’s out there alone. She—”

  “Have you?” he cuts in.

  “Have I what?” My chest is heaving and I’m starting to sweat like I’ve run a 5K.

  “Have you boned her?”

  “No!” I shout. “When have I had the opportunity to do that? I’ve got school and work at the quarry and ball. She’s never alone. I don’t want—I’ve never—I would die—” I stop, my thoughts all tumbling together and confused by Kincaid’s lack of anger, his gentle questioning. What’s going on here? Why am I still standing? Why don’t I have a fist in my face? Why hasn’t anyone thrown me out the front door and pointed a shotgun in my face, ordering me never to come back?

  Kincaid’s expression of mild amusement hasn’t changed. “If you don’t want to ruin our friendship, never want to hurt her, would die before you’d allow any harm come her way, why would I beat your ass? If I pummeled every guy who wanted to sleep with my sister, I’d be in fights every day, which I guess wouldn’t be terrible, but my mom would kill me, so I can’t go that route. Besides, Becks isn’t my property. I don’t own her. I can’t tell her what she should do. Do you respect my sister?”

  So much that I feel guilty even thinking impure thoughts about her. “Yes.”

  “And you’re going to wait until she’s ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, no, I’m not going to beat you, and neither is my dad. If you hurt her, then, sure, expect a visit from the two of us. If you don’t wait until she’s ready, I’ll pound your face in until even your mom can’t recognize you. After I’m done, my dad will take you apart and bury your bones in the quarry. Otherwise, we’re cool.”

  He pushes away from the wall and walks past me, leaving me open-mouthed and dumbfounded.

  At the doorway, he turns back and his easygoing expression is replaced with a hard-eyed glint. “If I ever hear you use disrespectful words toward her again, I will pull your dick up through your esophagus.”

  I nod, straighten the already situated swim trunks, and stumble after him.

  This family…this family is wild. And amazing.

  * * *

  Bitsy

  “He’s like a wild animal,” Leka huffs. “I don’t like it.”

  I rub a hand down my husband’s back to soothe him. “He reminds me of someone.”

  My man jerks back in surprise. “Me? I’m not anything like that kid. That kid is afraid of everything.”

  “Me. He reminds me of myself.” I lean close and tuck my cheek against Leka’s smooth cheek. He shaved when he heard the kids were bringing friends over. "I was a scared child and someone saved me."

  His hand comes up to press my face closer to his. "That was me being selfish. I was tired of being alone. What reason would Beckett have for dragging this stray off the street?"

  "I'd say it's because she's watched her daddy help people all of his life and wants to make him proud."

  Leka places a hand on the cherry wood trim at the top of the window and leans forward to watch as Beckett stands in the middle of our small pool and tries to lure Zach Brooks into the water.

  He's unsure of everything—the kids, the water, this house. Everything, that is, but Beckett. He adores her. When she's around, he stands up taller. He listens to every word that drops from her lips like she's an oracle sent to him from God above. I guess he's a little of both of us. Scared—like I was—and devoted like Leka.

  Zach takes a step toward the pool, but he doesn't move fast enough for either of the Moore kids. My son pushes him in. Beckett holds up her hands to shield herself from the water and screams with laughter. Kincaid performs one of those water bombs where he tucks his large body into a ball and crashes the surface of the water. Droplets spray everyone. The backyard is full of laughter.

  My cheeks hurt from smiling. Had I ever imagined my life would be so perfect? So full?

  Leka sighs and pushes away from the window. "He better not hurt her," he mutters as he walks over to the sofa.

  Kincaid tries to splash Beckett, and Zach somehow is able to sweep my daughter out of range and simultaneously dunk my son under the water. "He'd rather cut off his arm," I observe.

  I leave the kids in peace and join Leka on the sofa. His arm comes up to cup my shoulders.

  "Life is good, isn't it?" There’s an undercurrent of wonderment. Even after all these years, Leka still can’t believe his good fortune.

  "Better than I ever imagined." I kiss his cheek. He tries very hard to present a clean-cut suburban appearance as far from his gangster past as possible. I suppose to the untrained eye, he appears a quiet, even-tempered dad of two. He has a barbecue, which he never uses, and khakis, which he's never worn, but there's an edge that's baked into him. His eyes are always watchful. His hand often strays to his side where his shoulder holster used to hang. His showers are always scorching hot. There's a go bag in every closet in the house and a panic room in the basement. But because of him, our kids have never known true fear. They've never gone to bed with an empty stomach. They've always had love.

  They are blessed because of Leka. We are all so blessed. My heart swells with emotion.

  "I love you," I whisper against the hard line of his jaw.

  He tilts his head and gazes down at me with a searching glance. "What's this about?"

  "Can't I say I love you for no reason?" I press another kiss on the underside of his chin and am rewarded with a swift intake of breath. He's surprisingly sensitive here. Sometimes I shave him, but only at night, after the kids have gone to bed because he never allows me to finish.

  "You can, but in that tone?" He seems semi-scandalized. "There are kids here." He nods toward the backyard.

  I wriggle onto his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. "They're old enough to take care of themselves."

  A speculative light twinkles in my husband's eyes. "Are you suggesting we leave them alone?"

  I trace my thumb over the edge of one of Leka's ears. He shivers. "I'm suggesting we draw the curtains and lock the door and that I do things to you that would horrify and embarrass our children should they ever find out."

  As always, I don’t have to ask twice.

  He springs to his feet.

  “Get the door," he orders.

  Giddy, I do as he says. I don't make it back to the sofa. He catches me and pushes me up to the door.

  "We'll have to be quick.” His eyes gleam in suppressed excitement.

  I grab hold of his shoulders as he hitches me up. “This is deliciously naughty. I doubt I’ll last long.”

  He dives for my mouth, parting my lips with his own. I dig my hands into his silky hair and hold him close. We kiss with enough passion to illuminate the entire sky, as if this is our first time and our last time. In other words, we kiss as we always do, with our whole hearts full of fire and love that will burn eternally in this life and every other life because no matter what happens, we will always find each other.

  Acknowledgments

  Not gonna lie. Writing can be tough and I wouldn’t have made it through this past year without my friends. I needed every bit of encouragement they gave to me.

  Eagle aka Aquila Editing: You were so patient with me and all my editing mistakes. Thank you for helping me polish this manuscript into a better finished product. All errors that exist are mine.

  Anne Sowards and Christina Hobbs: Stanning BTS with you has been the best mental health medicine in the world.

  Claire Contreras: Why did it take so long for us to meet? This book wouldn’t have been published without your daily encouragement. Let’s keep pushing each other up that publishing hill.

  Jessica Clare: A day without an email from you is a dark one.

  Jeanette Mancine: Your willingness to read this book in chapters was invaluable, but I treasure your friendship even more.

  Lea Robinson: Thanks for understanding even the things that I can’t bring myself to say.

  Mel King: You
r existence is precious.

  Meljean Brook: Your creativity and skill in writing never ceases to awe me. The critique of my first draft made this a better book. I don’t understand why you are so good at everything. Thanks for my cover. It’s awesome.

  Nicole: I don’t know how I functioned before you. Thank you for helping me take care of business.

  #GetSacked

  by Jen Frederick

  Available Now

  What he wants he gets...

  Knox Masters is a quarterback's worst nightmare. Warrior. Champion. And...virgin. Knox knows what he wants--and he gets it. All American Football player? Check. NFL pros scouting him? Check. Now, he's set his sight on two things. The national title. And Ellie Campbell. Sure, she's the sister of his fellow teammate, but that's not going to stop him. Especially not when he’s convinced Ellie is the one.

  ...but he's never met her before.

  But Ellie isn't as sure. She's trying to start a new life and she's not interested in a relationship...with anyone. Beside it's not just her cardinal rule of never dating her brother's teammates that keeps her away, but Ellie has a dark secret that would jeopardize everything Knox is pursuing.

  Knox has no intention of losing. Ellie has no intention of giving in.

  About the Author

  Jen Frederick is the USA Today bestselling author of Unspoken, part of the Woodlands series, and Sacked, part of the Gridiron series. She is also the co-author of the New York Times Bestselling series, The Royals. She lives in the Midwest with a husband who keeps track of life’s details while she’s writing, a daughter who understands when Mom disappears into her office for hours at a time, and a rambunctious dog who does neither.

  Drop her a line:

  jenfrederick.com

  jensfrederick@gmail.com