by C. M. Owens
Then I get twice as sick when I see my fucking mother has gotten in on the damn fun.
@MommaQueenVictoria: @MavSterling I have a collection. When you’re ready to swap notes call me. #AllTheDicks
I make a mental note to kill my mother later. Then I make another mental note to kill Ethan’s mother when I see she’s one of the many to have also responded.
@ArleneMommaBear: @MavSterling we can scrapbook when you get done collecting all you need. :)
Who decided to give these mothers Twitter? Who thought it’d be cute? Not me.
Then there’s a tweet from Ethan.
@EthanNolesIDGAF: @MavSterling if you scrapbook dick pics with my mom I’ll be by to beat your ass & not with my dick. #NoJoke
I’ll throat punch him later for that. For now, I delete that damn tweet before shit starts to escalate. I almost forget Corbin is on the phone until I start muttering about taking Twitter away from anyone over the age of thirty-five, and he bursts out laughing.
“Who the hell hacked you?” he asks as I put the phone back up to my ear.
A cool wash of obvious slaps me in the face.
“That little fucker,” I growl.
“Who?” Corbin asks, still laughing, of course.
“Sean!” I yell, but there’s no answer.
“The kid? The fucking kid did this?” Corbin asks, and then laughter roars from him.
I hang up on my dickheaded cousin, leaving him to laugh in private as I hunt down that damn little ingrate.
“Sean!”
He still doesn’t answer me, and I don’t find him in the living room, den, or anywhere else for that matter. I should have checked my bedroom first. That fucking little—
I stop short in the doorway of my bedroom when I find the Devil’s spawn lying on my bed and watching TV, casually sipping from a bottle of water. His other hand is petting the Devil’s cat, who is thunder-purring for him as she kneads the bedding, looking content as hell.
That cat can’t be touched! She’s carrying around the spirit of Jack the Ripper, usually plotting ways to get close enough to tear your face off, yet he’s petting her like she’s a sweet little purring kitten.
Evil tames evil, I suppose.
As one, they both look at me—two versions of psychotic.
Sure, that’s not creepy at all.
The kid gets a wicked grin on his face as I glare at him, and the fucking cat hisses at me.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Room!”
He chuckles as he hops off my bed—my sacred, precious bed. That cat is not allowed in my damn room! She destroyed my last bed!
Bananas shoots out, leaping up and almost slapping me in the face while airborne. I’ve learned to dodge the half-kangaroo devil cat during these moments. It always makes me feel like less of man when I’m bitch-slapped by that pussy.
They disappear from sight, and I take a few minutes to compose myself so that I don’t kill an eleven-year-old.
Spotting the zen thingy my mother sent, I decide to test it out, raking the sand over and over and over… When is this thing supposed to make me feel zen? Because I’m totally not feeling it.
Giving up on raking away my fury, I walk out.
As I slam the door, I stalk toward the den to find the kid and cat on the sofa. Well, the cat is purring away in the kid’s lap, acting like a pet instead of a nuisance.
That cat has never, not once, been nice to me.
Yes, I’m a little pissed off about that. I feed the damn thing and clean the shit out of her litterbox. The least she could do is purr for me on occasion. Instead of trying to shred my skin.
“Why?” I ask the sociopath who is petting the cat. “Just why?”
“Because you were stupid enough to give me your phone—unlocked. You’re too gullible. I’m toughening you up, kiddo,” the condescending little bitch boy says, winking at me for good measure.
“I’m curious as to how Salem hasn’t killed you yet,” I growl.
He flashes a grin. “Who do you think I learned all my tricks from?”
“I bailed you out today, then kept your secret, and you repay me by doing this shit. All it does is make me want to never bail you out again. You realize I’m a better friend than foe, right?”
I can’t believe I’m threatening a kid. This is a new low.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re only nice to me because you want to bang my sister. Again.” He wrinkles his nose as I shift awkwardly. “You didn’t do her on the bed I was just on, did you?”
A dark smile graces my lips. No, it wasn’t my bed, but he doesn’t know that. “Make you feel a little closer to your sister now that you’ve been at the scene of the crime?” I ask the twerp.
A sense of petty triumph sweeps through me when he turns a little green and shudders.
“Should have thought that one through,” I add, smirking as I take the small win and walk away.
“You’re still a douche!” the kid calls out. “And from now on, that’s a boundary you don’t cross or I’m telling Salem!”
“You’re still the Devil’s spawn!” I call back, finding myself wondering how pissed Salem would be for that comment about the bed.
The last thing I hear him bite out is, “Pie moment.”
I still find that weird as hell.
After that, the kid pretty much leaves me alone, though I admit I check in on him periodically to make sure he’s not in the middle of summoning a demon or something.
It isn’t until a little after three that he comes and finds me in my study where I’m going over some real estate options that I’m forced to acknowledge him again.
He hovers in my doorway, seeming awkward for some reason, and I pretend not to notice him. Finally, I get tired of him staring and not speaking.
“Yes?” I drawl, swinging my gaze up to find his.
“I have dance in twenty minutes,” he says reluctantly.
“And?” I ask.
His jaw tightens. “Mom said she’s busy with a fitting, and asked if you could take me, since you know, you told them you were picking me up from school and all. She thinks we’re bonding or whatever.”
Little sad that his mother trusts me so implicitly with her son, when she doesn’t even know me. Then again, I’m sure by now a woman like her has thoroughly investigated everyone in my family.
She’s shrewd.
I can see it in her ever-assessing eyes. I also see that, despite what Salem says, her mother also actually gives a damn about Dad. You can’t fake things. You can keep yourself guarded though, and she does that heavily.
Reminds me of Corbin’s mom in a lot of ways.
“So you treat me like shit then ask for a favor?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and arching an eyebrow.
He hates this. I love it.
“If I miss dance, I’ll miss out on the solo I barely got. As soon as I transferred, a girl hurt her leg, and I had to take over her solo. I still have to work out all my steps. It’s an important shot.”
My lips twitch.
“Say please.”
His jaw tics, and for the briefest of moments, I think he’s just going to be stubborn and refuse.
“Please,” he bites out.
“You can thank me from now on when I save your ungrateful little ass. Otherwise, I’m not going to continue. Being nice to you won’t gain me favors with Salem, because if she thinks I’m using you—which I’m not—she’ll hate me. Go ahead and get that straight in your twisted little psychotic mind.”
He doesn’t look pleased, but he finally nods.
“Got your tights here?” I ask him, and then grin.
He flips me off before turning and walking out.
“I’m not sure it’s appropriate for kids to flip adults off,” I call after his back.
“I’m not sure it’s appropriate to look, walk, and talk like a douche, but you do it anyway,” he volleys.
Laughing under my breath, I stand up and grab my keys, following after him.
&nbs
p; “You’re small for eleven,” I tell him as he grabs his bag.
He glares over at me. “My dad was small until puberty. I’ll have a growth spurt, and then I’ll be taller than you. No one will pick on me ever again.”
I smile because that chip on his shoulder is a little funny. And I’m an ass like that.
“What’s the deal with your dad?” I ask without thinking it might be a sore subject.
He walks out with me, hesitant to answer, but finally does answer me when we get in my car. He buckles up automatically as he speaks.
“He got a new wife, and she thinks her kids shouldn’t be around me. What she says goes, so he’ll only get me for a few weeks a year now.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but the asshole tendencies are making a little more sense now.
I’m not sure what the hell to say to that, so I say nothing as we drive toward the rehearsal studio.
“Salem doesn’t mention her dad either,” I say conversationally.
“He’s dead,” the kid states with no emotion. “Died when she was little. He was drinking and driving.”
Shit. Makes sense why she refused to get in a car with me even though I’d only had one beer.
“Dad said he wanted to have another family dinner,” I ramble, since I’m sort of dragging us down with the bad dad talk.
“Your dad seems nice enough,” he admits, though it sounds like a begrudged confession.
My lips twist in a smile. “He is nice.”
“Must have been nice having him and growing up in a place where your name means something,” he goes on, staring out the window.
I really liked it better when I hated him instead of feeling sorry for the kid.
“As long as you’re here, my name means something for you, too. As you saw today.”
“For now,” he mutters. “Then it’ll go away, and we’ll be somewhere else. Or you and your dad will get tired of me hanging around. Salem is the only person who likes me all the time.”
I grin, even though I can tell he doesn’t like it. “Ah, you’ll find I’m a clingy, loyal asshole, Devil Spawn. Even the worst of my family can’t get rid of me when they’re being dicks. Ask Kode. Or Corbin, for that matter. I stick like glue.”
He tries not to smile, so he cuts his gaze away.
“Salem can’t date you,” he finally says.
“Why’s that?”
Figures I’d pursue the one girl who doesn’t want a relationship. I’m not even sure if I’m cut out for a relationship, so I’m not sure what the hell I’m even doing.
“Dating you would cause family drama and all that. Stuff like that is usually frowned upon, especially with your kind of people.”
“My kind of people?”
“Society types,” he supplies, continuing before I can mock him for how wrong he is about my kind of people. “Anything that causes drama within the new family is a no-go. Mom would punish Salem by not letting me spend so much time with her.”
I nod like I get it, but they still don’t understand how the Sterlings work. My dad wouldn’t give a damn if I dated Salem, considering he knows me and how I am. If I’m in, I’m all in. I don’t play with a girl’s head. I’ve never considered being all in as much as I’ve been considering it with Salem.
She’s so fucking easy to be around.
But discussing it with Sean doesn’t exactly seem appropriate.
As we pull up to the dance studio in town, I idle near the curb, waiting on him to get out.
“I have to have an adult present,” he finally says on a sigh. “It’s the studio’s policy. Probably don’t want people thinking they’re perverts or something, touching their kids when the parents aren’t around.”
I clear my throat, grimacing as I wheel into a parking spot and park my car.
Guess I’m going to a dance rehearsal.
When did this become my life?
Chapter 15
SALEM
I’m a little greasier than normal as I wash up in front of the mirror. But I kicked some ass today. We’re now officially ahead of schedule, and I think Rye is a little in awe of my latest transmission rebuild.
He’s stroking it. Talking to it like it’s a sentient being.
“My fiancé is officially in love with a transmission,” Brin says, shaking her head with a small smile on her lips as she watches Rye pet the thing.
“To be fair, it’s a—”
“Don’t start rattling off how special that transmission is. I’ll fall asleep quickly,” Brin tells me with a grin.
“I need to get out of here. My brother is coming over after his—”
“All that’s left is locking up,” she says, dismissing me with a wave. “And by the way, thanks for coming in early, though I didn’t expect us to get ahead of schedule. Way to be a badass,” she adds.
Not good at accepting compliments, I just nod and head out, stopping by my locker to grab my phone and purse. But when I see all the missed calls from the school’s number, I get a little nauseated.
I haven’t checked my phone since eleven, considering I’ve been crazy busy and I finished lunch early.
A message from my mother doesn’t clarify anything.
MOM: Maverick picked your brother up today and is taking him to dance for me. You may need to call him if you’re wanting Sean to stay with you tonight.
Why the hell would Maverick pick Sean up and take him to dance? And why did the school call?
I check my voicemails, but the only message is from some nasally woman asking to speak with the sister or guardian of Sean Young—no details.
Even though I still look and smell like I’ve been dunked in grease, I hurry out and drive to the dance studio. I don’t want to embarrass Sean looking like this, but I’m a little freaked out.
And I’m sure Maverick doesn’t exactly like my mother dumping her responsibilities onto him either.
As soon as I walk into the studio, I see the huge window that allows parents to view the dance floor without interfering with the training.
My eyes scan the room, and I spot Maverick looking as sexy as he possibly can. I’m not the only one looking at him either. Pretty sure a lot of women are paying more attention to him than the kids they’re supposed to be watching.
He’s in perfectly tailored slacks that make his ass look better than I thought possible. He’s standing, leaning against a pole, his eyes on Sean as my brother nails a front flip, going into a spin move onto his head directly after.
My eyes move back to Maverick to see him grinning as he watches, and a few women expire around him with audible sighs. If I knew what was going on, I might be under the spell as well.
His button-down shirt is a crisp blue, tucked into the gray slacks with what is a likely very expensive belt setting off the entire ensemble. I’ve only ever seen him in jeans or sweats.
I’ve never seen him this dressed up, and I swear it’s not doing nice things to my current state—my current state being the fact I’m a hot-blooded woman.
His sleeves are rolled up on his forearms as his hands stay tucked away in his pockets. He looks relaxed and at ease, despite the numerous pairs of eyes on him. It’s like he doesn’t even notice or care.
Shaking off the girly flutters, I move toward him, watching him as he watches Sean. He turns his head toward me when I’m almost at him, and his grin spreads as his eyes rake over me.
We couldn’t be more opposite in this moment. My cheap jeans are covered in dirt and grit, and my steel-toed boots are a stark contrast to his matte-black, leather shoes.
He looks spit-polished. I look spit on.
Others obviously take in the difference between us as well.
“He’s good,” Maverick says when his eyes come back up to mine, his grin spreading.
“He’s very good. Why do you think he got in?” I ask him, gesturing around at the very talented kids who are all working on their individual routines for the upcoming showcase—or the group dance if they don’t have a solo.
>
Pretty sure Sean did a private happy dance when he heard he was getting a solo, though he’s horrified at the music he’s supposed to dance to.
It’s still his first showcase, though. Usually he misses the deadline or we’ve already moved when a showcase airs. This studio has more showcases than the norm, so maybe he’ll get multiple shots.
Maverick starts to reach for me, but I take a step back, ignoring the judgy stares.
“I’m filthy,” I point out.
Maverick waggles his eyebrows. “Totally hot, too. I like things a little dirty.”
A few audible gasps from nosy eavesdroppers ring out, but Maverick just grins and winks at me as I roll my eyes and stand just beside him, careful not to dirty up his shiny appearance.
“Why did my mom ask you to take him? And why did you pick him up from—”
“I’ll let the kid explain all that,” Maverick says, grinning over at me. “It’s his punishment. I’m not giving him the easy way out by being the one to tell you.”
I groan inwardly. What has he done now?
I glare at my brother, who is oblivious to my presence, as he does a side aerial.
“If you have stuff you’re supposed to be doing, you don’t have to—”
“I’m free right now,” Maverick interrupts, saving me from rambling on.
As Sean finishes up and the kids have their usual end-of-class meeting, Maverick turns to face me, leveling me with that hard-to-handle presence of his.
“Rough day?”
“Busy day,” I grumble. “Sorry you had to deal with Sean. I don’t know why Mom—”
“He didn’t give the school your mother’s real number. He gave them his number instead of hers on the papers he apparently filled out, to be more accurate.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course he did. He usually fills out all his own papers and has Mom simply sign them.”
“And he got my number from your phone to add me to the emergency contacts, since, apparently, I’d do anything in my never-ending chase for you. According to his philosophy.”
His lips twitch when my face starts to burn, and he arches an eyebrow at me.
“I’ll get that fixed immediately,” I promise him, counting the ways I’m going to make Sean’s life hell for this really awkward moment.
