Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I pause bringing my fork up to my mouth and take a calming breath. This woman—her noises and scent and motherfucking curves for days—is going to be the death of me.
“And you were going to let me cook for you as repayment?” She shakes her head. “You would’ve been sorely disappointed.”
She takes another bite of the egg roll in a bowl that we made and moans again, and I drop my fork, unable to be around her a moment longer.
“I have to go,” I say, standing and taking my bowl to the sink.
I already ate most of it, so it’s not like I didn’t eat my food, but she still looks at me in confusion as I snatch my keys from the counter.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, concern laced in her tone.
“Yeah, I forgot I have a meeting.”
I’m full of shit. It’s six o’clock at night. There’s no meeting, but if I don’t get out of this house, the bit of restraint I’m holding on to is going to snap, and I’m going to fuck my best friend’s little sister on the goddamn table, right next to her bowl of food, and give her something else to moan about.
When I get downstairs, I voice-text my brother to see if he wants to meet for a drink at the country club, but he replies that one of the twins isn’t feeling well.
He texts back a moment later.
Dominick: You should ask Brielle. She mentioned going to the country club tonight.
With Bri leaving for college at eighteen and then moving to Russia to live with our grandparents after she was raped by Anthony and then forced to have an abortion, thanks to Andrey, it feels like she came home a completely different person. We talk, but we aren’t close, and I’d like to change that … and I also don’t want to go home.
So, I voice-text her, asking if she wants to meet for a drink at North Harbor Point Country Club.
Bri: You’re willingly going to the country club?
Me: Only for my favorite sibling.
Bri: So, in other words, you asked Dominick, and he turned you down, and I’m your backup.
I bark out a laugh.
Me: Deep down, you were my first choice.
She sends me five middle-finger emojis and then another text, saying she’ll meet me there soon.
When I arrive, I find a seat in the corner of the bar and order a whiskey neat. Bri arrives a few minutes later, sauntering toward me in a tiny black dress and her signature red-soled black heels with her hair and makeup done.
“You didn’t have to put forth all that effort for me,” I joke when she slides onto the seat next to me.
She snorts out a laugh. “I’ll have my usual,” she says to the bartender, who’s looking at her like he wants to eat her.
“One whiskey sour coming up,” the bartender says with a wink.
“Ugh.” I gag. “Did you fuck the bartender?”
She glares my way. “No, we went on a date, and it won’t happen again.”
The bartender places her drink in front of her, and for a few minutes, we sip our drinks, neither of us saying anything.
“So, what’s going on with you?” she finally asks. When I quirk a brow, she rolls her eyes. “I know we don’t talk about our feelings in this family, but I’ve been home for almost a year now, and you’ve never invited me out for a drink before. I know I wasn’t your first choice, but for you to invite me at all must mean you were either desperate for company or you don’t want to go home.”
“Speaking of home … How are you doing?” I ask, evading her question and the fact that she hit the nail on the head. “I’m sure it’s been an adjustment, being back after being gone for so long.”
“Okay, so we’re going with avoidance. Got it.” She takes a sip of her drink, places it back on the coaster, and then says, “Watch and learn how to properly communicate, big bro. I’m doing okay. It’s sometimes hard, living with Dominick and Peyton and their perfect little family.”
She sighs, and I set my drink down to give her my full attention.
“It’s been over five years since Andrey killed my boyfriend and then forced me to kill my unborn baby,” she continues, “and every day I see Dominick and Peyton’s beautiful babies, I can’t help but think about what my baby would’ve been like. He or she would’ve been four years old now. Would they have had my blue eyes or Owen’s brown? His easygoingness or my drive and passion to want more in life?”
She sniffles softly. “Don’t get me wrong. I love that Dominick is happy and in love. It’s just that they have what I wanted … what I still want, and now … I just feel so broken.”