Psycho Ex Boyfriend (Standalone New Adult Romance) (The Alpha Brotherhood Book 2) (6 page)

“A little over a year.”

“And your, uh, Father didn’t tell you?”

He shakes his head no. “I don’t know who killed her. The police didn’t list it as a homicide, but she…
someone
is fucking responsible. I want to have her reburied eventually, if that’s even possible. I’d like to go out there at least. But we’re not supposed to contact anyone that we used to know.”

“Even family?”

“Especially family.” Adam checks his watch. “It’s taking a ridiculously long time to get the check.”

“Adam…”

“What do you want me to do? Sit here and have a good cry over it?” he snaps, slamming his fist down on the table loudly. “She’s gone. I left her alone and someone took advantage of her. Or maybe she got hooked on heroin of her own accord. Perhaps she preferred prostituting herself to going to school. I don’t know.”

I’m left speechless at his outburst. The check arrives immediately, the server eyeing us warily.

“Sorry,” he finally says. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sure if I had a therapist, he’d say I’m still processing it all.”

“You probably are.”

He breathes out a scoff, his lips rolling together. “I had an ulterior motive, asking you here,” he confesses. I knew it was too good to be true. “Multiple ulterior motives.”

“You mean aside from my taste buds?” I say, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

He finally smiles again, just barely. “You grew up in Englewood, right?”

My pulse spikes, my stomach churning so badly that I almost drop my glass. Adam notices my anxiety, cocking his head to the side. “I did.”

“That’s near where she died. Do you still talk to any of your family out there? Your real mom, or cousins or anything?”

“Absolutely not,” I whisper.

“Sabrina, I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” I smack down a twenty dollar bill to cover my share of lunch and rise from my seat. “I’m leaving and I’m taking my taste buds and knowledge of the ‘hood with me.”

“Wait. Let me walk you back to the train.”

“No thank you.”

“Hey!” he calls out, fumbling with his wallet to settle the rest of the bill before running after me.

I only make it the length of a few storefronts down the block before I feel a hand wrap around my arm, halting my advance.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” I growl, spinning around and glaring at him despite the gentleness of his grip.

Adam doesn’t let go until I rip my arm away, but I can tell he let me do it. “You can’t just walk away from me.”

“Watch me.” I resist the urge to flip him off and spin around.

“Christ, I said I was fucking sorry.”

I stop in my tracks. “Do you honestly think I can just drop by and visit my bio family? I’m just a spoiled little bitch to them now. We live in totally different worlds.”

“I know what that’s like. I’m one of the only people that could ever possibly know what that’s like.”

“Then why did you ask?”

He stares down at the sidewalk as the elevated train down the street rolls by, screeching as it rounds the corner. “If I had to put a word on it, I’d say desperation is probably the most accurate.”

Adam’s apologetic eyes meet mine and I feel my temper start cooling down. Desperation. I suppose if someone had gotten my sister killed, I wouldn’t be afraid to ask a possibly offensive question either if it meant getting justice.

“I didn’t mean to bite your head off,” I say.

“I didn’t mean to bring up any painful memories.” We stare at each other awkwardly for a moment. “Do you want to go get some dessert?”

“That depends on whether or not you own the place.”

He laughs and I can’t help but feel a little bit privileged to see a smile that I’m sure very few have seen. “My primary ulterior motive is to get to know you again. That’s all I want. That, and maybe some ice cream. You can pick the place.”

“I’m not very familiar with the area,” I reply, hesitating.

“Then let’s just walk around and see what we find.”

He holds out his hand and my heart skips a beat as I take it in mine. It’s an absolutely gorgeous day out. Many of the shop door are open, inviting us inside. Adam and I don’t have similar tastes in the art that we see at a few galleries, but that’s probably because boys never want to admit they like anything pretty, aside from girls. I’m pleasantly surprised that we find ourselves drawn to the same sections at a used record store.

We laugh quite a bit over ice cream once we find a place, talking so long I almost forget that I’m supposedly at the mall with some new friends. I make it to the train just in time to get back and when Heather picks me up, she seems none the wiser. That was too easy. Now that I’ve officially gotten away with it, any guilt I was feeling has turned into satisfaction, almost like I got away with some kind of crime.

When I woke up this morning, I had a little crush on Adam and a whole lot of curiosity. Now I have a real crush. An official, can’t-fall-asleep-because-I’m-thinking-about-him crush. Crap! As a matter of principle, I don’t
do
crushes. But this one is just sort of happening to me.

I held his hand today. For, like, ten whole seconds.

My lips are dry, so I crawl out of bed and start digging around in my purse for my favorite lip balm. That’s when I notice a neatly folded twenty dollar bill that isn’t in my wallet. A quick count of the rest of my cash confirms my suspicions that he slipped the money I tried to pay for lunch with back into my purse when I wasn’t looking.

I also find a little trinket that makes my heart skip a beat. A tiny gray brontosaurus figurine, just like the one he gave me back at Ellen’s house when we were little. I gave it back to him when I moved away even though he told me to keep it. I put it on his and Molly’s dresser because I didn’t want to break up his collection.

I snuck it back into his stuff, and he snuck it back into mine. How cute is that? But more importantly, does that mean he likes me too?
Likes
me likes me? Or does he just want to be friends again?

Adam

Age 15

Girls and short skirts. Don’t they realize what that does to us? They must, that’s why they’re always rolling the waistband to make them even shorter.

But today Sabrina isn’t wearing pleated plaid and a baggy polo shirt that magically makes boobs disappear. I have to resist following her up the stairs when she leaves for the train. Partly because I might get a glimpse up that skirt. Mostly because I want to make sure nobody else does. She’s looking a little too good to take the train by herself, even in broad daylight. If we ever do this again, I’m riding back with her.

What the fuck am I thinking? We are never doing this again. It’s too risky. And what a fucking tease.

There’s only one rule left to worry about now. No sexual contact. My dick and this goddamn co-ed school are the only things left that could make me lose it all. I thought it would be relatively easy. I completely underestimated my dick.

I wouldn’t be have such a hard time if it weren’t for her, though. There are a lot of pretty girls around, sure. Rich old men typically marry pretty younger women. If they’re lucky, their offspring inherit mom’s good looks, but also her vapid personality. There’s plenty of that floating around, too.

But not Sabrina. I have to stop thinking about her. Maybe it’s because she’s cut from a different cloth, and so am I. Maybe it’s because we used to know each other. Maybe it’s because she’s fucking hot as hell. It doesn’t really matter. She’s a distraction.

She was supposed to say something stupid today and put an end to this madness. Instead, she turned out to be really cool. And hot. Distractingly fucking hot.

“Hey, Betty,” I whisper, bending down when my dog greets me at the door so she doesn’t jump up. “You limping again?” She licks my hand.

This is the only girl in my life that matters. If she wasn’t here, coming ‘home’ every day would be pure torture.

“Your dog is a fucking gimp.”

Ian. I inhale a controlled breath and ball my fist. Too bad I can’t hit him anymore. I still get a kick out of looking as his slightly crooked nose. I bet he thinks of me every time he looks in the mirror. Father won’t allow him to see a plastic surgeon to get it fixed. He’ll probably have to wait for years.

I got that shot in right before the program shifted focus and he never got a chance to pay me back. One serious act of physical retaliation and he’s gone. Fucker. I almost wish he’d take the chance so I wouldn’t have to see that ugly face around here ever again. But we’re all used to the beat-down ban, and if he hasn’t cracked by now he probably never will.

I say nothing in response, partly because he’s right, mostly because he’s not worth wasting my breath. How I’m supposed to work with this asshole is a mystery that neither of us has been able to solve, but for the most part we’re relatively civil.

“Seriously. You should have her put down. Bonnie almost knocked her down the stairs today.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I reply calmly.

Our dogs are sisters and as best of friends as their masters are the worst of rivals. It’s brutally ironic. Why couldn’t Betty have taken to Shane’s pup? Or even Trent’s or Caleb’s for that matter.

“Your restaurant is a total shit show,” I tell Trent once I track him down in the sprawling mansion we all call home.

“I know,” he replies. “Are you sure that line of code goes there?” he asks Shane.

“Will you stop breathing down my fucking neck?” Shane snaps. “You don’t even know what you’re looking at.”

“Sure I do. I’m watching you fuck this up even more.”

“I have a backup, dickweed.”

We’re supposed to present the updated version of this software to an older brother next week, one I haven’t met before. “You assholes haven’t finished with that yet?” I chide them. 

“Yes, we have,” Trent replies at the same time Shane answers, “No, we haven’t. Fuck off.”

“Okay…”

“Shane’s adding something nonessential to the program.”

“Since when are additional security features nonessential?”

“When the existing security features are already adequate.”

“Adequate?
Adequate?
” Shane’s a perfectionist to a fault, but I’m not enough of a techie to tell whether or not he’s overdoing it. Neither is Trent, not that he’d admit it.

“Leave him alone,” I say. “Why do you care if he wants to sit here all weekend and tweak the program? It paid off the last time he pulled an all-nighter.”

“I guess,” Trent concedes. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Nerds are cool now, assclown,” the runt shoots back.

Trent ruffles Shane’s hair. Shane elbows him in the gut. The good natured roughhousing is just violent enough to attract the attention of one of our monitors.

“Boys…” a female voice admonishes them over the loudspeaker. “Would you like to earn an infraction?” My brothers break apart, Shane glaring while Trent grins back at him. “That’s better.”

We are all so sick of this 24/7 video surveillance bullshit. We’re told there’s no audio to protect the integrity of our business ventures, a theory we’ve rigorously tested by making violent threats to one another and bragging about nonexistent sexual conquests.

“So if you knew the restaurant was bullshit, why did you choose it?” I ask Trent as we leave Shane to his pet project.

“Why the hell did you have to pick that one to spot check?” he laughs.

Because it was a convenient place to meet Sabrina.
“Because it was failing.”

“Man, just leave it alone, alright? It’s under control. Let’s just say I was more interested in the real estate than the establishment.”

“Is that even true?”

“Not entirely. But the sooner that place folds, the better.”

“Whatever.” I hand over my notes.

“I’m supposed to check up on one of your projects. Oh, that’s right…” he says sarcastically. “You haven’t bought
shit
since we got here.”

We’ve been here all of three months. “Excuse me for being thorough.”

“You mean being a coward?”

I’m not taking the bait. I have something big in the works, an apartment complex over in Lincoln Park. But I’m still running the numbers and doing research on the owner. There’s no fucking way I’m letting Trent’s impulsive ass beat me to it. This would be the largest deal any of us have ever brought to the table.

He knows I have a lead and I can’t keep the smug grin off my face, so I turn away from him and make my way to my bedroom. Right now, all I really want to do is jerk off anyway. I still can’t stop thinking about her.

********

The next two weeks at school are hellish. I see Sabrina three times a day at least, not including lunch. I can barely risk glancing in her direction, let alone try to speak to her. That doesn’t stop her from smiling up at me every day in the one class where none of my brothers are present. Every time she does, I sort of feel like I’m going to puke, but in a good way. I’ve only smiled back once.

I eat in the cafeteria every day even though I’d rather be outside, but that’s where she spends the lunch hour. I hate the cafeteria. The food is pretty good, but it’s too noisy and distracting to get anything done. Not to mention, Ian is here. A week and a half into my mission to put Sabrina out of my mind, she comes into the cafeteria. I immediately go outside.

I can’t stop thinking about how much I’m hurting her feelings. I can’t believe I’m even thinking in terms like ‘hurt feelings’, it sounds so childish. But that’s what I’m doing. Every time those bright eyes get dimmer and look down at her desk. Every time that big smile drops away when I don’t smile back. Every time I ignore her when no one is actually watching and I could easily drop her a note. It’s strange. As much as I hate it, I think I enjoy it even more. If there are feelings to hurt, that means there are feelings for me.

Dear God. I’m officially turning into a chick.

I did my best to make it clear to her the last time we met. No, the
only
time we met and the only time we ever will. She knows it’s forbidden, she knows what I have to lose. So why is she making this so difficult?

It might be easier if my brothers weren’t relentlessly flirting with every female that tries to get their attention, which is essentially every female on campus. So far, none of have them have reported any of the others, though I’m not sure that any of them have actually
done
anything either. Aside from Trent’s idiotic decision to accept the cliché blowjob offered under the bleachers that only I know about, but that doesn’t matter because he’s on my side. If only it had been Ian.

If some kind of a don’t-ask-don’t-tell penis truce has been negotiated between the rival factions of the house, no one has made me aware of it. Not that I’d believe them.

By Monday of the third week, Sabrina is no longer looking to me for any kind of emotional validation. She’s no longer looking at anyone at all. Since I do my best not to stare at her, it takes me a while to figure out why she’s keeping her head down. By the end of second period, I’ve figured it out. New haircut.

And she doesn’t seem to like it.

She exits the classroom with a hood pulled over her head, even though it’s still unseasonably warm. I purposefully arrive to our third period English class at the last second so I’m not tempted to lift her spirits with a compliment.

“Oh, wow,” one of the girls surrounding her exclaims. “It’s so soft.”

“Weird!” another girl says as she runs her fingers across Sabrina’s untamed curls, unsolicited. “It
is
really soft.”

“So is this an afro? Are those back in style for black people?”

Yeah, that question is completely appropriate.
I inwardly cringe as Sabrina mumbles, “I don’t know.”

“So why’d you get one?”

“I didn’t… It shrank a lot more than I expected and then I made the mistake of brushing it.”

“Shrank?”

“Why can’t you brush your hair?”

“Maybe you should put a bunch of itty bitty braids in it.”

“Like you’re from the ghetto.”

“
Are
you from the ghetto?”

“Oh, my God. You aren’t supposed to ask someone that!” At least one of them is remotely considerate.

“She doesn’t talk like she is. I bet you wouldn’t even know she’s black if you spoke to her on the phone.”

For fuck’s sake.
Class should have started already. I look at the teacher, who should probably be doing something to stop this bullshit, but she has her nose in a book. What an oblivious bitch.

“Well, I think it’s pretty,” one of them says. “Very… urban.”

“What do you dress like when you’re not in school?”

The girls continue to assault her with intrusive questions about what it’s like to be a black human female as she shrinks further down into her chair. When she doesn’t reply, they start answering their own questions using every stereotype available. The dumb bitch teacher
still
isn’t doing anything.

“Sabrina is pretty hot,” a guy to the left of me whispers to his friend.

“Fuck yeah, she is,” he replies. “You know, for a black chick.”

“Still, I’d totally hit that.”

It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to turn and punch the fucker right in the face. I let out a loud cough, the kind a person uses to get someone to look up. The teacher ignores it.

The girl sitting directly behind Sabrina is a real attention whore and doesn’t like where the spotlight is shining. “Ms. Taylor? I think I might have to move to a different seat. I’m not going to be able to see the board over Sabrina’s giant hair.”

“Well…” the teacher replies. Seriously? This is the moment she picks her head up. “Jonathan isn’t here today, maybe you could—”

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” I say without thinking.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a foot taller than Sabrina, at least eight inches taller than her hair, and I have wide shoulders,” I snap, turning to the student behind me who happens to be the smallest kid in class. “Can you see around me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why don’t you lean two inches to the right,” I tell the student behind Sabrina, “while you start actually teaching something.”

“Mr. Donovan, if you think you’re allowed to speak to me that way—”

“How about you write me a detention right now and I’ll go down to the head office to explain how you just sat there and read a book for five minutes of class time while a minority student was harassed?”

Holy shit, do I need to shut the fuck up!

Our teacher’s eyes widen as the other students silently take their seats.

“Why don’t we open our textbooks to page 89,” the instructor says.

Once everything has settled down, I glance over my shoulder in Sabrina’s direction. I guess it’s my turn to get the cold shoulder.