Page 112 of Pretty Little Lies

His mouth moves smoothly, like he could do this all day, before his tongue sweeps inside and demands authenticity and sincerity to his words.

I want to believe him.

I’m just not sure I can let my guard down enough to bypass the bullshit of what makes up our lives—South Shore and The Landings. The never-ending middle of what causes violence, death, and uncertainty.

“You think I’m playing you,” he mutters against me. “So, I’m here to tell you that I’m not. There ain’t no rival gangs betweenus. Just a really good-looking guy and a really hot girl who want to bang until they can’t see straight anymore. I’m not into games, so if you are, just lemme know now.”

“I don’t want to play a game,” I whisper, even though it doesn’t mean I won’t need to. If they are planning to hurt my family because Emilio gave the order—shit, he’s already sent masked men inside my house—all bets are off.

“That’s what I wanna hear, McQueen.” And then he tilts my head up farther to dive right in for the kill.

My legs lose feeling as he battles it out with my tongue. He shoves his feeling right down my throat, stroking and lapsing at my lips like he’s going on a year-long tour over the ocean and won’t be back.

“Better chill, baby,” he lightly scolds me. “You keep tryin’ to eat me alive, I’m gonna think you want me to spread this peanut butter all over both of our bodies.”

I press another kiss to his lips, and he greedily takes more. “You into peanut butter, Reevie?”

“I’m into anything dripped or slathered on you, baby. Anything but mayo, because I will literally puke all over you.” I chuckle as he steals another kiss before slapping my ass. “Get inside. I brought suckers for your little sister.”

Torin.

Yeah…if these boys are playing me, I’m fucked.

THIRTY-FOUR

torin

Reeve blasts“Dopamine”by American Dream Machine and Loveless from the Bluetooth speakers outside the speakeasy. And I can hear the drums practically vibrating the whole damn building.

Thankfully, the crowd is younger tonight with the free blunt when you order five shots but something’s wrong.

Reeve speaks through music. Feels through the bass over every drop in each bottom note. The harmonies sound above it, but the thrums practically wave the warning flag that he’s not his normal self.

Glancing over my laptop, he’s sifting through his phone. Busy in his own world that I dare not interrupt or he’s going to shut down.

It’s Bay.

She won’t verbally commit and, while she has no problem taking our cocks, he wants it cemented in stone to where she’ll never be able to carve it out.

No matter how hard she tries.

Trying to focus on the books and the money flowing in and out of my business, I can’t concentrate. Not because of the loud ass music, but because Reeve’s vibe is fucking up mine.

I love my brother.

But I want to strangle him and tell him to go sit at the bar.

Yet, Bay is an issue that neither one of us wishes to speak about. We shared the same girl and, while that might be all fine and dandy with a random whore, Bay isn’t.

Bay is endgame.

Bay is someone I’ve wanted for a hell of a long time and Reeve just happened to cut in line and sample that shit.

Opening my mouth to tell him to relax on the customer’s ears, I snap it right shut. If he wants to talk, he will. He’s not like Cairo, where I have to perform high-tech surgery on him to tell me that he got a paper cut and that’s why there’s a stick up his ass.

No, Reeve needs to unravel a little bit before he gets diarrhea of the mouth, and then I won’t be able to get him to shut the fuck up.

Returning back to shipment orders and inventory, the music suddenly sounds louder before I hear the growl of Koda and Kona in front of my desk.

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