Page 9 of When the Storm Breaks
“Thanks for the lift, Brody.”
“Yeah, sure.” I raked my hand through my hair, trying to shake off the strange feeling I got whenever I was near her. Edging out of the bedroom, I took the stairs down to the main level with her following on my heels.
“You’ve got my number if you need anything.” I was halfway out the door when she called my name. I looked over my shoulder, my brow cocked in question.
“I’m going to need a car. I can pay cash. Nothing fancy. Just something to get me around town while I’m here. A pickup would be good,” she added. “Do you know of anyone who might be looking to sell?”
She could walk onto a lot and drive away in any damn car she wanted. Which confirmed my suspicion. She was looking to lay low and fly under the radar. Couldn’t blame her. Who in their right mind would want to be hounded by the paparazzi and crazed fans? “I’ll see what I can do.”
She tipped her chin in thanks and I closed the door behind me, her secret safe for now.
Five minutes later, I walked through the front door of my house and called Ridge’s name. No response. The TV was blaring in the living room and I stopped in the doorway. Muttering a curse, I scrubbed my hand over my face, wishing I could unsee the sight before me. Ridge’s gaze was focused on the TV, remote in hand as he flicked channels just as if some chick didn’t have his dick in her mouth.
Jesus Christ.
“Ridge. Put your dick back in your pants. And you can go.” I pointed to the blonde who released him with a pop and scrambled to her feet while he tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped them up, propping his feet on the coffee table. So far, I hadn’t managed to find anything that Ridge truly cared about and he sure as hell didn’t give a shit about this girl who was giving him the eye and waiting for him to defend her. He kept flicking through the channels, not even sparing her a glance.
Had I been this much of an asshole at seventeen? I’d turned thirty-three a few weeks ago and depending who you asked, I wasstillan asshole. So there you go.
“Have you got a ride home?” I asked the girl when Ridge made no move to get his lazy ass off the sofa.
“Um yeah, I’m good,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes down, unable to look at me as she gathered her books and stuffed them in her backpack. “So... I’ll just... I’ll go now. See you at school, I guess,” she told Ridge, her smile hopeful.
I wanted to shake some sense into her, tell her not to waste her time or her smile on guys like Ridge. It never ceased to amaze me that there were girls out there who fell for the bad boys. The worse you treated them, the more they knocked themselves out. I knew this because there had been a time I’d been just like Ridge.
He winked at her. “See you around, babe.”
“Walk her to the door, Ridge,” I said through clenched teeth.
His feet hit the ground and he stood up slowly, yawning and stretching, taking his sweet time before he walked the girl to the front door. Their voices were low, and I had no interest in eavesdropping but I waited for him to return which took at least five more minutes.
“Catch you in the morning, bro.” He swaggered to the doorway, ready to make his exit.
“Hold up.”
He turned, a bored look on his face, and roughed a hand through his hair. It was a few shades darker than mine and reached the collar of his T-shirt. We were a similar height and build and according to my cousin Jesse, Ridge looked like a male stripper. He relied on his looks to get him whatever he wanted. Which meant he’d been intent on seducing every woman in a ten-mile radius, including his female teachers. In the past four months, I’d been called in to the principal’s and guidance counselor’s office almost as many times as I had been in my four years of high school.
“Did you finish your English essay?”
He smirked. “Sure did.” He grabbed a notebook from the coffee table. “Pretty sure it’s gonna get me an A.”
“Let’s see it.”
“I need to re-copy it. It’s still messy.”
I stifled the laughter that threatened to burst free. This shit wasn’t funny. I was looking at my worst nightmare. Brody McCallister 2.0.
I jerked my chin at the notebook. “Let me read it.”
“Nah. You don’t wanna do that. This shit’s boring.”
I grabbed the notebook out of his hand and flicked through the loose-leaf pages until I got to an essay aboutOf Mice and Men. The handwriting was neat, the cursive loopy and decidedly feminine. Not his chicken scratch. Color me surprised.
“Let me get this straight. You got the girl to write your essay and to thank her, you let her give you a blowjob?”
He snickered. So fucking proud of himself and too stupid to hide it. “Good deal, right?”
I ripped the pages out of the notebook, crumpled them into a ball and stuffed it in my pocket before I slapped the notebook against his chest. “Sit down and write your own goddamn essay.”
