Page 42 of The Bad Brother

A little helpwas full access to a thirty-million-dollar trust fund when I turned twenty-five and my grandmother’s engagement ring.

I met Hanna less than six months after my twenty-fifth birthday. Looking back, I don’t think that was a coincidence. I think a part of me always knew that she didn’t love me the way I loved her. Expected it because there’s something about me that didn’t deserve it. Something less and unlovable. As sad and pathetic as it sounds, if it had been anyone else but my brother that Hanna got on her knees for, I probably would’ve forgiven her. Probably still married her.

I meant it when I said Ethan did me a favor.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, I make my way to the dining room table, trying not to think about what I’d been doing to Sloane on top of it a few hours ago while I fold her sweatshirt into a neat square. Leaving it on the table, her stun gun on top of it, I crouch down to collect the things Hanna left behind, placing them back in the box Sloane put them in, as quietly as possible. Fitting its lid back in place, I stand and am halfway to the door before I remember.

Setting the box down on the table, I turn toward the living room and am only a couple of steps in when I see her. Sloane, sleeping on the couch, cheek resting on one of the insanely expensive throw pillows Hanna picked out. Her round, firm ass cheeks peeking out from under the hem of the T-shirt I left behind. Legs bent, one drawn slightly higher than the other, putting her bare pussy on display, my cum still leaking from her exposed slit.

Do you hear that? How wet your filthy little pussy is for me. That’s how desperate you are for my cum.

And just like that, I’m as hard as a fucking rock and all I want to do is drop to my knees and bury my face in her pussy from behind so I can fuck her with my tongue. Make her come in my mouth so hard she passes out, and then, before she even has a chance to recover, I want to?—

Seriously? Are you fucked? Thatreallywould be assault.

Jesus, what the actual fuck is wrong with me?

Forcing myself to turn away from her, I stoop over to open the drawer on the coffee table as carefully as I can. Fully expecting her to wake up and ask me what the hell I’m doing here, I find what I’m looking for—the framed photograph of the day I proposed to Hanna and the engagement ring I used to do it.

I took her to Turks and Caicos. She’d been dropping hints for months before I finally booked the trip, decidingthat it would be the perfect time to propose. The ring was another dropped hint—she left dog-eared jewelry catalogs all over the loft—and even though my grandfather left me the ring he proposed to my grandmother with, something in me told me not to give it to her, so I bought this one instead. The only reason I have it is because she asked me to take it to the jeweler to have it cleaned for the wedding.

After she left, she tried to pick it up but didn’t have the claim ticket. I did and even though I didn’t give a shit about the ring, one way or the other, I picked it up because by that time I was angry and didn’t want her to have it.

Tossing it in the drawer, I proceeded to get blind drunk and stayed that way for a week. The only thing that pulled me out of it was Cade, busting in here to yell at me for worrying River and making her cry.

After that, I sobered up, packed my clothes and moved to Tank’s old apartment across the hall. I’ve been there ever since. I hadn’t planned on ever stepping foot in here again until I was buried inside Sloane with her legs wrapped around me, so desperate to fuck her that I stopped thinking about anything except the grip of her around my cock and the way she was begging for my cum.

Ohgod… yes… come in me, Jensen… please…

Closing the drawer, I somehow resist the urge to turn around and look at her again. Pushing myself across the room, I stop only long enough to drop the photo and the ring in the box before picking it up and walking out the door, this time closing the door behind me.

IT’S BEEN A WEEK AND THREE DAYSsince our little episode in the hallway last Monday night and Jensen hasn’t so much as looked at me. No friendlyhave a nice day, Peachafter torturing me with cold water and no electricity. No flat tires. No snide remarks about my not being a doctor or even calling me a slut or a liar, outright. Every night after I get home, I listen for him in the hall. When I hear him, I scurry toward the door like a crazy person and watch him open his own through the peephole, hoping against hope that he’ll at least look in my direction. He never does. It’s as if I’ve ceased to exist and it’s driving me absolutely, batshit crazy.

Out of desperation, I even showered at the loft this morning before work in hopes that he’d be watching and cut the hot water, just so I could force a confrontation.

Are you sure it’s a confrontation you want, Sloane or is it forhim to lose his temper and overpower you like he did after you threatened to zap him in the balls with your stun gun?

I purposely took a thirty-minute shower and the water ran hot the entire time. If Jenseniswatching, he’s not playing his usual,get rid of Sloanegames anymore.

Good. Fine.

What happened between us was pure insanity and I’m definitely not looking for a repeat.

Liar… liar…

Pushing Jensen and what happened between us out of my mind, I distract myself by fantasizing about all the things I’m going to buy when my automatic deposit hits my new checking account tomorrow morning. Things like coffee and half and half that didn’t come from the hospital cafeteria. Crackers and soup that didn’t expire six months ago. Maybe I’ll even splurge and grab some take-out on the way home from the Chinese place by the hospital. I can ask Sera where she got the wine she and River brought over. By the time I have my mental list compiled, not even the fact that I’m due to have lunch with my mother at the club on Saturday is enough to dampen my mood.

My phone buzzes on the dresser while I’m putting on my socks. Sure it’s my mother since I haven’t heard from her in a few days, I drop my foot and reach for my cell because if I don’t answer her, she’ll show up at the hospital and get me fired. Seeing a text from an unfamiliar number, I feel my stomach flip-flop into my throat because my first thought is that it’s Jensen. That he got my number from River and he’s finally decided to acknowledge me after eleven days of silent treatment.

It's not Jensen.

Unknown: You blocked my number.

Because there are only two people I’ve blocked on my phone and I know it’s not Amy because now that she got what she wanted from me, there’s no reason for her to reach out. Pretending to be my friend served its purpose. That means that the person texting me is Ethan.

Me: What do you want, Ethan?

Unknown: The engagement ring. It was my mother’s and I want to give it to Amy.

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