Psycho Ex Boyfriend (Standalone New Adult Romance) (The Alpha Brotherhood Book 2) (8 page)

“Then anniversary makeout session in the library on Tuesday?”

“Uh… about that…” Adam hesitates. I just wait for him to find the words, unwilling to give him an easy out. “I won’t be there on Tuesday. Or Wednesday.”

“You won’t?” Now I don’t have to fake the squeaky disappointment in my voice. “Why not?”

“I’m making a presentation to an older brother whom I’ve never met before. And then hopefully drafting up an offer with one of his attorneys.”

“You’ve never met one of your brothers?”

“I don’t know quite a few of them. I’ve met all the guys in the generation before us a few times when I was younger. And we’ve just met the kids coming up behind us a few times.”

“That sounds weird.”

“It’s extremely weird,” he laughs. “The older guys… I don’t know. They’re dicks. But I kind of get it. The younger kids, there are so many and I know more than half of them aren’t going to be around for long. So what’s the point of getting to know them? Or taking the time to teach them anything?”

“Because they’re going through the same thing that you went through.”

Adam doesn’t go into specifics about what it was like when he first got there. If I ask, he totally shuts down and ends the conversation entirely. I get the gist of the ‘program’ though. Old school rich guy creates a family of his own, exclusively composed of orphaned boys that remind him of himself in various ways.

“Those boys are on their own. We all are. And, as Trent so often likes to point out, there are only so many slices you can get out of a pie before everyone is left with crumbs. Father agrees.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means that these kids won’t have any little brothers. End of the line.” That is probably a good thing, but I won’t say it. “Anyway, this guy basically runs Chicago. He’s very important and I need to make a good impression.”

“You seem a little nervous.”

“Well, I can actually admit that to you because you’re my girlfriend and you won’t judge me.”

Girlfriend. I’m finally used to hearing it but still swoon a little whenever I hear him say the word. If I could only brag about it. “I won’t judge you. But I’m sure it will go well.”

“As a group, we only have a 50/50 success rate. Individually, I’m actually just under that. I need to step it up.”

I swear I’m more paranoid about him getting kicked out of that twisted ass group home than he is. “Adam… I’m sorry if I’ve—”

“Stop it,” he cuts me off. “I guess technically I could have stumbled across something amazing during the three times we’ve actually seen each other outside of school, but I doubt it because I wouldn’t have been looking. I’ve essentially put all my eggs in one huge basket here, aside from the think tanking I do with Trent and Shane.”

“What happens if you drop this basket?”

“
Nothing,”
he says, admonishing me with his tone. “Quit worrying.”

“Alright,” I whisper even quieter than usual. “So do you want to celebrate early tomorrow?”

“Hmm, let me think. Do I want to make out and attempt to feel you up in the closet tomorrow…”

“Well, we’re one day short of a month now so I think technically I can let you feel me up without being a slut,” I joke.

Adam doesn’t laugh. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t know…”

“So you would have felt like a slut on Friday, but not on Monday.”

“I’ll probably still feel like a slut.”

“
What
?” he exclaims. “Sabrina… why the hell would you—”

“I can’t help it.”

“Is it because we’re a secret?”

“No. God no. I’d probably make you wait way longer if we were out in the open because I’d get teased when you bragged about it.”

“I wouldn’t brag.”

“You’d better! You hypothetically got to second base!”

“What?” he laughs. “This is very confusing.”

“Try actually being a girl, not just dating one.”

“Fuck…”

“Not for a while.”

“Jesus!”

“Sorry, tiger.”

“So let me get this straight.” Adam’s using his all business, calculating voice. “You’re putting boundaries on our extracurricular activities based on some messed up, Catch-22 courtship system designed at least a century ago instead of just doing what you want? Even though only we would know and there’s not a chance in hell you’d actually be judged for not adhering to such a code.”

“I never thought about it like that. And technically there is a slim chance we’ll get caught in that closet one day.”

“That’s part of the reason it’s so hot.”

“No, that’s part of the reason it’s so nerve racking. And the code exists for a reason. I think.”

“Oh really? And what reason would that be?”

“I don’t know!” I squeal, clapping my hand over my mouth. My house’s lights out policy at 10:30 isn’t as lenient. “Probably because if I just did what I felt like doing, we’d be… um…”

“That’s possibly the hottest ‘um’ I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”

Heat crawls across my face and I’m glad he can’t see it. “I mean, I don’t know if we’d have gone
that
far. But… I
really
like it when you kiss my neck and if we had already done some of the other stuff then…

“You are really fucking turning me on right now.”

I’m kind of turning myself on right now, too. “Oh, my God, I’m pretty sure just talking about this officially makes me a slut.”

“Stop calling yourself that!”

“But I’m… ugh!”

“We will talk about this more tomorrow. In that closet. With tongues, and fingers, and…” Adam starts talking about a bunch of dirty stuff using his seductive voice and I totally wish we could actually do some of it. Crap!

“Stop it!”

He has this really husky chuckle whenever he gets a rise out of me. “So, speaking of extracurricular activities.” Ever the gentlemen, he always stops when I ask him to. “When are you joining the fake yearbook club or something so we can start seeing each other one night a week?”

“Adam…”

“C’mon.
Please
.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” It’s a lot easier to resist being a total ho when we’re in the closet at school.

“But we’ve been dating for a whole month now…”

“Adam!”

“I’m fucking with you.”

“
Extremely
poor choice of words,” I giggle.

“Shit. That’s not what I meant. I just want to see you more.”

“I bet you want to see more of me.”

“Are those things mutually exclusive?”

“Maybe not…” They aren’t. I haven’t seen him with his shirt off and I seriously want to. But I cannot let myself say that to him! I’m always at a disadvantage when we talk on the phone because I start to get sleepy and loose lipped. Better than loose in other respects, I guess.

“Please just think about it,” he says. Should I tell him that I’m constantly thinking about it? “But wait until I see if my schedule is going to change because of next week before you pick a fake day to join a fake club.”

“Okay.”

We chat for another hour about school, homework, other kids, his brothers. Just life. How much I wish I could meet his dog and he wishes he could meet my little sister. Basically everything. There’s never enough time to say it all, we could talk forever.

“You sound tired, baby” he says, soothing me.

“I am.”

“So am I. But I’m totally jerking off before bed. Care to join me?”

“No! I already told you, I don’t do that.”

“You should really try it sometime.”

He’s getting ready to say goodbye. We always say like a hundred goodbyes before one of us actually hangs up the phone. It gets harder every time.

“Um… maybe I’d like to listen to you,” I murmur.

Adam laughs at first, but stops when I don’t. “Are you for real?”

“Yeah…”

“Really?”

“Uh huh.”

“Damn,” he replies.

“You don’t have to if you don’t—”

“No, I want to,” he says quickly. “Just wasn’t expecting it. Would it be too much a cliché to ask you what you’re wearing right now?”

“I’ll tell you, but that’s all. I don’t know how to talk dirty.”

“Then just dirty listen…”

There’s something in his voice that tells me he’s already touching himself. And the breathing. The soft moans and groans he makes. I do tell him that I wish I was there, really touching him, because it’s true.

I love touching Adam. He’s getting better at loosening up, but sometimes I can tell that it still freaks him out. It breaks my heart every time, but I hide that from him the same way he tries to hide whatever anxiety makes him pull away sometimes.

When we finally get into that closet on Monday though, he grabs me so tightly and practically melts into my arms when I hug him back. We just hold each other for a while, which surprises me. I thought he’d be a total horn dog today, not a total sweetheart.

There’s a gold chain with a butterfly pendant on my neck when I step into the library a half hour later. I can’t tell anyone that my awesome boyfriend got it for me, but
I
know. And who would have thought that getting to second base would be fun for me, too? I thought boobs just existed for guys to touch, not for girls to feel. Maybe Adam is right about that outdated courtship system…

Adam

Age 15

Parents are completely justified in their attempts to keep teenagers away from closed doors and soft furniture. Having regular access to both has radically changed our relationship.

Buying that apartment complex was the best decision I could have possibly made. Majorly impressed father? Check. Excellent start to a relationship with a particularly successful older brother? Check. Watching Ian’s jaw drop after being informed of my accomplishment. Check. Always a vacant, furnished unit with a view in which to secretly meet up with my gorgeous, funny, horny-even-though-she-never-admits-it girlfriend? Check!

The money is nice, too. Unfortunately, I’ll see very little of it for quite a long time.

She shows up on Thursday at 4:30 like she always does. I open the door and kiss her, then spend the next half hour trying to pay attention as she chatters about whatever is on her mind at the moment. I want to pay attention, I really do. I love every word that comes out of her mouth. But holy fuck, she looks better every time I see her. My weekly appointment to jack off every Thursday at 4:15 is the only thing keeping me sane.

Then we eat dinner and do homework together for at least an hour. Her rule of course. She has a ton of it so I can’t really blame her. I can’t stop distracting her either. It might be easier if she actually got pissed off, instead of just acting like she is before immediately making out with me.

It’s a wonderful routine. Not just the making out. The normality. One night a week, we get to play house and feel relatively normal. No one knows. Her mother thinks she’s on the yearbook committee, because apparently that is still a thing somewhere. My brothers think I have a weekly meeting with the property manager. It’s a little too good to be true and maybe it is. I doubt it will last forever. I know it won’t. And it takes a lot of effort to forget it.

But not when we’re actually here. She doesn’t realize it, but Sabrina is at a disadvantage. I’d never admit it to a soul, not a fucking soul, but I finally broke down and did a little research about how to pleasure a woman. I’m a fucking over achiever, too, and I’m not about to jump into anything this important without doing my homework.

Sabrina’s grip tightens on my arm and she holds her breath. She’s close. The little nub beneath my fingers throbs as her hips rock forward. She always comes with her mouth close to my ear. Mainly because I make sure it’s always there to listen. Girl orgasms seem like a lot more fun than mine are and my research confirms that they last longer. I guess that makes up for all the bullshit they have to put up with to get there.

I catch a whiff of her hair when she’s done, a million perfect little ringlets that I’m not allowed to touch very much. Her shirt is off, as is mine, but her nipples get too sensitive right afterwards and I have to wait for that too. She doesn’t remove her skirt, or the panties, though I’ve pulled off a pair or ten over the course of the last few months. She even let me keep them once.

She drives me insane.

“Please,” I beg, my fingers digging into the flesh of her ass. I’m too fucking horny to be embarrassed and it’s not like anyone is looking. I’d get down on my knees, crawl over hot coals or broken glass, jump out a plane. Basically anything at this point. Groaning, I can’t stop myself from grinding into her thigh to get a little relief. And so she has some idea of what she’s doing to me. “
Please.
”

The frustration comes through in my voice and I back off a little. I don’t really want to be that guy. Actually, I don’t really give two shits about being that guy so much as I don’t want her to have to put up with that guy. Dating the only person you consider a friend is complicated.

“Adam…”

My ears perk up. That didn’t sound like the I’m-not-ready-yet ‘Adam’ that I’m used to hearing. That was more like an I-might-actually-say-yes-this-time ‘Adam.’ She’s biting her bottom lip and her eyes are nervous.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Condoms. Check. King sized bed with extra sheets. Check.

“I, uh…” she trails off, turning to sit on her leg and hugging a pillow to her body, blocking my view of her tits. Ready and willing girlfriend. Check?

Then she gets visibly anxious. Very anxious. Too anxious to enjoy or accept the ‘yes’ that’s sitting on the tip of her tongue. Eyes watering anxious.
Fuck
. “Are you alright?”

“So when we… I’m not sure if I’ll…”

She hesitates for an eternity. “Just tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“C’mon. It’s
me
.”

“I don’t have a hymen,” she mumbles. A medical lady parts term. Glad I did my research. So that means…

“You…” What? Seriously? She’s done it before? Why the fuck have I been waiting so goddamn long then?
Sonofabitch!
Maybe this is why she’s got such a hang-up over being a slut. Or maybe she didn’t like it. Okay, don’t panic, don’t panic. But fuck, who the hell was he? Don’t ask that. How long ago? Christ, don’t ask that either. Just say, “That’s okay. Surprising, but not necessarily a problem.” Unless it was somehow one of my brothers. Then it’s a
huge
fucking problem.

She’s not looking up at me. And her eyes aren’t just watering anymore. Those are actual tears. I’ve never seen her cry before, well, not since we were kids. “I just thought you should know because I’m supposed to bleed the first time, but I won’t.”

Still not looking at me. “I don’t really care whether or not you’re a virgin, Sabrina.” I care a little. She told me she was. I am. But I don’t
really
care so that wasn’t a lie.

“I’m still a…” She chokes out a sob so loud it echoes throughout the room. “I don’t know, maybe I’m technically not.”

“Technically not…”

My stomach drops into a pit. The falling sensation disintegrates into a painful nausea, the delayed kind that starts deep in your belly like when you get kicked in the balls.

She’s not saying what I think she’s saying. Sabrina cannot be fucking saying what I think she’s saying. My skin gets cold and tingly everywhere as my mind scrambles for an explanation, any fucking shred of a possible explanation,
anything
. Anything that could possibly mean something else.

But the blank expression on her face answers everything. Why she’s so reluctant, why she’s so hard on herself about us, why I even met that wide eyed, confused little girl in the first place. The little girl that woke up afraid every night. The little girl that hated the dark and still does. The little girl that got a lecture about why she shouldn’t push a chair in front of her bedroom door when she goes to sleep.

Suspicion gives way to acceptance and everything becomes numb and quiet. Acceptance lingers for a moment before it gives way to pain, tearing free a piece of my insides with a sickening rip, leaving another gaping hole that will bleed and scream and ache forever. The pain fades quickly. Or at least moves into the background to make way for the rage.

My throat tightens as my senses return. She’s finally looking at me, but I can only manage to glance back out of the corner of my eye.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Sabrina mumbles, pulling her knees a little tighter to her chest.

“I’m glad you told me.”

“You’re not going to look at me the same way.”

“Bree…” I grab her hand and bring it to my lips. “Yes, I will.”

She perks up a little at my use of the nickname I’ve recently given her. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

She barely leans toward me, almost like she intends for me to pick up right where we left off.
I can’t do that. Please don’t ask me to do that.

I didn’t lie when I told her that this wouldn’t change the way I look at her. I also didn’t tell her that I more or less thought of her as messed up to begin with. Everybody winds up in the system for a reason. I’d hoped it was just a tweaked out drug addict mother, because that’s just about as good as it gets. But deep down I knew it had to be worse. I knew she was more screwed up than I am and if anything, that made her more appealing. Maybe that’s fucked, but it’s still true. It makes us a match. None of those sheltered, country club bitches could ever get it.

I push it all out of my head when I’m with her and I’ll be able to do that again. Just not tonight.

“Will you help me with that economics paper?” she says, finally answering the uncomfortable question that hangs between us.

“Certainly.”

I toss her that pair of navy blue sweatpants she wears under her school uniform, then rise to my feet to find the button up shirts we shed while making our way to the couch. Why the fuck do the school administrators make girls wear short skirts in the goddamn wintertime? Some academics.

Bree is still a little off even once she’s fully clothed. I force a smile, covering her face with kisses until I finally get a smile back from her. Our textbooks and papers are scattered all over the kitchen table in no particular order. I flop down into a chair and pull her down on my thigh rather than letting her sit across from me.

She doesn’t protest when I wrap my arm around her waist, locking her in. Instead she leans backwards into my chest and winds her fingers into mine. We sit there in silence for a few moments before she gathers up the necessities and starts working on her assignment. It shouldn’t take long because I’ve already completed mine, but there’s no fucking way in hell that I’m cutting tonight short. Bree is always asking for econ advice anyway, but I’m usually too much of a horny asshole to actually help her.

About a half hour into our study session, everything starts to feel completely normal. In a way, it is. We’re joking about our teachers and dimwitted classmates when I make her crack up, giggling uncontrollably with her hand over her mouth. She’s really fucking cute when she does that. Cute is not a word I would ever allow myself to say aloud, even to her, but that’s exactly what she is. Always has been.

I flash back on the first time I got her to giggle like that. Same girl, same laughter, different life. Molly was there. I can’t remember what I was saying to entertain them, but I know I was wearing a red pillowcase like a cape.

I wanted to make them smile for real. They were both always so sad inside, even when they were smiling. I never understood why it always took so much effort to get them to laugh, but that didn’t stop me from trying.

That deep seated nausea overtakes me suddenly. Sabrina asks if I’m alright. I tell her yes even though I’m running to the kitchen sink. Retching painfully a strange sound escapes my throat, half a screech and half a growl. The acidic taste of tomato sauce from the pizza we ate for dinner burns my mouth. Sweat drips from my brow as I become aware of a sharp pain in my balled fist. I must have slammed it into the counter.

I linger there for a moment, my face surrounded by four stainless steel walls as I stare down at the red splatter. I never make a conscious decision to turn the water on, but it’s suddenly running next to me. I wipe my face and rinse my mouth, but my legs are weak and I can’t stand up straight when I’m done.

Something lands on my shoulder and I jerk upwards, scrambling away from it.

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

I hate the way I react when she touches me unexpectedly. Fucking hate it. At least the panic is fleeting and doesn’t keep me from giving into the urge to grab onto her, pulling her into my arms and holding on. It’s not enough and I find myself picking her up as I bury my face into her neck.

I can’t let her go. She doesn’t want me to look at her differently and I don’t want her to think that I am, but my concern doesn’t increase the remote possibility that I’ll be able to let her go.

“I love you,” I whisper. I didn’t mean to say that. It doesn’t make it any less true, but I didn’t mean to say it. I was purposefully holding out until
after
she let me fuck her so that she’d believe me. Or maybe I was just holding out because she wouldn’t let me. I’m such a fucking asshole.

She doesn’t say it back and I don’t give a fuck. Could not care less. The only thing that matters is that her body finally relaxes, finally stops begging me to let it go and sinks into mine. I keep her until the very last second I can, but she’s still late getting back to school so her nanny can pick her up.

I don’t let Sabrina ride the train by herself anymore, which means I do after we’ve parted ways. I enjoy the solitude. Tonight, it’s so comforting that I go around the Loop one extra time. Comforting isn’t the right word. I think I just need a little longer before I walk back into the lion’s den.

My brothers are getting suspicious about these excessively long Thursday meetings. I often return just a few minutes before curfew. What property manager works that late?

They can fuck off with their goddamned questions. I never answer them.

My dog drags herself out of the giant pile of golden fur slumbering in front of the fireplace. Her tail wags, but each step is more like a stumble. I try to tell myself that it’s because she was just sleeping, but that excuse is wearing thin. She’s only three. Too young for such stiff joints.

None of the assholes I live with are in the front room, so I take a little extra time down on my knees with her. Betty knows she has some female competition. Her accusing eyes stare up at me as she thoroughly sniffs my hands and any part of my clothing that has a little essence of Sabrina on it.