Boyfriend Without Benefits (The Jilted Exes’ Club #3)

Prologue

Anthony

Twelve years old

I’ve never been in such a nice house. It’s like a mansion or one of those places you see on television or hear about in fancy areas of Hollywood where all the stars live. Logically, I knew they had them in Missouri too, but not in my neighborhood or any neighborhood I’ve ever been to.

But now…now this is my neighborhood, and I’m staying with an uncle I didn’t know existed.

I’m wearing the kind of nice clothes I never dreamed I could have, and going to a private school with uniforms and kids who look at me like I’m something they stepped in.

I might not have had friends at my old school either, but at least they never saw me as trash the way these kids do.

The way my uncle and his wife do.

The teacher’s outside the classroom, and everyone is chatting and joking around me. I tug on the collar of my shirt, wondering how these are comfortable for anyone. Why do we have to have collars and buttons that try to strangle us?

A ball of paper flies across the row and hits me in the side of the head. Anger burns up my spine, exploding at the base of my nape.

“Hey, do you talk?” the asshole asks.

“I don’t think he talks,” another guy says.

“He’s just shy. Leave him alone,” follows a softer, more feminine voice.

“Aww, Wendy, do you have a crush on the new boy who doesn’t know how to talk?”

“Shut up, Lance! Maybe I just feel bad for him. His mom didn’t even love him. She’s abandoned him.”

I listen to them argue around me, about me, the muscles in my body getting tighter, my skin feeling hotter.

It’s not until Lance says, “He’s a loser, a weirdo. If I was his mom, I would have left him too. I feel sorry for his uncle—”

I fly out of the chair before he can get another word out. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in a fight. Lance is taller and broader than me, with a whole lot more muscle, but I don’t care. I get two good hits in before our teacher is back, another one with her, the two of them pulling us apart.

My aunt has to come down to the school to get me after that. She doesn’t speak to me in the car, just tells me they won’t tolerate fighting and sends me to my room.

When I hear my uncle get home, I sneak quietly down the stairs, planning to try to explain what happened. When I hit the third step from the bottom, I hear them.

“Can’t we send him somewhere? You know I don’t want him here, Pete,” my aunt says.

“Keeping him isn’t my first choice either, but I’m not sending him away. At least not yet.”

I listen while they argue about me, about how they never wanted kids but got stuck with me, before I turn, slip back up the stairs, turn on music, and dance.

It’s the only place I’ve ever felt like I belong anyway.

Dancing is better than crying. I don’t need them, I don’t need anyone, as long as I have this.

I make it through the rest of middle school without any further incidents. I keep to myself, not really knowing how to interact with anyone, even if one of them did want me. But they don’t, just like my mom didn’t, my dad, or my aunt and uncle.

It’s two weeks into my freshman year of high school, when I sneak into the dance studio at lunch.

It’s a state-of-the-art facility, their program one of the best in the state.

I dance to music that’s only inside my head, lose myself to the movement, to this one and only thing in my life that I love.

The only thing that loves me back. Maybe that sounds ridiculous, but I feel it and know it’s true.

By the time I’m done, tears are in my eyes, heart pounding against my chest, breaths heaving, when I hear, “That was incredibly beautiful.”

I jump at the sound of the voice. “Sorry. I’ll go,” I tell the woman.

“Please don’t. What’s your name?”

I look away. “Anthony Damiani, ma’am.”

She smiles, her black twists pulled up into a bun. “Anthony, we would love to have you on our dance team. Have you considered joining?”

It’s all I’ve ever wanted, but I don’t know if I could perform in front of people. “I don’t…I don’t know if I can.”

She looks at me with kindness mixed with sadness. “My name is Aliyah, and I’m the dance coach. I could help you if you’d like.”

My heart soars, hope I haven’t felt in too long, maybe ever, building inside me. I don’t know how I’ll do this, how I’ll get over my issues to have it, but I want it…no, I need it. I don’t care what it takes to have dance, but I’ll find a way. “Yes. Please.”

“Okay.” She offers me another grin. “Let’s see what we can do.”

*

Last November

It’s been fun having Rylan, Hayes, Eric, Donovan, Ana, and Mads all at Lush tonight, partying and getting to see me dance. It’s so wild becoming close with Hayes and Donovan. While I’m not the same quiet, shy, angry boy I used to be, I’ve spent my life not allowing myself to get close to anyone.

When I was a kid and thought I might, I learned real quick no one really wanted me around.

The one time I tried as an adult, I’d ended up dating the biggest asshole in LA—Malcolm—with all his emotional abuse and cheating ways.

The only good thing to come from being with him is that I met Hayes and Donovan—two of the other men Malcolm had been secretly dating at the same time.

Now we’re members of the Jilted Exes’ Club, which is a misnomer because this is the happiest I’ve ever been.

Hayes and Donovan are…special. And as scary as it is, I’m learning to trust them.

My friendship with the two of them has also brought Donovan’s partner, Eric, Hayes’s partner, Rylan, and their friends Ana and Mads into my life—Mads, who is way hotter than any one person has a right to be.

It doesn’t help that he’s also the goalie for the LA Rebels, and there’s something so sexy about seeing him in his hockey uniform.

We all tease and gush over how cute Eric and Donovan are together, before Eric slips away with Ana.

I call Eric and Donovan partners, even though they haven’t yet acknowledged their feelings for each other.

The definition of idiots in love should include them—and I mean that in the most loving way imaginable.

“He’s killing me,” Donovan says the second Eric and Ana are gone.

“I think you mean to say he’s crazy about you. Have you still not told him how you feel?” Hayes asks.

“We say I love you, but we’ve always said that…though we say it more now. I know I need to talk to him, but I’m scared of doing anything that’ll change things.”

“Why would telling him change the fact that you’re in love with each other?” Rylan asks. “Is this something else I don’t know about relationships? I’m still figuring this stuff out, but I’m pretty fucking good at it so far.” Rylan grins.

“How do I know if he’s in love with me?” Donovan questions. “He hasn’t told me.”

Mads looks puzzled. “Wait. You can’t tell he’s in love with you?

You’re worse than Rylan was,” he says, and I can’t help letting my gaze linger on him—on his long, lithe, but muscular form.

His dark-brown hair and those sweet blue eyes that are good at making a person feel important.

Oh, the things I would do with this man…

“It’s different for them,” I chime in, defending them. “They’re best friends. There’s a lot at stake.” There’s not a chance in hell they don’t feel the same about each other, but I get Donovan’s worry.

“Thank you,” he replies.

I go sit beside him. “I still think you need to talk to him. And you only won’t because you know who is in your head, saying you can’t have this.

” Funny how easy it is to spot Donovan’s hold-up while ignoring my own.

But I know Malcolm’s in my head and probably always will be, what he did to me compounded by the fact that no one else has ever really wanted me.

Malcolm just proved what I’ve always known.

Plus, it’s not the same for me. Hayes met a really unique guy in Rylan, and Donovan and Eric have probably been in love their whole lives. I don’t have any of that.

They complain about how much of a dick Malcolm is while I silently wish I never brought him up.

I pick at the glitter painted on my nails, and when I look up, Mads is watching me.

I lift a brow as if to ask him what’s up, but he just cocks his head slightly, like he’s trying to figure something out.

Suddenly Donovan is on his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“To find my man.”

Just a couple of beats go by before Rylan asks, “Should we follow?”

“No!” Hayes chides.

“I mean…who doesn’t want to see a really romantic moment?” I ask. “It’s like something from a movie.”

“I’m down. I love that kind of stuff!” Mads stands, and then the rest of us are scrambling to our feet too.

We weave through the crowd of dancing, happy people, trying to follow Donovan.

My muscles immediately tighten when I hear a commotion ahead, getting louder and angrier, rising above the music.

My footsteps quicken. Lush is my happy place, the love of my life, and I damn sure don’t let anyone fuck with that.

Gasps erupt from the crowd just as we break through the circle of people and see Malcolm on the ground, Eric straddling him, arm held back, ready to punch. Eric’s eye is bleeding and already beginning to swell.

Shock stills me for a moment. Malcolm isn’t supposed to be here.

He was eighty-sixed when everything went down between us.

But even more surprising than him being let in is Eric fighting him.

He’s the most golden of retrievers, and I didn’t have fighting on his bingo card.

But then, I’m not sure there’s anything he wouldn’t do for Donovan.

“Eric,” Donovan says, just as the music turns off. “He’s not worth it. He’s sad, pathetic, hateful, and he’s not fucking worth it. This isn’t you.”