Chapter 20
TWENTY
ACE
There’s a loud thud as I throw my phone across the room. Fuck, she is so frustrating! I know they're together now. The thought of her spending any time with that asshole has me seeing red. He needs an Oscar for this nice guy role he's playing, hiding the fact he's the biggest piece-of-shit fuckboy. It’s one thing to get your dick wet by random women—I have no room to judge. But talking about his hookups as if it’s common locker room chat or a contest to see who pulls in the hottest girls is gross. Fuck around, fine, but your frat boy teammates don’t need all the details. It’s disrespectful. I can’t stand to imagine Ainsley as the next topic of locker room gossip, but if she continues to see Jackson, that's exactly what she will be.
I need to get laid, but the thought of fucking another woman with Ainsley in the same town shrivels my dick quick. Last night didn’t help—her pussy grinding on my dick, coating me with her orgasm, is a memory I'll never shake. I swear, I would be living my best life if I got to see that look of pure ecstasy multiple times a day. I’ve fucked my hand so much since going to that frat party with her, I should be considered a gold medal Olympian in the sport of jerking off.
I shouldn’t have threatened her by text, but I’m pissed. I keep reminding myself to go back to how I treated her before our friendship went to shit. When I only fantasized about her from a distance, no one was any the wiser. Just the look on Morgan’s face when he saw us on the couch together sent me into a panic. I was right in assuming he would lose his mind if he ever found out I'm in love with his sister. It would be unforgivable in his eyes.
“Hey man, are you ready to get started?” Morgan asks, then pauses when he looks at me. "Damn bro, who hit your dog?" I brush him off with a hand wave, and start up my laptop. We need to finish the files on the state senator and his friends. Denny can’t move forward with their first private party until we have everything complete. So far all background checks have come back clean. We expected this, so now it’s time to dig deeper. If someone has done bad shit, there'll be a crack in the foundation somewhere to give us a lead.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get to work.” I turn to ask Morgan something I know I shouldn’t, but I’m still frustrated that he gave Ainsley the green light. “Why would you say you’re okay with Ainsley seeing Jackson? It wasn’t even a week ago you were just as pissed as I was.” He looks at me curiously, and I wonder if he’s remembering what he saw this morning. I need to control my emotions while talking about his sister.
“I get it, Jackson is a dick, but she'll continue to see him regardless of what you or I have to say about it. So why not give her the freedom to make choices for herself? Between you, me, and Scott, we can look out for her. Not to mention if the Ice Queen catches wind that he hurt my sister, she’ll probably do more damage than all of us combined.” I get what he's saying. I should agree with him, and probably would if I wasn't in love with her.
“I get it man, I really do, but this is Ainsley.” My mouth needs to stop moving.
“Did you fuck my sister?” he bluntly asks.
“What? No!” Not a complete lie. I didn’t fuck her in the way he's asking.
“This morning was weird, you both were cuddled on the couch, sleeping like a couple. I need you to tell me the truth, brother to brother: do you have something going on with my sister?” His words gut me. I'm such a shit fucking friend.
“No, I don’t have anything going on with your sister. We finally squashed the drama, and I'm worried she's making mistakes that could hurt her in the long run. That’s it.” I’m going to hell for lying to a man I call my brother.
His eyes search mine for any dishonesty. He doesn’t find any—apparently I’m a good liar.
“Thank fuck, man. I can’t lose you, you’re my ride-or-die. But I couldn’t accept you and Mini Copeland together. Not with the shit you get into at Sanctuary Upstairs. She's too innocent for that.” He’s right. She is too innocent for me, and it makes it worse when he calls her Mini Copeland. She’s not a baby, only a year younger, but the nickname still strikes a chord. He places his arm around my shoulders in a side hug, reassuring me we're cool. But only cool as long as I stay the fuck away from his sister.
The message is loud and clear.