Chapter 18
18
LEO
B riar Crosby thinks I’m hot.
I may have been called a Himbo a couple times in the press—something I thought was positive until I looked up what it actually meant—but I’m not completely braindead.
I know women.
And I know Briar thinks I’m sexy.
But if there’s one thing Briar is, it’s grouchy. And she has one thing I tend to hate. Professional integrity.
Disgusting.
“Do you want Italian ice?” I ask her quickly, realizing we’re about to pass a Rita’s.
I watch from my peripheral as she studies my face, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”
“Because I want it. I was just asking if you wanted it too.”
She purses her lips. “Can I get some for Elara? I’ll just put it in the freezer until she’s home.”
“Yeah. I was going to get everything to go.”
“Sounds good to me,” she says simply, folding her arms over her chest.
I sigh, using every ounce of my brainpower to keep my eyes out the window and not on the way her dress rides up her thighs, her pale skin golden in the sunlight streaming through my tinted windows.
Pulling into the parking lot, I press the button to open her door before heading to the small window to place my order.
Everyone around us gasps, heads swiveling left and right as kids whisper and point.
People around here are really great at letting the team live their lives, but there’s sometimes where we just have to try to blend in.
Or try to hide. Owen ordered a pack of a hundred fake mustaches before growing his own mustache out a couple months ago because of some stupid movie about planes. The fake mustache hasn’t worked as well ever since.
Once my order is placed, I step aside and let Briar order. A gelati for her and a small custard for Elara.
The order comes out quickly, and we’re back in the car in no time, our desserts on Briar’s lap.
See? Easy peasy. I’m sure I’ll get a call about some sort of video going around tomorrow morning.
But knowing it won’t be negative this time brings a small smile to my face.
“The ice is way better,” I tell her, shoveling a large spoonful of Italian ice into my mouth.
She shakes her head, pointing her spoon at me. “Incorrect. Have you even tried this? The ice with the custard? Absolute heaven.”
“What flavors did you get again?”
“Root beer ice with vanilla custard,” she tells me, proudly showing me her mostly empty cup.
I turn my nose up. “Disgusting.”
“What?”
“Root beer. Nasty.”
“Warner, you need to watch your mouth. Seriously. Those are fighting words.”
I smile. “Who am I going to fight here?”
She takes a bite of her disgusting concoction. “Don’t make me stick the six-year-old on you, Leo.”
I fight the laugh threatening to spill out of me, but it’s no use. “The six-year-old? You’re going to stick Elara on me?”
Briar puts down her cup, leaning back on the stool and crossing her arms. “Six-year-olds are terrifying, Warner. Don’t you dare underestimate that sweet little face. She once told me my left boob looked too lopsided and how in the world was I supposed to find her a dad that way?”
I cackle. “Was it?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Her eyes go wide, and I watch as she bites her cheek to stop herself from smiling. “Was what?”
“Was your boob lopsided?”
She considers this for a moment. “I mean probably. Boobs are naturally a little lopsided. Whatever I was wearing probably just made it look extra bad.
Why are we talking about this? I think. Why am I here fighting for my life not to look down just a little. Just a quick peek.
I won’t do it. Nope.
Just when I’m about to open my mouth, I hear a loud noise from the apartment next door, causing both Briar and I to straighten.
“You know you have to tell them before they see it themselves, right?” Briar nearly whispers.
“Why are you talking so softly?” I whisper back.
“I don’t know, it just feels like the right thing to do.”
But she’s right .
“I really don’t want to though,” I whine, tossing my head back.
“I think now is the perfect time.”
If any photos come out from our time out and about, Owen is going to murder me.
Actually, no. Owen may not murder me, but Isla sure will.
With a deep breath, I reach for my spare key to Isla’s apartment. The same spare key I have to give Owen back, considering he just bought the place.
I’m not sure if he told her yet. I’m not even sure if he knows I still have it. But I’ve been putting off handing it over. Not that I use it frequently. I barely spend any time at her place at all, actually. And I definitely don’t barge in anymore. Not after… last time.
But this is a rare exception.
Now I just have to hope and pray her deadbolt isn’t locked.
Shooting Briar a glare, I head into the hallway, secretly praying the door is double locked. But when the door easily swings open, I panic.
And panic some more when the two of them are right there, watching me with wide eyes, a furry… thing behind them.
Great. There’s going to be puppy dates in my future, I can just tell.
Good thing I’m great at thinking of things on the fly. “Owen, I need your help. Right now. Isla, you too,” I tell them, already realizing I have no idea where I’m taking this.
What are they going to help with? The deed is already done.
Oh god, Leo, please don’t say those exact words to Owen.
I don’t need him worrying about what the deed is.
But to think Briar Crosby would lower herself to have sex with me is laughable anyways.
“What’s wrong?” Owen asks .
“I may have fucked up,” I tell him, opting to simply tell the truth.
Who could have thought.
“How? Just spill.”
“Well, I was talking to my PR team and they agreed that I had to do something to change my image. It’s pretty bad, if you couldn’t tell.”
The two look at each other, as if to say no shit.
“Yeah?” Owen settles with, encouraging me to continue.
“Well, I may be entering a PR relationship of sorts.”
“Okay?”
“And they may have asked me to send them a list of people I think would be good for it.”
Which isn’t… totally a lie? I’m calling it a white lie. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?
Remember when you were pissed at him for dating your sister behind your back and you were a total dick about it? my brain reminds me.
I do. But I push the thought out of my mind. That’s not what’s important at the moment.
“And?”
“And, well, I’m being forced to fake-date your sister. But listen, just listen, alright? It’s just for the press, nothing more. She knows what she’s getting into.”
It’s again, not a complete lie.
As Owen’s face gets brighter and brighter, my sister places a hand on his chest, her eyes glancing my way every couple of seconds as if making sure I don’t flee.
A knock on the door has us all turning around, and I open it to find Briar, who comes in with an angelic smile.
The second her eyes find Owen, she grimaces. “He told you?”
Owen nods.
And I start to panic. I wasn’t expecting her to be here. “It was wild that they picked you out of that huge list, wasn’t it?” I chuckle nervously, trying to catch her eye and hoping it isn’t too obvious.
Her brows furrow as she shakes her head. “Leo, you specifically asked for me. What list are you talking about?”
I want to hit my head against the wall.
“The list they made me choose from.”
She rolls her eyes. “Leo’s lying. He specifically wanted me.” She pauses. “Wanted me for the job I mean.”
Owen grows an even darker shade of red.
“Anyways!” Briar smiles. “Did you get a dog? Oh my god, Elara said she overheard you on the phone talking about getting one! We’re going to have so many puppy dates,” she says as she crouches, extending her hand for the puppy to smell. “What’s her name?”
“Peaches!” Isla smiles, tucking her brown hair behind her ear.
“Gross,” I say under my breath, knowing Owen calls my sister that like some kind of weird pet name.
“What was that?” Owen asks, challenge clear in his eyes.
I shake my head. “It’s a great name!”
I’m lying. A great name would be something like Star Scream.
Bring the Decepticons up in this bitch.
Just think about it. You’re at a dog park and call for Star Scream and it’s just this little puppy that comes running up.
Yeah, the next dog I get will be named Star Scream.
The next dog? There will be no dog.
“Yeah. I hope you guys have a great night. Here’s your spare key, by the way.” I hand it over, avoiding Owen’s glare.
And I’m out.
OWEN (Pookie)
The only reason I’m pissed is because the sheer amount of shit you put me through last year, man. My sister can handle herself. She knows what’s best for her and I trust her judgment. Just don’t fuck it up.
Running my hands over my face, I think about the choices I made to get me here. What did I really do wrong?
Okay, well, I did a lot wrong. But why?
That’s a problem for my therapist to solve, actually.
Now I just have to find a therapist.
Pulling out my phone, I scroll through a list of therapists in the area, but I can’t bring myself to schedule a consultation.
Do I really need therapy?
I’m doing great on my own.
It couldn’t hurt, right?
Instead of making a decision, I put my phone away, instead opening my reading app to the find I had drifted off during the most toe-curling smut ever.
And I’m instantly hard.
Settling in, I reach into my sweats, pulling out my dick.
It’s been just me and my hand for the last couple of months, despite popular belief. Just the two of us. A great team.
Sighing, I start reading about a girl being bent over a balcony, and as the scene gets more intense, so do my strokes.
He fists her blonde hair in his hand, pulling back—wait. Her hair wasn’t blonde. It was brown. Okay. Got real confused there. Have to pay attention to the details, Leo.
Lifting her head up, he looks into her brow —blue eyes. They’re blue. Blue is a pretty color! You like blue eyes!
But brown eyes are better.
God, I’m fucked.