3. Ivy
Ivy
B ecause I go out on a lot of dates, I’ve become very good at hacking into guys’ phones and deleting my number as well as any trace of our meeting.
I used to change my number until I realized this way was much more efficient.
The men I go out with seem to get attached way too quickly.
Even though I explain very clearly that I’m not looking for anything other than one night together, they always try to pursue it further, and I wonder if it’s the old saying of wanting what you can’t have.
I tried having a boyfriend once. It only lasted a few weeks before I became so bored with the back-and-forth texting and his need to call every night that I had to end it.
Talking about the weather, his job, and what I was up to put my brain into snooze mode.
So I’ve decided one night is all a guy gets.
Sometimes, if they’re decent in bed, I might see them a few times, but that rarely happens because they only care about their needs, and Lord forbid I use them for my own.
Having the apartment to myself today gives me the opportunity to laze about with only my underwear on.
Billie, my best friend and roommate, is at work and will most likely go to Ford’s house tonight.
She seems to go over there more than he comes here since she picked up a stray cat and made him keep it to make her happy.
I’m allergic to cats, so that little fucker wasn’t coming anywhere near here.
No, thank you to a leaky nose and watery eyeballs.
I grab a bowl, shake some Super Crunch cereal into it, and then pour some milk over it before I sit on the couch, kick my feet up, and watch television—the perfect type of lunch.
My friends call me a serial dater. And while I agree with them, I look at it as exploring all of my options. Why would I settle for one bad lay when I could find multiple, hoping I’ll discover a few who know how to use what they have? Who knows how to please and pleasure?
I remember one of my best friends, Hope Ivanov, asking me once who was the best I’ve ever had in bed. And while I tend to tell my friends everything, I didn’t tell her it was her cousin, Hawke.
My grip tightens on my spoon as I think about the audacious asshole from last night and how he’s always been one.
The thing about our families is that we’re all connected by our parents’ underworld dealings and long-term friendships.
I’ve known almost all of them since I was a child.
Hawke and Ford were later additions to the gang, coming into our lives when I was thirteen.
Anya Ivanov adopted them when they were fifteen, and not much is known about them prior to that.
I’ve always been curious, though, and was even tempted to dive into their history since my father taught me how to dig for information on anyone, but I respect my friends’ privacy, so I haven’t done it.
When I was first introduced to the twins, I thought they were a little quirky. Not much has changed, but I suppose I also grew into my weird self. Anyone made for this world—the underworld—is bound to have a screw or two loose.
My father, one of the best trackers in the world, is no exception.
He’s highly intelligent and has the incredible ability to piss everyone off.
Contrary to the belief that he’s where I get my pranking and carefree nature from, I think I equally get it from my mother, a highly sought-after interior designer who can give it back just as much as my father.
As we grew up, I began to understand the twins a little better, and they couldn’t be more opposite from each other.
While Ford is seemingly quiet and reserved, Hawke is loud and obnoxious.
It’s a part of him that I actually love, along with his unwavering confidence.
I don’t know many men who have the confidence that he has, and I find it very attractive.
Not like that guy I went on a date with the other night, the date Hawke interrupted.
Telling me he wanted to grab my tits wasn’t confidence, it was stupidity and lacked tact.
I had no issue walking out on that date.
I did have to erase any trace of myself from his phone, though, because he tried calling me several times and even sent me delusional messages asking if we could meet up again for a “movie” at his place, which happened to be a hostel.
It turns out one has to be more direct because walking out on a date isn’t obvious enough to show one isn’t interested.
But the positive of him casually contacting me so much is that it means that Hawke and Ford didn’t go overboard in whatever their business dealings at that restaurant were.
I never know what to expect from those two, but often, if they’re on the job, it’s not good.
I suppose that’s part of Hawke’s charm. I don’t go for the bad boys, per se, but that unwavering confidence, even in his job, draws my attention.
I’m mid-bite when the apartment door opens. I turn my head to find my other best friend, Hope, standing there. She doesn’t even seem surprised to see me almost naked.
“Welcome home!” I say around a mouthful.
I knew she was arriving sometime this week, but wasn’t sure when we’d see her.
Hope doesn’t live with us but often pops in when she’s back in Manhattan and not traveling the world for her sculptures.
The babe’s practically a celebrity in the art world, and for those who truly know her, she’s also a socially awkward serial killer. For real.
“Where is your detective?” I ask as she walks in.
Not everyone in our circle knows about her fascination for killing people, and honestly, I’m not too fazed by the knowledge.
The girl has a type she chooses as her victim—men who try to hurt women, although she did kill a colleague once.
Apparently, it was because she was jealous of the woman touching her new beau.
Each to their own, I guess. I learned not to judge after half the shit I’ve seen in my side gig jobs in the underworld.
And besides, she’s still Hope. But her name’s ironic considering her bloody hobby.
This is why it’s a big deal that she’s dating a detective, especially considering who her family is.
Her father is a renowned killer and the twin of Hawke’s adoptive mother.
They run the underworld auctions, and he’s known to be ruthless.
The guy’s got a screw loose, which is most likely why my father somehow became best friends with him.
“He’s at work. I’ll see him later,” she says as she places her handbag on the table and glances at my bowl of cereal.
She shakes her head before I can offer her any.
I’m not exactly someone who cares about cooties and backwash, and besides, I’m of the mentality that sharing is caring, especially of the sexual partners kind.
She takes a seat beside me and tucks her feet under her ass.
“I’m surprised he’s still alive, to be honest,” I reply as I mute the television, far more entertained by our little Hope’s love life.
She’s only two years younger than me, at twenty-two and far more mature, but I certainly didn’t expect her to get into anything serious so soon.
The two are as grossly loved up as the rest of the fuckers around us lately.
“My parents like him,” she says, tucking a piece of her vibrant red hair behind her ear before removing her glasses to wipe them.
I gasp dramatically. “And here I didn’t think your papa could like anyone.”
She covers her smile with her hand as she looks away, a slight blush streaking her cheeks. It’s cute.
“So when’s the wedding?” I joke, and her face goes bright red.
“I don’t think he likes him that much.” It goes without saying that I still don’t think Alek likes him at all, but probably tolerates him.
I don’t think that’s because of who he is or what he does for work, but simply because it’s his little girl.
It’s the same way I imagine my father would react.
The carefree, happy-go-lucky man turns into a prude if he hears about me seeing anyone.
Luckily for him, I see a lot of people, so by the time he’s tracked and compiled information on the man of the hour, I’m already on to the next.
I’m certain he gave up on threatening them when I was a teenager.
“Any new dates you want to tell me about?” Hope questions curiously. I slurp on the remains of the flavored milk and look at her.
“What do you mean?” I ask. I’m always on a new date, so that shouldn’t be such a surprise.
“Hawke mentioned he saw you on a date,” she says. I roll my eyes, that little gossip.
“He interrupted my date,” I correct as I stand and take my bowl and spoon to the sink. She eyes me and puts her glasses back on. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just…” She thinks about how to word whatever she wants to say. “I think there’s something between you and my cousin that neither of you is telling me. You two always have a weird challenge thing going on. And he seemed rather smug about ruining your date.”
“Ha! He didn’t ruin my date. I was already planning on leaving. Anyway, he can only wish he had that much control over my actions. There’s nothing between us, either. You know what Hawke’s like; he gets on everyone’s nerves.”
“And yet everyone loves him,” she points out.
“As much as they want to strangle him. Listen, it’s just a little game we play with one another, that’s all. And, besides, he’s your cousin .”
“That doesn’t mean he’s off-limits to you. And I have eyes; I can see how he looks at you.”
I smirk and glance down at my perfect tits. “I can’t blame him. He is but only a man and one who thinks mostly with his dick.”
She smiles. I’m bigger than most girls, with curves, tits, and an ass, and I fucking love my body. Not that I’d ever admit it to Hawke, but I love his body, too. It would appear I’m just better at hiding it than he is.
“If you say so,” she says, still smiling, and I dislike the way she looks all-knowing or as if she’s clued into something I’m not.
Yes, there’s sexual tension between me and Hawke, but it’s not that deep. And she should be so loved up that she can’t focus on anything else. It seems like that’s how everyone else is.
“What do you plan to wear to Dutton’s birthday this weekend?” she asks.
I grin because I’m known for my outfits.
My wardrobe is one thing I take great pride in, and if I get the chance to dress either Billie or Hope, I do.
Not that there’s anything wrong with their clothes or style.
I just always wanted a little sister, and so they humor me.
None of us has sisters, so we’ve become sisters for each other, especially growing up together.
“Who said I’m going?” I ask mischievously.
She raises a perfectly manicured brow. “Since when have you ever not gone to a party? And, besides, Dutton might’ve invited some interesting men.”
I try to hide the smile as I walk back over to her. She does know me well enough, and these last few weeks, I’ve been striking out on the men front.
“I’ll consider it. Are you bringing your detective?” I’m asking for selfish reasons. If no men grab my attention, then the potential tension of having a dirty cop in a room full of criminals interests me greatly.
“No, he’s working.”
“And he can’t take time off for this?”
“He said he would, but I’m still not comfortable with it all,” she admits, and my bubbling anticipation of the drama recedes because I see how anxious she is. She might’ve found her man and is enjoying their love bubble, but outside of that, in the real world, relationships look complicated.
I rest my arm over her shoulders and give her a reassuring smile.
“Your family accepts him, and you know that says a lot,” I remind her.
She lets out a shaky breath and gives me a half smile, putting me at ease that I reassured her slightly.
Hope, despite being a serial killer, is a good girl.
A little morbid, maybe, but her heart is in the right place when it comes to her family.
However, her social awkwardness and introverted ways, get the best of her, which is why we balance each other because I am the party, no matter where I go.
“Thank you, Ivy,” she says, but is quick to put up her hand. “But please don’t hug me; it’s awkward enough when you have clothes on.”
I click my tongue and throw myself back against the couch cushion as I grab the remote. “Ah, come on, I’ll let you have a tit squeeze for free,” I joke. “But seriously, I’ll go to the party, so you don’t have to stand around by yourself.”
She lets out an easy breath, and I can’t help but smile as I add, “Who knows, I might even bring a date to stir some things up. Daddy Walker would totally be pissed.”
Sometimes I bring bottom-of-the-barrel dates if I know my parents are attending, just to fuck with my father. My mother clued in on it years ago, and now she challenges me to find specific types of guys to push my father’s buttons further. I love it.
Hope laughs, cozying up to watch television with me. “Of course you would.”