Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
ariana
“You’re staying in tonight?”
I shoot my brother a look as he waltzes into the living room. He studies me skeptically, but I’m bundled on the couch, tired from proving a point all day by ignoring his existence each and every time he speaks to me.
I soften a bit when he hands me a dirty martini to sip on. I pop the skewer out and slide two of the olives into my mouth.
Carter sits down on the opposite side of the couch.
“Isn’t that what you ordered me to do last night?”
Carter sighs, running a hand over his eyes. “I’m not saying that you’re on house arrest.”
“Well, your point was clear,” I mutter, sipping my martini. “I’m not allowed to have fun while I’m under your roof.”
“I just need to know where you are, Ari.” He drops his hand, exhausted from dealing with me. His blue eyes are earnest when they meet mine. “I’ve been taking care of you since I was five years old. You think that stops because you’re grown?”
My defenses weaken at the look on his face.
He is my big brother, but he has always been my father figure, too.
We have great parents. They love us. They care.
But they were pretty absent while we were growing up.
It was always just Carter and me. My dad was never in the stands of my volleyball games, but you know who was?
Carter, his hair still wet from the hockey practice he raced from.
“I’m sorry.”
He studies my face, and when he’s satisfied that I mean it, he reaches over to smack his hand onto my shoulder. “You don’t need to date a bunch of idiots to regain control of your life. Adding men into the mix usually makes things worse, not better.”
I smirk over the rim of my glass. We’ve never outright had the conversation about why I do what I do. Why I date who I date. But he knows me well enough to have come to that conclusion over a decade of watching the horror show.
“I’m just trying to figure things out.”
“I know,” he says, “and I want to let you do that, but only if you’re being safe. Alright?”
It’s annoying how much I love him. “Alright.”
He nods. Our argument is over. We’re both compromising, even if it kills me a little bit. I lean over and hold out my hand, and without hesitation, he smacks my palm twice before we do every single step of our eight-step handshake that we created when we were kids.
It’s like the handshake solidifies the end of all our arguments, this one included. He’s immediately lighter, happier, brighter in the eyes, and I don’t want to cry as much as I did ten minutes ago.
“I’m having some of the boys over tonight. Arden is working nights, but you can hang out with us if you really do want to stay in?”
I don’t react. I force myself not to ask which boys.
Carter might actually order me to go on a date if I show him any sign of interest. I’m hoping for one big, bearded friend with piercing green eyes to be included in that company.
The one who is fun to flirt with. The one who will never crack, so it’s fun to try.
The one who looks at me like I’m the most intriguing human being on the planet, but never says a single word about it.
Boston Black is mysterious. He’s a riddle I can’t solve. I knew it from the first moment I laid eyes on him. He’s different. I want to break down that icy barrier around him. Get to the root of him. Figure out what makes him tick. I feel no shame in how obvious I make that.
“I’ll hang out for a bit.” I pop another olive in my mouth. “If you aren’t playing video games.”
“No video games,” he confirms. “We’re going to watch some baseball highlights and have some drinks. That’s it.”
I cringe. Top two worst sports of all time. Boring.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s all we’ve got, Ari. The other option is golf.”
Ew. Top worst sport. I’ll suffer through baseball.
He laughs harder, his smile back. His eyes sparkle when he looks at me again.
I’ve made him happy, which is my very favourite thing to do.
I’m working on making him proud of me again, but that one might take a bit more time.
Arden has my location. I’m going to try to stop dating the entire city just to feel something, and I’m going to spend some quality time with my brother.
I’ll get there.
As if fate has a sense of humour, Boston Black is the first to knock on the door. Carter’s in the bathroom, and we all know he’ll be in there for another twenty minutes, so I am the lucky one who opens the door to greet him.
Boston’s eyes flash with surprise when he sees me instead of my brother. I’m in a pair of small biker shorts and an oversized Pittsburgh sweater, but I made sure my makeup and hair were done. I have to look like I’m not putting in effort just for him, but still remind him how cute I am.
I smile charmingly, leaning against the door to prevent him from entering. I glance at the pizza box in his hand and the six-pack of beer in the other.
“I’ve seen dirty movies that start this way,” I say, my eyes flickering up to his face. He shoots me a look of warning, which only makes me smile wider. “But the delivery boys have never been this handsome.”
I wonder if he has to physically force himself not to roll his eyes when I lay it on this thick. He’s unbreakable. It’s unnatural.
Give me more.
“Nice to see you, too, Ari,” he grumbles, but makes no move to push past me. I think he’s scared to touch me. Or maybe, he’s just too polite. Oh! Maybe he’s a vampire and needs to be invited in. That would explain a lot about Boston Black, wouldn’t it?
“Are you here to see me or my brother?”
To his credit, he doesn’t balk. Doesn’t wince. Doesn’t sigh at my insistence. He just…watches me. His eyes burn into mine, his mouth fighting a smile that he doesn’t want to show, but I see that bit of fun in you, Boston Black. I’ll pull it out of you.
“I don’t recall you inviting me over,” he says in that gravelly voice.
“Maybe if you give me your number, I will next time.” I smile as innocently as I can and his throat bobs.
That’s the line. I’ve found it. That’s where I will end this particular interaction: if I come on any stronger, he will run for the hills, and he’s far too fun to play with and way too pretty to let go of. “Let me bring this in for you.”
I take the pizza and push the door open with my foot to let him through.
“Thanks,” he mutters, sliding into the house. He deliberately enters the condo sideways, choosing to keep his body as far from mine as possible so that there is no way we brush against each other.
I fight the urge to laugh.
See? What did I tell you? Fun.
Carter trudges into the room on his phone, his eyes lighting up when he spots his friend. Just as quickly, his gaze slides to me and it morphs into a look of warning.
I smile like an angel, shrugging, and bring the pizza into the kitchen without so much as a glance back at either of them.
“Hey, buddy,” Carter says, slapping his hand into Boston’s. He tugs him to his chest, smacking him on the back. “I told you not to bring anything.”
“Can’t come empty-handed,” Boston says. The depth of his voice makes me want to sigh dreamily. He needs to narrate audiobooks for a living. I want that voice to lull me to sleep and whisper to me in my dreams.
“You Canadians and your inability to listen.” Carter sighs, taking the beer from his hand to bring it to the fridge. He glances at me as he shuts the door. “They’re all the same. Never fails.”
Gentleman, I note. Another good quality. Colour me unsurprised.
Boston pulls out one of the stools at the island and sits.
I try not to look at him, but it’s hard.
His hair is half pulled back in an elastic and it’s the most endearing, yet sexy thing that I have ever seen.
This man has nicer hair than I do. Doesn’t look like a guy who uses a 3-in-1, that’s for sure.
He’s got a full head of it, thick and shiny, with an insanely good hairline.
Another good quality. His genes.
He might be one of God's favourites.
Within a few minutes, there’s another knock on the door. Carter moves to answer it, but I hold up a hand. He and Boston are in a conversation. I’m just standing here, trying not to insert myself in a way that would piss my brother off.
Declan Lowes, Wyatt Caulfield, and Callum Saltzman are waiting on the other side of the door. I bark out a laugh when I see the pizza in Declan’s hand and the cases of beer in Wyatt’s.
Canadians. They don’t listen.
I smile, leaning against the threshold again. “Password?”
Declan’s hazel eyes dance with amusement. It’s a look that he always sports when I speak, like I’m free entertainment for him. I will always live up to the challenge.
“Ariana Forkerro is the best Forkerro,” he shoots out immediately.
I grin. Brownie point for Declan Lowes. “Good, but nope.”
“Mother Forker,” Wyatt guesses, face serious, like he’s steadfast in winning this imaginary game that I’ve started.
I snort. “Nope.”
“Ari has the best hair on Instagram,” Declan tries again. A joke from a comment I left on one of my brother’s pictures. He gets another point for remembering that.
“No, sorry.”
“Forkerro Roche,” Wyatt tries again.
I breathe a laugh but shake my head. I’m pleasantly surprised that a bunch of hockey players are this creative. This is fun.
“I’m fucking hungry, let me in?”
All three of us whirl toward Callum. My brows hit my hairline, Wyatt shoots him a stunned look of disbelief, and Declan winces like he should have just duct-taped Callum’s mouth shut before they started playing.
“Cal,” Wyatt hisses.
I swear, if Wyatt Caulfield played for my team, I might flirt with him as much as I flirt with Boston. Nobody has told me he isn’t for the girls, but I got an ‘A’ plus in chemistry, and I can confirm that he and Callum have a boatload of it.
Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes. Think of a modern, luxury apartment in human form. His bone structure should be illegal, some of the best angular lines on a face that I’ve ever seen. Don’t even get me started on that sleeve of black and gray tattoos—one of a kind art.
He’s hot. Super hot. But I’m down bad for the grumpy one, anyway.
Callum glances at his friends, seemingly confused by their scolding. He shrugs.
I bark out a laugh. “You’re funny, Cap. Very funny. That one wins.”
I step back, holding open the door with my palm. Callum smiles—at least, I think that was a smile? He shoots both boys a look of triumph, striding into the condo without a care in the world.
Wyatt grimaces as we come face-to-face. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say with a soft laugh, taking the pizza from Declan so he can remove his shoes. “Carter told you guys not to bring anything.”
Declan shoots me a look, brow furrowing. “Never show up empty-handed, Ari. Who the fuck do you think I am?”
Canadians.