Chapter Seventeen
SEVENTEEN
Phoebe
I struggle to capture oxygen in my lungs. Lying sweaty, naked, but not yet exhausted under black, damp sheets, my whole body still hums from his touch.
Sex.
It shouldn’t feel this powerful, this electrifying . I can’t ever remember enjoying sex this much . Like I could keep going. I could never stop. My nerve endings sing after hours of fooling around in Rocky’s bedroom last night and then again early this morning.
I want to give a middle finger to his digital clock and pretend it’s yesterday. It’s been three months since the Berkshires, where we collected our parents’ DNA, and little things about being with Rocky still send butterflies flapping. Simple things. Like waking up in his bedroom.
Rocky’s room.
Besides the TV, which he hung for me, his room is more library-from- Beauty-and-the-Beast than actual bedroom. The irony is that nothing in here really belongs to Rocky. Not the Murano Glass birds or vases, the gold Venetian masks, or the dozens of 1700s encyclopedias on the many built-in shelves. The Reynoldses left their various trinkets and books when Rocky rented the boathouse, at Rocky’s request and with his money.
Even if he wanted to decorate, I don’t think he has enough personal belongings to do much. Unlike me, he never collected things from job to job.
Rocky walks toward the door and disposes of a condom in a trash bin. He makes a scarily attractive, naked trek back to his king-sized bed.
Scream plays at a loud decibel on a mounted TV in the background, and I try to focus more on the Ghostface killer than the murderously handsome devil that just fucked my brains out—but I am only human.
“That was…” I think out loud, and off Rocky’s satisfied expression, I board up all compliments. “Pretty average.”
His gaze sweeps my face. “Wow.”
“Wow, like you’re so right, Phoebe?”
“Wow, like this town is making you a really bad liar.” He’s a breath from the bed, and I throw a feather pillow at him.
He annoyingly catches it.
“I’m a great liar.” I sit up more, the sheet dropping to my lap. His hot gaze lowers to my tits, and I ignore that to make my argument. “Case in point, this whole town believes I’m happily with Jake when I’m actually unhappily with you.”
“Unhappily?”
“Uh-huh, yeah. I’m very, very unhappy with you.”
“Yeah?” He crawls back on the bed. “You die a little inside every night?”
“More than a little.” My breath snags, especially as his large palm slides up the side of my face, our exchanged desire throttling my senses. “I’m fully, completely…comatose.”
His lips ghost over mine. “You feel pretty fucking alive to me.” Just as he drags me into a body-pulling kiss and lays me against the mattress, a shrill beeeeep beeeep beeeeeep tears our lips apart and causes Rocky to roll his eyes into the Atlantic. “Dammit,” he curses, climbing off me and the bed.
He collects his phone from a built-in bookshelf and angrily shuts off the seven a.m. alarm, then journeys around the room for his wallet, keys. Still naked. He wears rage like the warmest fur coat. His intense stride leaves flaming footprints everywhere he steps.
The fire is intrinsic to who Rocky is. But it rarely burns this many holes in the floor.
“Can’t be late for your very important date?” I twist my hair into a messy high pony and ignore the clench of my stomach.
He throws dirty clothes from last night into a wicker basket. “Breakfast at Symphonies on the Pier.”
“Fancy.”
“Eight a.m. sharp.”
“With Mr. Firstborn Fuckbag?” I ask, even if the answer is crystal clear in his hostile stance. “Your new bestie can rot in hell.”
“Hell isn’t painful enough,” he says bitterly. “Trent would likely thrive there.” The mere mention of Trent Waterford is a smoke bomb of wrath.
I inhale the fumes. “No, he wouldn’t, because I’d be there, and I would kick his ass to some nasty flesh-eating circle.”
Rocky almost, almost smiles. “Yeah? How exactly would you kick his ass?”
“I’m strong,” I argue.
Three months into sowing seeds to gain influence over the Waterford family, and I’ve felt increasingly protective of Rocky. Like I could throw steak knives and a chain saw at Trent. But I know better.
Wedging myself between Rocky and Trent isn’t a good option. It’d make the situation infinitely worse, even if it’s so very tempting.
I just wish I could do something more to help my real (but secret) boyfriend.
“I can carry a tire,” I say, noting my strength.
“You can pick up a tire two inches off the ground for two seconds.”
I glare. Okay, he’s not wrong. I’m not out here pumping iron and working on my upper-body strength.
Still, I cross my arms. “I’ve thrown a punch before.” At a bar many years ago. To protect Hailey after she rubbed some drunk dude wrong by merely existing . He said she wouldn’t stop glaring at him. He was so offended that he got in her face, and so I got in his face with my fist, and then Nova intervened because Drunk Dude grabbed me by the hair.
It was a bad night.
“And how’d that go for you?” Rocky asks with more snark.
“Well, I won the fight, so it went fantastic .”
He gives me a look. “Needing your ‘older’ brother to defend you isn’t winning.”
“Wrestling has tag-team championships, so I beg to differ.” I hold on to my bent knees. “But I would kick Trent’s ass solo. All on me.” I flex my bicep, which produces a tiny bump of muscle. “Be fucking scared.”
“I am scared,” he says, “that you might pull a fucking tendon.”
I flip him off with both hands.
Rocky abandons his wallet, keys, Rolex, and phone on the dresser—just to get on the bed and seize my ankle. He yanks, and I splat flat on my back. My heart pitches so fast, I go dizzy.
When I try to sit up, he pushes me down. His harsh gaze caresses me like molten sandpaper, and I can’t deny—I never want him to look away. He dips closer. “You call this a fight?”
I shove him harder, and he snatches my arms like I’m a paper doll. We’re bare. Just hot skin and heavy breaths. The latter are mostly from me.
“Fuck you,” I curse out.
“Tell me to go fuck myself,” he whispers against my ear. “Tell me to fuck off. Use your dirty fucking mouth because you know you’ll never be physically stronger than me.”
I breathe like I’m running up a ninety-degree incline. I feel myself get wetter, and I can barely figure out why this is turning me on right now. It’s not because we’re naked wrestling. Or because I’m losing.
I wriggle my legs under him, kicking frantically, but he roots me to the bed with such lazy effort, whereas I’m exerting every ounce of force in me. Growling out, I try to reclaim my arms, but he has sufficiently pinned me.
I squirm.
He grips and imprisons.
Our eyes are impaling each other.
I writhe beneath him. “I won’t stop,” I rasp.
“I know,” he breathes. “Because I know who you fucking are.”
Then, with his knees, he spreads me wide open. Yes, yes. Rocky is so hard, and in these next seconds, which become blissful minutes, he fucks me with absolute aggression. Possession. As if he needs to reach the deepest parts of me, and that’s it—that’s why I’m overcome so fully, so suddenly.
The connection.
The feeling that he’s pulling me into him, and I’m pulling him down into me. That we could be chained and padlocked together and it still wouldn’t be close enough.
His eyes excavate mine, and my struggle is weak under an onslaught of raw pleasure and emotion. I want deeper, too.
I want to dig my claws in him. I want to etch my chosen name on his back. I want him to carve his chosen name on mine. Blood dripping down our bodies. Kissing through the crimson mess of each other.
Never letting go.
“Deeper,” I grit, and it becomes a tiny cry.
He presses his forehead to mine. “Phoebe.”
“Rocky. Rocky. ” I’m going to come.
And when I do, hot tears spill out of the corners of my eyes. He holds me tightly, securely, firmly against his body while he thrusts. He’s warm inside me without a condom. When he pulls out, he’s knelt over me, and he pumps himself a few times.
He comes on my abdomen with a coarse, guttural noise.
That visual. A strange whimpering noise escapes me. Fuuuck. I roll my face into the pillow. “You didn’t hear that.”
“You mean the sound of you loving a cumshot?” He’s off the bed. Already making another sexy naked trek. Déjà vu. How many times can we do this?
My face is on fire. “I’ve never loved being comed on.”
“Because I haven’t come on you until today.” He grabs a hand towel out of his closet. “And whoever came on you before me is a fucking loser and has to die now.” He flashes a cold smile.
It makes me actually smile.
He returns to the bed, and while I’m leaning back on my elbows, I let him wipe my abdomen. He asks if it was too rough for me, and I say, “No, I liked it.” Tension ramps up between us, a sexual and emotional desire all wrapped in one deadly bow.
His narrowed eyes flit up to mine. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to fuck again.”
“I know you have to go meet Trent.” I cringe even surfacing Jake’s brother again. “And anyway, I need to leave for work soon. It’s a mutual smash-and-dash.”
He grimaces. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Fine,” I say. “Hit-it-and-quit-it.”
He rolls his eyes and stands up, throwing the dirty towel into the wicker basket.
“What? Rocky. ” I frown and slide off the bed. “I’m joking . Probably not my best one, but a joke nonetheless.”
He chucks his charcoal sweatpants to me with no animosity on his face. I catch and step into them as he says, “Being around Jake’s brother is stirring things in me that I can’t fucking explain, Phebs. He’s not a special breed of evil. I’ve been around so many Trents before. I’ve pretended to be them all my life. But I’ve never really been with you . Not in this way. Not while doing a job like this.”
“It’s making it harder?” I pull on his plain black tee. It hangs loose around my frame.
“I’m on an edge…like right at the precipice, and the only thing keeping me sane is knowing I have you. Physically. Sexually. Emotionally. Every way, inside and out.”
I understand him, I think more than he realizes. “And here,” I say softly, “I thought I was the needy, greedy bitch.” When his smile appears after mine, I walk into his arms.
He wraps them fiercely around me. Resting his chin on my head, he murmurs so quietly, I almost miss the words. “I’m falling more in love with you.”
Tears prick my eyes as the sentiments overwhelm me.
I didn’t think I could love Rocky any deeper than I did, but if there was a way to slip into someone’s body, I think we’d both choose to do it in these intimate moments we have together. Because they aren’t always frequent or guaranteed. They’re fought for every day.
Even now, I’m risking being at his boathouse when I’m dating Jake, but my brothers live with Rocky. It’s a decent reason as to why I’d crash here one night or two. But not every night of the week.
We separate with more reluctance and strain. Rocky hustles to the shower, and I text Hailey:
Picking you up in a bit for The Hunt! Be ready by 9?
She’s quick to respond with two thumbs-up and confetti-cannon emojis. I smile, happy that these quirky town events have been A-plus mental distractions for Hails.
Like the pumpkin-pie contest. Ugly Sweater Run. Winter Wonderland Festival—where we busted our asses on an ice-skating rink and sat on bags of frozen peas the next day.
They’ve powered her through the past three months. She’s laid off the cyber searches and late-night book obsessions…for a moment, at least.
Small wins are big wins in my book.
We’re working The Hunt together today, and I’m crossing my fingers Victoria’s most anticipated February event will be another good anxiety-reducing distraction. So maybe she won’t stake out the postman all day.
Even if today is the day, the mail doesn’t get delivered until tonight.
I pocket my phone and grab a bite to eat in the kitchen. “Morning,” I tell my brothers. “Happy DNA Results Day.” I hop on a barstool beside Nova. He’s flipping a page of a comic book and drinking OJ.
“Happy Triplet Day,” Oliver says, convinced we are, in fact, triplets. He’s doing the hard task of cooking a French omelet, but he slips me a clandestine smile—one full of amusement and knowing .
Like he’s well aware I just had my world rocked all night by his roommate. Hopefully he’s concluded this because I’m wearing Rocky’s clothes. And not because he heard us through the walls.
No way were we that loud.
Nova scrapes a hand back and forth over his buzz cut, barely glancing up from the Marvel comic. “You smell like Rocky.”
“If you raise your eyes a little higher, you’d see that I’m wearing his shirt.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh.” I cringe and sniff beneath the tee. Okay, I unfortunately smell like sex. Not my proudest morning-after moment. I definitely need a shower.
Oliver laughs and nudges the wet eggs with his spatula.
“It’s not funny,” Nova says sternly.
Oliver is hardly put off by our brother’s normal grouchy disposition. “Bad, Phoebe.” He waves the spatula like a teacher swinging a ruler. “How dare you have a wild night to remember—that is against corporate policy. No raunchy acts of indiscretion. You must be celibate.”
“And miserable,” I add.
“At all times.”
We share a smile.
Nova isn’t swept into our banter. He puts the OJ down. “Is it a relationship or just sex?” he asks point-blank.
“A relationship with sex.” I reach forward and snag a grape out of the fruit bowl. “But right now, we are having a lot of sex.”
Nova stares at me with enough caution tape to mummify me.
How do I even describe the severe need to be close to Rocky? When we’re together, not having sex feels more painful.
“Sex is the foundation,” Oliver tells him with a spatula jab.
“ Sex is the foundation ,” I parrot to Nova.
“Of what? A booty call?” he retorts.
I toss a grape at him. It hits his cheek and bounces across the counter.
He never flinches. “I’m serious,” he tells me.
I steal a piece of honeydew. “I know, because you’re always serious.”
Oliver plates the omelet and slides it to Nova. “And you sound exactly like someone who’s not getting any.”
He picks up a fork. “You two fuck enough for the rest of us.”
“Categorically untrue,” Oliver says. “We couldn’t sustain the entire population with our fornicating habits.” His brown eyes shift to me. “Three eggs, hard scrambled?” My favorite.
“Yes, please.” I glance over at Nova. “Are you going to The Hunt?”
He stabs the omelet. “It’s not part of the job.”
I frown. “But you can attend…for fun.”
He’s quiet, and Oliver peers up at me while cracking eggs in a bowl. “He’s never heard of that word.”
Clearly.
I swivel on the barstool to Nova. “The point of staying here is to also have a life outside of the job.”
Nova is mutilating his omelet. “Not for me.”
He can’t rest until the job is done. That is also painfully clear.
Infiltrate Jake’s family. It’s step one in the ultimate plan of deception, and we all have specific parts to play.
For Nova, he isn’t supposed to cozy up to any influential townspeople. His role is to aid us if shit takes a wrong, horrific turn.
If he’s not at the art museum, then he’s spending all of his time on Oliver’s liveaboard speedboat. Courtesy of Meara O’Neil. The elderly lady simply gifted the boat to Oliver for being “the best listener” she’s ever met. She’s not even his client! I’ve spent more time serving her soda and crab cakes and listening to her yap about being three degrees from some billion-dollar family who owns Fizzle. Where is my boat?
Yes, I am jealous.
Nova, I hope, loves the speedboat, since he spends every day on it. He’ll moor the vessel out in the calm water alongside a few other sailing yachts.
Right in view of the Koning estate.
Whenever Rocky, Oliver, or I am invited to the estate as guests, it’s not suspicious that Nova is one dinghy ride away from the shore because he’s always there.
“Just promise me you won’t become a recluse,” I say to Nova. There’ve been times where we haven’t seen each other for three months or four while pretending to be other people, and I’ve started loving the idea of not being torn apart.
He stares faraway at the plate while he says, “I couldn’t be away from you two for that long.”
Good.
Oliver whisks the eggs. “The grim-faced art curator who lives in solitude on the sea. Women love it. You’ve shot up on the list of Most Eligible Bachelors in Victoria.”
I scowl since Rocky is firmly on that list. Jake is off it since he’s taken by me.
“I’m not looking for anything with anyone.” Nova washes down his food with a rougher swig of OJ. “It’ll get in the way.”
Of the job.
It’s strange to be the one to protest. I’ve always been “for the job” first and foremost. Now…being here, being with Rocky , it feels like we’re paddling toward a new future we’ve never even seen before.
I want that for my brothers, too.
“Ol,” Nova says tensely, causing me to follow his pinpointed gaze to Oliver. “You’re bleeding.”
A crimson river flows out of his nose. Oliver quickly smears the blood with the side of his hand. “Shit,” he mutters.
I rip off a paper towel from the roll and toss it at him.
Squeezing his nose with it, he staunches the bleeding. None of us say a thing. The silence is heavy, and my stomach won’t settle. Even a bite of melon sits like peanut butter in my throat.
“How much coke are you snorting?” Nova asks with the grinding of his teeth. “Is it that necessary?”
“I can’t say no .” He sounds nasally. “Collin Falcone likes to party, therefore Oliver Smith likes to party. He loves that I keep up with him, and we all love that he’s no longer Trent’s closest friend.”
Oliver spends less time conducting therapy sessions and more time integrating himself into Trent’s social circle. He’s quickly separated Collin from Trent—which gave Rocky the perfect path to becoming Trent’s Number One Guy in the Group.
“I’m fine, Nov,” Oliver says gently, tossing the bloodied wad of paper towel in the trash. “See?”
“You’re going too far,” Nova warns. “Use sleight of hand. Act like you’re snorting it.”
“He’ll notice. I’m okay. I’m okay ,” he emphasizes. “Phoebe, tell him.”
“He’s okay,” I chime in. I know most of what Oliver has done for jobs. This isn’t even the half of it.
Rocky, Oliver, and I are more trained in face-to-face manipulation than the others, and sometimes we’ll go to extremes to complete a job. Oliver has been known to take things too far, but I trust he’s profiled Collin.
“If he thinks joining in the drug use is necessary, then maybe it is,” I reason.
Nova is pissed. “You’re only saying that because you’d do the same thing in his position.”
“I mean…” He’s not wrong. “Let’s change the subject.”
Oliver washes his hands. “You want to join the quatro, Nov? I can get you in Trent’s friend group.”
“Hard pass.”
“What do you mean?” Oliver mock gasps. “You don’t want the Fortunate Four to become the Foxy Five?”
I internally gag at the nickname the town has adoringly begun calling Trent, Rocky, Oliver, and Collin. When they enter a venue together, people act like gods have dropped from the sky and chosen to grace us mere mortals.
I’m not charmed.
“Fortunate Four,” I seethe. “The irony. Considering every encounter with Trent feels like one big, ugly misfortune.” My nose flares as emotion burrows too deep.
Don’t think about it.
Don’t remember it.
“What happened in the Alps?” Nova asks me, then Oliver. We spent the holidays apart from him, Hailey, and Trevor. While they stayed in Victoria, the rest of us wintered in the Alps with the Koning boys.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say under my breath, my stomach doing a vicious gymnastics routine.
Oliver has an all too concerned and empathetic look.
Nova sees and shoves his omelet away. “You know I asked Rocky the same thing— what happened in the Alps? And he threw his luggage on the floor, stormed in his room, and slammed the door like he was back to being eighteen . So I would appreciate if either of you clued me in to what the fuck went down.”
“Trent is a dick,” I say plainly.
Nova zeroes in on Oliver. “That can’t be all.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I say before Oliver can speak. “I’m fine .”
“You’re shaking ,” Nova retorts.
“In anger. I’m pissed.” I want Rocky. It’s such a sudden, involuntary response that I immediately glance over at the hall that leads to the bathroom.
“First Carlsbad, now this—”
“Stop,” I groan into my hands.
“Let’s all take a breath here,” Oliver says to us. “She’s okay. You’re okay. We’re all okay.”
We’re not okay.
I haven’t been able to tell my brothers about my bad experience in Carlsbad, and purging the nitty-gritty details from the Alps isn’t any easier. There are memories I want to tear out of my brain and set on fire.
I might be attracted to drama, but I prefer the fun variety. Which is why I shift my focus to The Hunt.
It’s a slice of chaotic normal inside our bizarre pie.