Chapter 8 Annika
He was always the hardest to read—the quiet, broody teen that kept to himself and rarely let the world get a glimpse of his smile.
Of course, I used to feel a million miles tall when I’d trick one out of him.
Aside from the added height and the muscles, Roscoe Cortez hasn’t changed all that much over the years.
His jaw is a little more chiseled, and he wears his black curly hair shorter than he used to.
The power he exudes hasn’t changed. The intensity either.
As he follows me up the stairs to my apartment, I wonder how in the hell all of them have remained single.
That thought draws me up short. For all I know, they’re not single. Haven’t even taken a second to ask. Before I can start to spiral, my eyes land on the ex-hole—thank you, Cass—standing at my door.
“You know,” Roscoe mutters, “I’m carrying a heavy box up a flight of stairs, and gravity is sort of working against me the longer you stand stiller than a fucking statue.”
“Shit. Sorry.” Rushing up the last few steps, I pause a few feet away from the man I once thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. “Seriously, Frederick, just go home.”
With his hands in his pockets and the same scowl in place, he looks just as poised and disgruntled as he did early this morning.
“Darling, I just want to speak with you. Preferably without any of your mutts present.”
“He’s not…”
A warm presence at my side pulls my attention from the pissed-off man in front of me to the unexpectedly smiling gaze of the other.
When he bends over, the heavy box still clutched tightly in his arms, and places a kiss on my forehead, I damn near turn into a puddle of mush.
Roscoe is a lot of things, but soft isn’t one of them, so the gentle brush of his lips makes me want to do really ridiculous things to him.
“It’s okay, baby girl. He’s already met the other two. ‘Bout time he met me as well.”
The way he’s looking at me almost makes me believe him.
“You know,” the asshole snarls, “I can forgive a lot of things, Annika, but the way you’re collecting men like sports cars isn’t one of them. Come home with me right now, and we can forget all of this.”
Forcing myself to look away from Roscoe is harder than it should be. Especially when I meet the furious glare of a man who isn’t even a fraction as charming as I once thought. “I’ve already told you. I am home. Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
“Think it’s time you leave now, buddy,” Roscoe says, his low voice carrying an edge that dares Frederick to try something.
The ex-hole shakes his head. “Thought you were smarter than this, Annika, but I’m not giving up. You’ll see.”
He storms by, but I don’t bother watching.
My entire body is suddenly weighed down by exhaustion, the strain of everything that’s happened recently finally taking its toll.
Stalking forward, I open my door without a word and glance back at Roscoe.
He stares at me a moment, unspoken words passing between us, then simply follows me inside.
The apartment isn’t overly large, but it’s cute.
Sort of a great room concept, where the living room and kitchen are a unified space with a small bedroom straight ahead behind a set of double doors.
Nan furnished it in soft neutrals and a clean aesthetic that suits me just fine.
Depending on how long I stay here, I can add my own splashes of color and personality to make it feel more… me.
“You can set that box on the chair next to the table. I have to sort through it later.”
“Sure thing.”
Seeing this tall, bulky man in my space makes it feel so much smaller.
When the muscles in his biceps flex, I find myself close to drooling, so I quickly turn around to hang the keys from the hook next to the door.
That should give me enough time to not find him so damn tempting, right?
Unfortunately, no. My stomach sinks to my toes when I gather the courage to turn around, my eyes landing on the Eden Foxx book now held in his strong, steady hands.
The book that I was reading this morning.
The book with the very explicit sex scene I was in the middle of when I found my hand trailing into my shorts and damn near jumped halfway out of my chair.
Don’t get me wrong, a girl has needs, but they get taken care of at night before bed by DJ Vibrato. Not at six in the morning right at the kitchen table for Christ’s sake.
Suddenly wide awake, my shriek can probably be heard halfway across town. I rush forward and lunge to grab the book out of his hands, but he spins out of the way, my battle cry having alerted him to my impending arrival.
“Give me my book.”
The smirk on his face tells me it's not gonna be that easy.
“I don’t know. This is getting pretty good.” His long, thick finger taps on the page I’d stupidly left the book open to.
Page fifty-nine.
Holding out my hand, I plead, “Please, I’d really like my book back.”
His eyes skim the words, and I can’t just sit back and watch as he sees how fucking smutty my tastes go. Darting toward him, I reach for it, only to be stopped by one long arm that easily keeps me out of reach, mainly by gripping my forehead.
“Jesus, Roz. Just give me the damn book.”
“Nope. It’s just getting good.”
“Roz!”
“Nik!” He whistles. “You dirty birdie.”
My eyes close, and I give up, leaning into the palm of his hand with a deep sigh.
“These dudes have some serious stamina. I’ll give them that.
My guy is holding her upside down, eating her pussy in mid-air while she sucks on his homeboy’s dick.
” He continues the play-by-play I already know by heart because the image is burned into my mind.
“Now here comes another dude, who takes her hand and wraps it around his dick while his finger plays with her clit, helping her come as she gags on cock.”
“Are you done yet?”
“Nope. I wanna see how long these boys can keep this up.”
Catching him off guard, I tilt my head up and lick the palm of his hand.
His laughter echoes through the space, but I use his amusement to my advantage and dive forward with grabby hands.
Like any good wide receiver, he outmaneuvers me, so instead, I crash into the chair, stubbing my toe.
I cry out in pain as the chair wobbles precariously on two legs before crashing to the ground with a loud bang. The box goes tumbling after it.
“Son of a bitch!” I wail.
“Hey, are you ok—”
“It’s your fault!” I’m hopping on one foot, holding the other in both hands. “You could’ve just given me the book, but noooo—”
My door flies open, and two large menacing figures come rushing through. They skid to an abrupt halt as they take in the scene, their tight shoulders easing as confusion replaces the rage that had been there moments before.
“What the fuck?” Carson’s eyes dart between Roscoe and me.
“God. I’d forgotten how valuable privacy is around here,” I grumble, dropping my foot and taking a step to gauge the level of pain.
Nope. That shit still hurts.
“Is everything all right?” Owen looks at me, a hint of pink tinting his cheeks as he runs his hand through his hair. “We heard the ruckus and thought your dickwad of an ex was attacking you.”
“This is becoming a habit, Goldilocks.” The asshole in question grimaces, which shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.
Clearing my throat, I wave my hand around the room.
“As you can see, once again, I’m completely fine.
Now, if you could collect your friend and kindly leave me to my utter embarrassment, that would be greatly appreciated. ”
“Aren’t you going to tell them why you’re embarrassed, baby girl?”
I shoot an angry glare at Roscoe, silently telling him to shut the hell up. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that he’s used his old nickname for me a few times now. Actually, all of them have reverted to what they called me back before they ruined everything, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
One dark eyebrow quirks up in response, daring me to say something.
My sigh is exaggerated. “Smut is literature too. That’s not why I’m embarrassed.”
Owen and Carson are staring at us, trying to figure out what they just stumbled in on.
“No? Then why?”
“I—”
“You have got to be fucking joking.” My brother’s voice comes from somewhere behind Owen and Carson, who part just in time for me to catch the look of fury on his face.
“Dre, it’s—”
“It’s what, Nik? Not what it looks like? Because from where I’m standing, The Grapevine seems to have gotten it right. You really are hooking up with all three of our enemies.”
There’s warmth at my back, a solid, steady presence that has me feeling some kind of way that I’m sure is not at all appropriate considering the current company.
“What are you talking about?” Owen and Carson share a look, then stare over my head at Roz who’s warming me up in all the wrong places. Glancing over my shoulder, I meet a set of deep amber eyes. “What’s it say?”
“Sure you want to know?” His deep voice rushes across my skin, forcing me to hold back a shiver.
I’m not really sure at all based on everyone’s reactions, but I nod anyway, not wanting to be the odd girl out.
“It says you’re dating all three of these assholes.
” Dre’s accusatory tone has me straightening my shoulders despite my desire to lean back into the solid wall of muscle behind me.
“You just what? Forgot how they broke my arm? Made me lose the sport I loved? All because they couldn’t keep their mouths shut, bragging about virgin pussy like they’d won a championship game and who the next conquest was gonna be.
” He shakes his head, glaring at the guys.
“It was you, Nik. You were their next target, and they kept debating who would shoot their shot. I couldn’t let them do that to you. ”
My mind sputters to stop.
Their next conquest?