Chapter Two
Sidney
Hattie curls up in the passenger seat of my truck like a cozy little rabbit, staring out at the city.
I try like hell to keep my eyes on the road.
Fuck, do I ever. But Hattie Ward—the woman I've been fantasizing about since I saw her reading in the stands during practice a few months ago—is in my truck beside me.
My gaze drifts toward her like a fucking magnet. Her tiny dress clings to her curves in a way that's had my dick hard all night. Her usually wild hair is sleek and straight, her makeup flawless. Somehow, she looks like an angel and a siren at the same damn time.
I'm going to kill her brother for giving her vodka. She's barely old enough to drink, and that party is full of pricks who would love nothing more than to get their hands on her.
The thought alone makes me homicidal.
No one gets to touch Hattie, not even me.
Believe me, I'm not happy about it. She's starred in every one of my dreams since I saw her for the first time. And I don't just mean the dirty ones, either. She's in those deep, wistful ones, where the future plays out like some fucking movie, and I've gotten everything I ever wanted out of life.
"I'm not going to survive this wedding," she mumbles beside me, curling in on herself. I don't think she's talking to me, but I hear her anyway. Frankly, I'm not sure I'm going to survive this wedding. But I'm worried as hell about why she's so convinced she's going to die.
"What makes you think that?"
"Because you rejected me."
"No." My stomach clenches at the way she says it, a growl of denial rumbling on my lips. I hurt her feelings. That's the last thing I ever want to do. I just want to love her.
"You did." She turns her face up to me, her lips in a pout I'd like to kiss from her lips.
I don't think she even realizes she's pouting.
That's the thing about Hattie. She's completely oblivious to how captivating she is.
There's this innocence—this sweetness—about her that you just want to drown in.
I'm not talking about virginity but the kind of softness that can't be fucked out, like it's in her damn soul.
She's quirky as hell, marching to the beat of her own drum. But the way she does it? I've never been one to march, but yeah, a motherfucker might have thought a time or three about stepping in time to her beat. Unfortunately, that isn't in the cards.
Her brothers would kill me if I touched their baby sister. And since Tye and I are on the same team…well, let's just say I know to keep my hands to myself.
It gets a little harder by the day. Especially with her sitting beside me right now, pouting like I ruined her life. I'd kill to be the one she comes home to every night.
Until approximately fifteen minutes ago, I didn't think I had a chance in hell, however.
Hattie avoids me like the plague. If she sees me coming, she goes in the opposite direction.
I don't really blame her for it. I know I'm a cranky asshole, her complete opposite in every way.
She's tiny and delicate, full of sugar and smiles.
I'm an oversized beast, existing on a steady diet of irritation and scowls.
If I were her, I wouldn't want to be around me, either.
But every time she bolts in the opposite direction, it takes every ounce of strength I possess not to force myself into her space just to make her see me.
"I didn't reject you, butterfly," I say gently…or as gently as a man like me can. I'm not soft. I never have been. But something about her makes me want to be that man.
I avoid the hell out of women and emotions and all that shit, especially since my mother decided she wants grandkids. She's on a mission to marry me, my older brother, and our younger sister off. And we're united in our efforts to cut that shit off at the pass.
At least, we were united. Austin is currently all over the news, acting like a madman over a girl he met at a party. He swears they're getting married. I do not think she's gotten that memo.
Regardless, nothing has ever made me want to be next quite like Hattie Ward. Nothing else has ever made me want to be soft or sweet or the kind of man made for a girl like her, either.
She's dangerous. So fucking dangerous.
"Yes, you did!" she cries. "You said anyone would be stupid to date me."
What the fuck?
"I did not say that, Hattie."
"You said—"
"I said I was getting you out of there before you decided to ask anyone else to date you, and they were stupid enough to say yes," I growl. "I know what I said. Nowhere in there did I say anyone would be stupid to date you."
Anyone who dates her is going to be the luckiest motherfucker on the planet. And I'm going to choke on my own jealousy.
"I fail to see the difference."
I sigh, pulling to the side of the road. I can't have this conversation and drive. I can't think with her sitting right beside me. Christ, I can't think when I turn and see her eyes locked on my face, either. They're dilated and glossy from the vodka, and still so fucking gray my dick throbs.
"The difference is that you look like sex in that dress," I say, my hands locked tightly around the steering wheel. "And my teammates are all idiots. Any one of them would kill to get their hands on you, and then I'd have to help Tye hide bodies."
"Oh." She sinks back in her seat, mulling this over before she decides I've lost it. "You probably need glasses, Sidney."
"The fuck I do, butterfly. I see just fine."
"Not if you think I look like sex," she grumbles. "I can't even breathe with these Spanx on. The wire in my bra has been jabbing me all night. And I stabbed myself in the eye with the eyelash curler twice." She meets my gaze, hers wide. "If this is the price of beauty, can I please opt out?"
She needs absolutely none of that to be the most gorgeous woman in the room.
"Why the fuck are you wearing Spanx?"
"Ask my mom," she says, shrugging. "She's the one who swears every woman needs a good bra, a better pair of torture underwear, and enough Botox to turn back the clocks."
Jesus Christ.
"Take them off."
"What?"
"If they're bothering you, take them off."
"But…" She gapes at me like I just suggested she get naked and ride me on the side of the road. "You'll see."
"I'll close my eyes," I growl, approximately two seconds from hauling her onto my lap to strip them from her perfect body myself.
No fucking way is she riding all the way across town in a waist trainer she damn sure doesn't need.
If I didn't respect the hell out of Tye, I'd throttle their mother for forcing her into the damn thing in the first place.
Her curves are perfect. She's soft in every single way, every inch of her designed to sink into. Believe me, I know. I've spent more time than I care to admit with my hand on my cock, fantasizing about her.
She stares at me silently for a long moment and then shrugs. "Okay, but no peeking, Sidney. My underwear is embarrassing."
Jesus Christ. I'm not going to survive the trip to her place.
I snap my eyes closed when she unlatches her belt and lifts her hips. That lasts all of five seconds before I crack one open, unable to resist stealing a little glimpse. What? I need to know what she considers embarrassing underwear. Sue me.
I damn near bite through my tongue, trying not to laugh as she wriggles around, trying to conquer the Spanx and maintain a modicum of dignity.
She's the least graceful woman I've ever met.
She proves it now. Somehow, she manages to crack her knee on the dashboard, get tangled up in the seatbelt, nearly fall onto the floor, and then get tangled in the Spanx before she finally gets them down, red in the face and mumbling under her breath.
I catch a glimpse of her underwear right before her ass lands in the seat again. Christ Almighty. There are cupcakes on them. She has cupcakes covering her…cupcake.
I've never wanted to eat something more.
"Jesus, take the wheel."
"What's that?"
"I asked if you were finished," I lie, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to snap the motherfucker in half.
I cannot fuck her on the side of the road.
I cannot fuck her on the side of the road.
I cannot fu—
"I'm finished," she says sweetly.
I pop my eyes open to see her cramming a wad of fabric down the front of her dress.
"No pockets." She grins at me.
My life is hell. It's absolute hell.
Neither of us speaks as I pull back out onto the road, heading toward her place, but I feel her eyes on me. She's blatantly staring.
"What?" I finally growl when we're a few minutes from her place.
"Would you really help Tye hide bodies?"
"In a heartbeat."
"Why?" she asks and then seems to think better of the question. "I mean…never mind. Obviously, it's because he's your bestie. That's why I asked you to date me, you know. I trust you."
Considering that I want to defile her in ways that will send me straight to hell with a smile on my face, I'm the last man on the face of the planet she should trust.
"Why do you want to date anyway?"
"I already told you that my life is over if I don't."
"Why, Hattie?" I growl.
"Because my mom has decided that I need a date for Tye's wedding. If I don't find one myself, she's going to find one for me." Her wide eyes meet mine when I glance over at her. "She makes terrible decisions, Sidney."
"Can't be that bad," I lie, already planning murder. No one is dating Hattie. They'll die first.
"Oh, yeah? She wants me to go with her friend's son, Cory," Hattie says, her tone rife with offense.
"I went out with him twice when I was on break last summer.
He spent the entire second date planning our future.
I was supposed to quit college, pop out five kids, and then be a doting housewife with no goals of my own except to cater to his needs.
" She glowers at me. "I don't even know how to cook! "
"Jesus H. Christ."
"And then," she says, as if what she's already revealed isn't bad enough, "he had the audacity to criticize my interests. Apparently, romance is demonic and only low-quality women read it."
My brows furrow. "What the fuck is a low-quality woman?"
"Me, apparently." Her scowl blackens, which would be fucking cute if I weren't so pissed on her behalf.
Who the fuck teaches men this bullshit? They should be publicly stoned.
Men doing dumb shit? I get that. We're fucking human.
We screw up. Epically, sometimes. Just ask my idiot brother, who is currently trying to fix his epic fuck up.
But men thinking they're superior to women?
That's some bullshit. Men like that don't even deserve to breathe the same air as women.
"I cannot go to this wedding with Cory," Hattie swears. "I will die."
"You aren't going with him."
"You're right. I'll find someone else," she sighs.
I snap. I swear to God, I do. I can't even explain what happens.
I see a vision of her in a gorgeous dress, draped on the arm of some asshole who doesn't appreciate her for the treasure she is, and that's all I can think about—Hattie, laughing with someone who isn't me.
Hattie, happy with someone who isn't me.
Or, worse, Hattie, miserable because of some prick who doesn't deserve the honor of existing in the same space as her.
"No!"
She gapes at me.
Well, shit.
I turn into her driveway before turning to face her. "I mean…that's not necessary. You're going with me."
Tye is going to kill me. Or I'll die trying to keep my hands to myself. But there is no world where I willingly let her go with someone else. That world simply does not exist.
"I…" Her expression turns hopeful as the streetlights spotlight her face. "Really? You'll date me?"
Fuck.
"I mean, you are so not my type, so it'll only be pretend," she says in a rush, like she's trying to sweeten the deal.
"I just need you for the bachelor/bachelorette weekend, the rehearsal, and the wedding, then we can fake a break-up or whatever.
I'll even tell Tye that you're just doing me a favor so he doesn't turn into a drama llama.
But my mom can't know it's all for show. She'll never let me get away with it."
I'm not her type? Fuck me. Why does the thought of her having a type piss me off?
Right, because there is exactly only one woman on this planet who is my type…and she just told me that I'm not hers. Fuck that noise. If she wants to think us dating is pretend, I'll let her.
At this point, I'm just desperate and unhinged enough to take what she's offering and run with it…all the way to the damn altar. Preferably before her brothers find out, because there won't be a break-up.
Hattie Ward is mine.
And I guess I've got until Tye's wedding to prove it.
"Sounds good," I say, swallowing hard. Jesus Christ. We're really doing this. My heart thumps against my ribcage like a drum calling the troops to war.
Hattie squeals beside me, flinging her seatbelt off. Before I can even react, her tits are against my arm, and her lips are against my cheek.
"Thank you, thank you, thank yo—"
I cut off her squeal by turning my head, just enough so her lips land against mine. Her eyes instantly go wide, her body going rigid. She's too stunned to move, and too fucking sweet to resist.
I flick my tongue against the seam of her lips, taking a tiny taste before I pull back like it was an accident. My cock says different, but she'll figure that out later. And unlike the last asshole she dated, I don't need her to quit her job at the library or cater to me to have my babies.
I just need her to realize that she's already mine.