Knox (Sexy Bastard #3) (19 page)

His eyes dance when they catch mine. “Hungry?”

I smirk. “It’s probably not going to shock you to hear this, but I’m fricking starving.”

“Well you’re in luck, because I make a mean waffle.”

“Mmm, tempting.” I snuggle closer to him. “But I have a better idea. How about I introduce you to my favorite guilty pleasure?”

He gasps and looks offended. “I thought that was me.”

“Nope. Or at least, not after today. After today, you will no longer be guilt-inducing, remember?” We exchange an excited, if nervous, glance. “But no, what I’m talking about is door-to-door delivery from my favorite greasy spoon. How do you like your eggs?”

We place our order without even leaving the bed, and we doze back into a cozy half-sleep as we wait for our fatty protein bombs to arrive.

The doorbell rings and I groggily reach over to my phone to let the delivery person up. But my phone isn’t on my bedside table. My hand knocks into the whiskey bottle instead. Crap. Did I leave the cell on the kitchen table?

“I’ll get it,” Knox volunteers, pulling on boxers and a t-shirt.

My hero
, I think, burrowing deeper under the covers.

I hear Knox’s footsteps, the snap of the latch, and the door opening. But it’s not a peppy delivery boy on the other side of the door. No, it’s a far too familiar voice that bursts through the calm, content air of my apartment.

“What the fuck?” shouts my brother.

“
A
re you fucking kidding me
?” Jackson shoves past me into the apartment.

Shit.
I really should have put on some fucking pants. Or checked the peephole before I opened the door. Or . . . any number of things.

I grimace. “Jackson, it’s not what you think.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to think, Knox? Why are you at my sister’s place half-naked?”

At that moment, Shelby appears in the doorway to the kitchen. She at least took the time to throw on real clothes. Her sweats from last night and a baggy T-shirt, but still. Clothing. “Jackson,” she says, her voice groggy with sleep, in a way that would be sexy as hell if not for the setting right now.

His eyes shoot to her, and probably notice exactly what I’m seeing. Her messy hair, her sleep-blurred eyes. The glow in her cheeks, the kind you get when you’re riding high on the afterglow.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he spits.

“Jackson, we wanted to—”

“
We
?” He’s shouting now, staring back and forth between us, his head whipping so fast I’m worried he’s gonna injure his neck. “It’s
we
now, is it?” He digs his palms into his eyes, rubbing hard as if he’s trying to wipe the image of us off of his retina. “Shelby, what the fuck is going on?”

I notice he doesn’t address me at all.

“This isn’t how we wanted you to find out.” Shelby extends a hand toward him, placating. “We were going to tell you today, I swear.”

Jackson’s furious, angrier than I’ve ever seen him, a vein throbbing in his forehead. He won’t even look at me now. He just glares at his sister, his face turning red. “Tell me what, exactly? How long has this been going on?”

We’re both silent.

Finally, he turns to me. If he looked pissed at Shelby, it’s nothing compared to the anger and betrayal in his eyes now. No wonder. She’s family. He loves her unconditionally. Me? I’m fucking with his family.

Our silence seems to make his blood boil even hotter. He lunges at me, shoving me in the chest and knocking me off balance. “Knox, I asked you a fucking question. How long have you been screwing my little sister?”

“That’s not what this is.” I take a few steps back, holding up my hands in a gesture of surrender.

“You’re hooking up with my sister behind my back, what part of that is inaccurate?”

“Jackson,” Shelby interrupts, her voice sharper than I’ve ever heard. “This isn’t a hook-up. We’re not
hooking up
—we’re dating. And we have been for months.”

His eyes widen. I’m not sure how I thought this was going to go, but this is pretty damn near worst-case scenario.

“What the fuck, Knox? You don’t ‘date’ your friend’s sister without letting him know.” His voice cracks, and for a minute there I see the preppy college kid I befriended between laps at the pool while I was rehabbing a busted knee my freshman year.

“Listen, I get that you’re upset. But let’s all calm down, have a seat and talk this through.” I know Jackson has considered Shelby his responsibility ever since their parents passed away. And from what she’s told me, that’s made him take the notion of overprotectiveness to new heights. But Jackson was always the brainiest and most controlled member of our crew—a reasonable guy, not a hothead.

I guess this scenario is an exceptional case.

“I’m not sitting down with a fucking traitor.”

“Traitor is a little extreme, don’t you—” Before I can finish, he launches at me again, this time landing a punch to my jaw. I reel backwards, hitting the kitchen counter and almost keeling sideways over it. I catch myself in time, seeing literal red.

Jackson’s already storming at me, fists raised for a second strike.

“Oh my god, Jackson, stop!” Shelby throws herself between us, both hands flat on her brother’s chest.

His arms go limp at his sides, his fist clenching and unclenching, his eyes glassy with rage. I feel the side of my jaw, hot and pulsating with a bright, metallic pain.

Fuck. He hit bone. I massage it gently and force myself not to let a wince show on my face. I hope that hurt his fist even more.

To be honest, a punch is the last thing I expected from Jackson. I didn’t even know he could throw one.

It’s somewhat gratifying to notice him rubbing his fist. “Knox, you’re a fucking piece of shit,” he spits. Gratification gone.

It takes all my restraint not to let my barroom brawling instincts have free reign. A stranger who tried shit like that would already be on the floor right now. But it’s Jackson. It’s Jackson, angrier than I’ve ever seen him, at something I did. And I don’t want to make this situation any worse than it already is.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” I say evenly.

He barks out a laugh.

Tears trace down Shelby’s cheeks. That makes me angrier than any punch ever could. “Jackson, this isn’t about you.” She runs one hand through her hair, her other one still pressed flat against Jackson’s chest, restraining. “Well, okay, maybe it is a little bit. The way you act with me . . . We didn’t have a choice, okay? We wanted to find out if this thing between us was real, and it is. If we’d told you upfront, you’d have flipped out just like this, and maybe Knox and I would never have found out what a good thing we could have.”

Jackson rears back, straightening his spine. “Maybe if you were upfront with me, you wouldn’t have started a
relationship
based on lies.” His shoulders are tense, the tendons in his neck strung tight.

“Hey—” I butt in, but he speaks over me, louder now.

“You expect me to believe you wound up with one of my closest friends by accident? No. You fucking chose this. Probably because you knew how much I’d hate it.”

Shelby throws both hands at the ceiling now. “Jackson, that’s not fair! Every time I try to date someone, you sabotage it. There’s protective, and then there’s suffocating. What am I supposed to do, become a nun?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Not fucking one of my best friends might be an option.”

My fists clench now. “Dude, don’t talk to her like that.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are? You don’t get to tell me how to talk to my own sister.”

He comes at me like he’s going to throw another, but Shelby shoves between us yet again. Which is good, because this time I’m not letting him get a freebie in.

“That’s enough, Jackson. If you can’t talk about this like an adult, leave.”

Jackson takes one last bitter look at us. “Great fucking idea. I’m out.”

He slams the door behind him and leaves Shelby and me in a stunned, unhappy silence.

“
L
et
me get you some ice.” Shelby wipes the tears from her face and rises from the couch.

“I’m fine, Shelby.” I pull her back down toward me. It’s not the ache in my jaw I mind as much as the feeling in my gut. “Don’t worry, your brother’s not much of a fighter,” I try to joke. It falls horribly flat.

What have we done?

I knew Jackson would have strong feelings about this. But on some level I expected him to understand, once we finally opened up to him. After all, anyone who looked at us for more than ten seconds could see how much we care about each other. If he asked me, I’d be happy to swear on any Bible or holy relic he wants that I will never hurt her. He’s free to punch me as much as he wants if I ever do—I’ll deserve it then.

We expected bad, but neither of us expected it to be quite this bad, I’m sure. Shelby collapses beside me on the couch again, and we both stare at the wall, stunned.

The last time I remember feeling this shaken was the day I found out I’d been traded. At least that had an upside—moving back home to the crew of old friends. Now, I don’t even know if any of those friends will speak to me again, all because I dared to fall for someone too close to the circle.

“Jackson and I never fight.” Shelby curls her knees to her chest and huddles into a miserable ball sobbing. “I can’t believe he just left like that. I can’t believe he
punched you
. I haven’t seen him hit anyone since . . . ” She scowls at the wall. “Fuck. Ever, actually.”

“It’s gonna be okay. He’ll come around.” I put an arm around her shoulders, faking a confidence I don’t really feel.

I care about Shelby. More than care about her. I’m falling for her, fast. But I’ve known Shelby for three months. Jackson and I have been friends, business partners, practically family, for years. Am I going to have to choose between her and a decade-long friendship?

How do I even begin to make that choice?

If Jackson doesn’t come around, I guess we’re about to find out.

W
hen Jackson
and I were kids, I followed his every move. He was always building things, starting with Legos and eventually moving on to shop class projects. Every block he raised, every miniature city he built, I was by his side—usually pulverizing the bridges and tunnels he’d painstakingly assembled. The resulting flashes of temper were quick and intense: my mess-making, tomboy ways crashed against his love of order and structure destructively. But his anger would fade as soon as he’d cleaned up the mess I’d made and returned back to his project. Ever since we grew out of that phase, the kindergarten destructive age, nothing I did could truly piss him off. Maybe he was used to my blundering since he saw me as a kid. Or maybe he just cared too much to get openly mad at me, especially after what happened to our parents. Whatever the reason, we’d always had a rock-solid relationship.

Jackson was always the one striding ahead of me out into the world, bringing home the blueprints to teach me how things worked. When we were teenagers, I appreciated that. When I was first starting out in the job force, I loved it even more.

But I don’t need the same kind of guidance from him anymore. I still can’t imagine what the world would look like without him. Like a road without a map, I guess.

Maybe it’s time for me to learn to read my own map.

There’s been nothing but ice-cold silence between the two of us all week. I know my brother well enough to know what the radio silence means: He’s stewing, and he’s not about to make the first move.

That leaves us at a standoff, because I’m not about to go groveling for his forgiveness. We wouldn’t be in this situation if he hadn’t backed me into a corner by being so damn controlling. And his total inability to even listen to what Knox and I had to say just goes to show how deep the issue runs.

So yeah. Two people can play at this game of silent-treatment chicken. But something tells me only one of them is drowning her sorrows in personal pizzas and garlic rolls.

I toss the last remaining slice in the fridge and chase my late lunch with a swig of coconut water. Maybe the electrolytes will do something to offset all the junk I’ve been feeding my body lately?

Screw this. I’m running ragged after a week of lost sleep, and work has been just as bad. I need a distraction.

To make things worse, I haven’t seen my usual distraction outside of a quick, awkwardly quiet dinner on Wednesday. Work has been kicking my ass, and Knox has been ramping up training for opening day. But we talked last night and agreed that as long as the cat’s already out of the bag with Jackson, we might as well come out of the closet to the rest of our friends.

So, weirdly, I’m actually looking forward to it when I slam my car door and climb the steps up to the Library entrance. We’re meeting the whole gang here, and I already asked Ruby to spread the word—we’ve had just about enough surprise revelations recently.

Cassie meets me at the door first, her arms already wide and waiting, a sympathetic look on her face. “Girlfriend, you have some explaining to do,” she whispers as she wraps her arms around me tight. “Don’t worry,” she adds. “We understand, whatever your reasons.”

Nice as the sentiment is, that means she not only heard about our relationship, but also about Jackson’s reaction. I cringe.

At the end of the bar, Knox catches my eye from where he’s sitting with Ryder and Cash. My heart beats faster just watching him, even though his greeting is a simple nod and a flashed smile.

We wouldn’t have dared to show even that kind of display in public a few days ago.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us, you dirty sneak!” Savannah shoves my arm, waving in Knox’s direction.

I smile and shrug my shoulders. “Yeah, sorry about that whole basketball player lie. He’s the real New Year’s hunk.” At least I can finally bring this relationship out in the open amongst my friends. That’s the one bright spot of Jackson’s blow-up.

Speaking of which: No time like the present. “I’ll fill you in on all the details later,” I say to Savannah and Cassie. “And I promise none of them will be made up, this time.”

I walk over to Knox, wrap my arms around his neck and give him a long, slow, deep kiss on the lips, which he eagerly returns. Just touching him makes me feel instantly better, calmer about this whole situation.

“Daaaaamn, get a room, you two.” Cash is all smiles, but I still punch him in the bicep for good measure.

“You’re one to talk—you practically invented PDA.”

He bows good-naturedly. “Hey, I own up to my reputation.”

“That’s putting it lightly—the guy is downright proud of his shit.” Ryder pauses, assessing the two of us with a friendly smirk. “So what is this, your official coming out of the closet party?”

“Something like that.” Knox grabs my waist and pulls me in for another slow kiss. If he’s nervous about this, he’s doing a damn good job of hiding it. And I’m not complaining.

It’s a no-brainer that my ladies are going to be behind me no matter what I do. Short of covering up a homicide, we’d do anything for each other—even if that means supporting relationship choices that aren’t especially convenient.

But the guys? They’re the ones who might be forced to choose sides. I really hope it doesn’t come down to that.

Instead I’m hoping they’ll lead by example. If Ryder and Cash accept our relationship, maybe Jackson will come around?

Ryder cracks his knuckles. His commanding presence has been known to inspire fear in people who are unlucky enough to get on his bad side. It’s also the reason he’s always been the group’s de facto leader. My heart beats faster just waiting for his verdict.
Oh god, what if he makes it worse?

Then, to my surprise, he pats my shoulder. “Listen, if you’re happy, that’s all we need to know. None of our fucking business who either of you wants to date. Not that I’d let this prick within an inch of my little sister, if I had one,” he adds with a shove at Knox’s shoulder.

“The thought of a second Ryder is pretty fucking terrifying, bro,” Cash interrupts, scooting behind the bar. “Never mind a female version of you.” He shudders. “I’m pretty sure none of us would touch that with a ten-foot pole.”

“Hey, I resent that. Female me would be hot,” he grumbles, but we’re all too busy laughing.

“Still, I appreciate the support, gentlemen,” Knox breaks in. “Hopefully some of your attitude will rub off on Jackson.” Knox’s eyes betray the stress we’ve both been feeling. I feel a pang of guilt about the timing of this mess—extra stress is the last thing Knox needs the day before the season opens.

“Jackson will come around,” Ryder says.

“In the meantime, looks like the two of you could use some liquid cheer.” Cash has been working on some new cocktails and wants to use us as guinea pigs. At this point, I’m all too happy to volunteer.

Ruby and Avery sidle up to the bar just in time to partake. “Didn’t think you were going to pull off a tasting behind our backs, now did you?”

“No ma’am, wouldn’t think of it.” Cash crosses his heart with a smirk.

Ruby plops down on the stool next to mine, sipping on Cash’s latest invention—a delicate infusion of lavender, thyme, and gin that’s clearly designed to appeal to a female customer.

“Classy. I’d definitely drink six of these in a row and then show up to a garden party and offend every relative there,” Ruby says in an affected rich-girl accent as we all snort and raise our glasses to the mixologist.

“So,” she says, turning back my way, her voice uncharacteristically discreet, the beat of Cash’s new 90s playlist disguising our speech nicely. “How you holding up?”

“Been better. No word from Jackson since Sunday.”

She frowns, shaking her head. “The whole thing sucks. The way he found out, just . . . ” She physically shivers. “I wish the two of you could petition the universe for a do-over.”

“You’re telling me,” I mumble into my drink.

“You and Knox do look awfully cute together, I’ve gotta say. “ Avery winks at me hopefully, ever the optimist.

“Yeah, spill the beans, Masters.” Savannah pulls up a stool and signals to Cassie to join us. “This has gotta be some epic romance you’d risk your brother’s trust for.”

I hesitate, looking over at Knox. The boys are oblivious, focused on ESPN and the announcers prattling on about opening day tomorrow. Then I open my mouth and let the whole messy, glorious story spill forth.

Jackson walks in as we’re working on our third cocktail, a tangy, bubbly infusion of sour cherry and vodka. I’ve only just finished telling the girls about the punch he landed on Sunday, and somehow retelling the story makes me relive the nightmare all over again. When I glimpse my brother’s familiar silhouette in the mirror over the bar, I go silent, my back stiff as a board.

Jackson makes his way through the bar, high-fiving the bar-back, nodding at Savannah, Cassie, Ruby, and Avery—and passing right by me. My own brother.

Mature, Jackson. Real mature. I should have been expecting as much but his rebuke stings. This time I feel like it’s me who’s been punched.

My friends awkwardly gaze into their drinks, unsure of how to handle the new and incredibly tense dynamic Knox and I have introduced into all of our social lives.

I drain the rest of my cocktail in a hurry.

“So, Ruby,” I start, in a louder than necessary voice, so that all the guys, including Jackson, can hear. “Tell me what’s going on with that sexy trainer of yours.” You can always count on Ruby to break the ice with a little bit of off-color conversation. I’m hoping she has enough material to take us through the night.

Unfortunately, my girl either misreads the hook or just doesn’t take the bait. “Same old, same old,” she sighs. “Let’s just say we worked up such a sweat last night that I was given permission to skip my workout today.”

“Cheers to that?” Savannah raises her glass, a question in her gaze. Normally we’d be happy about working up sweats to that degree. But Ruby looks and sounds less than thrilled.

“I guess. But even the world’s most stunning pair of abs can’t really make up for an inability to talk about anything but reps and BMI.” She huffs into her fourth cocktail, which Cash graciously refills. “I may be getting tired of Chet, honestly.”

I glance over at Knox who’s silently watching the big screen while Jackson talks to Ryder and Cash. That rugged jaw of his is tense, his hand wrapped tightly around the neck of his beer bottle. This isn’t easy on either of us.

It also isn’t easy to find someone you actually connect with just as much in bed as across the dinner table. I never thought I’d find that in a professional athlete, and yet, I can’t imagine myself ever tiring of our funny, witty, engrossing conversations. Just my luck that this “whole package” turned up in the last guy I should ever have fallen for.

But what’s done is done, right? Too late to back down now.

“Fuck this.” I toss the remainder of my drink back in one gulp. “I’m going over there. Come with?”

“You know we’ve always got your back, girl.” Cassie and the rest of the crew grab their drinks and slide over to the end of the bar, war-faces on.

“What kind of special sauce are you putting in those cocktails, babe?” Savannah moves in first, rounding the corner and joining Cash behind the bar, sliding an arm around his waist and giving his ear a nibble. “They’re making the ladies extra frisky tonight.”

“Artists can’t divulge their secrets.” Cash slaps Savannah on the ass. “Now scoot—let Michelangelo work his magic.”

Cassie stands between Ryder and Jackson, Ryder’s arm casually slung around her shoulder. For a minute I wish I could step into her shoes, date whomever I want to date without having to answer to anybody. Her flighty little brother Jamie certainly doesn’t run around telling her what to do. But then I remember that Cassie’s got demons of her own, crucibles that once rose up from her past and threatened to break her spirit. I guess happily ever after doesn’t come all that easy for anyone.

If it comes at all.

Ruby and Avery have struck up a conversation with a couple of off-duty bankers they’ll probably never see again. I smile meekly in their direction. My friends are trying to act like everything’s normal. It’s obvious they’re putting on a show, but right now I appreciate all the support I can get.

I edge in sideways next to Knox, place a hand on his forearm. That’s just about as physical as I’m ready to get in front of Jackson. Even standing this close to Knox feels like a provocation. Knowing Jackson, another explosion is unlikely, but I don’t want to test his limits.

On the other hand, I want him to know I’m not backing down.

Jackson, for his part, keeps his back turned to us, deliberately avoiding the possibility of any interaction.

No sense in fighting him right now. Jackson’s temper, normally reserved for anyone but me, runs hot and fast. It’ll be better for everyone if we just let him get this out of his system. At least I’ve learned that much about my sibling over the years, watching him in other tiffs here and there.

Knox sees me staring at Jackson’s back, and his hot gaze returns me to reality. Our reality. I don’t have to let Jackson’s controlling, hot-blooded response dictate the terms of
my
relationship. And then I remember that there’s more than one reason for Knox’s perplexed look. Opening day—the big game. The moment Knox has been prepping for, now overshadowed by this awful rift with Jackson.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” I ask him softly, my hand gripping his arm in what I hope is a reassuring gesture.

Knox shrugs in response and suddenly I wish we’d run away to that roadside motel we joked about when we had the chance. I’m angry at Jackson on his behalf, but I’m also feeling guilty. I was the one who pushed to tell Jackson right away. Right now, right before his career kicks off into its next, most terrifying phase.

“I’m gonna need some rest, actually. Make it an early night before the big game.”

Knox looks completely deflated. It’s a look I’ve seen in the locker room right after a big upset—or, more worryingly, before an awful defeat. It’s the look of an athlete who needs a serious pep talk. I’m not sure I’m the right person to deliver it, but I’m willing to try.