Bad Romance

“Five years,” he says, “all that time spent behind bars.” He strokes my cheek. “But it was worth it.”

“Really?”

He nods. “If I hadn’t gotten locked up, I might’ve moved east, or been shot, or hitched myself to the wrong woman. I wouldn’t have turned up on my sister’s doorstep today in desperate need of comfort.”

“I’m just glad I opened the door.” I press a kiss to his chest and let him pull me closer, no longer self-conscious, or scared of the hardened criminal and his monster cock.

Okay...maybe a little scared.

But as my Uncle Art would say, the fear is half the fun.

In Too Deep

"You are NOT wearing that."

I cross my arms over my swimsuit top. "Why not?"

"You know exactly why not." My dad mirrors my stance, his gaze narrow. "It's guys’ night. You're going to be the only girl there, and I won't have you strutting around in something that barely covers your ass."

I roll my eyes. “Dad, it’s a swimsuit.”

“It’s a scrap of tissue paper held together with dental floss.” He points to my bedroom door. “Go change into something else, Candace. Now.”

“God, why do you have to be on my ass all the time?”

“Because that’s my job. And the only reason you're even going tonight is because you’re grounded after that stunt you pulled with the car. If it were up to me, you'd still be heading down to Florida with your mom and the girls."

I roll my eyes. Sure, being grounded sucks, but it beats sitting around drinking virgin cocktails while my mom and her friends guzzle vodka tonics and bitch about their marriages.

“I didn’t even want to go on that stupid girls’ trip,” I tell him. “If you don’t want me to go tonight, then I’ll just stay home. I’m eighteen. It’s not like I need a babysitter.”

“No way, sweetheart. I don’t trust you not to invite a bunch of friends over to raid my liquor cabinet.” He points to my room. “Change. Now.”

“Ugh, fine!”

I stomp out of the kitchen and head towards the stairs. Just as I’m about to ascend, I hear a deep voice from the den saying, “He’s right, you know.”

My father’s best and oldest friend, Dax, lounges in our big reading chair, scrolling through his phone. Apparently he and my Aunt Kelsey dated way back in the day, but she died before they could get married, which means he was never really my dad’s brother-in-law. But we still treat him like family, and just like the rest of my family, he’s always trying to tell me what to do.

I march into the den. “How is it my problem if your buddies can’t handle looking at a bikini without coming in their shorts?”

Dax doesn’t respond, but he insists on holding my gaze long enough to make things awkward. I fidget. My dad’s reading chair isn’t small, but Dax is a huge man, all veins and muscle, and no worse for wear for having turned forty earlier this year.

He rises to his feet and takes two steps into my personal space. He does this a lot, thinks he can intimidate me with his superior height—and it is superior.

“It’s your problem if you think you can parade around a bunch of guys wearing nothing but a loin cloth and expect them not to react accordingly,” he says. “One of these days, Candace, you're going to get what's coming to you, and you're not going to like it."

"I guess it depends on who’s doing the giving.”

His gaze narrows. We stare each other down until I feel a shiver ripple down my spine.

“Better get changed,” he says.

I scurry up to my room and slam the door behind me. This is so fucking lame. The only thing I had been looking forward to on the Florida trip was getting to wear my new bikini. After I found out I was grounded, I thought I’d at least get to wear it to the guys’ barbecue. So what if it’s supposed to be all dudes? At least I’d be able to take some selfies by the pool.

Rifling through my dresser, I dig out my old blue one-piece from the bottom drawer and smooth out the wrinkles. With a heavy sigh, I take off my red bikini and change into the boring one-piece that does absolutely nothing for my figure.

I study myself in the mirror, piling my dark brown curls atop my head. At least I still had on my bright red lip stain—the one my mom refused to buy me because she said it made me look like a hooker. I went back to the store the next day and bought it anyway.