Perfectly Inappropriate

staceykennedy.com

Facebook.com/?authorstaceykennedy

Twitter.com/?Stacey_Kennedy

Read on for an excerpt from

Sleepover

by Serena Bell

Available from Loveswept

Chapter 1

Sawyer

“It’s a shithole.”

Brooks stands on the sidewalk outside my new place, arms crossed.

“Thanks,” I tell my brother.

“Well, it is.”

I sigh. “That’s the point. I’m supposed to fix it up.”

“Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

Typical Brooks. Doesn’t mince words, doesn’t apologize. Most of the time, those are great traits in a brother, especially for a guy like me who’s zero bullshit. But every once in a while I wish he’d beat around the bush or drop a white lie, especially when it comes to the house I’m going to be living in for at least the next few months with my eight-year-old son, Jonah.

Brooks has a point, though. The roof shingles are peeling, there’s enough moss up there that I think a tree is starting to sprout, and the house desperately needs a paint job—which I’m pretty sure also means some of those siding boards are going to need replacing. The yard is overgrown, a miniature suburban jungle.

The good news is, the more work I do on the house and landscaping, the less rent I pay.

The bad news is, for the first few months at least, Jonah and I are going to be living in a dump. And I’ve seen the inside. It’s not a lot better.

A car pulls up to the curb behind the Penske truck I rented for this move. It’s Brooks’s friend Chase, with Jonah in the backseat. I can see Jonah through the window, his too-long hair shadowing his face as he leans over my cellphone, playing a video game. Chase tosses words over his shoulder to him, and Jonah replies. Knowing my son, he’s saying, I’ll be there as soon as I finish this game. Those are the words most often uttered in my house, besides, C’mon, Dad, really?

Chase gets out of the car and ambles toward us. “It’s—got promise.” He eyes the house like he’s looking hard for something that would make his words true.

I raise an eyebrow at Brooks, like, See, that’s how it’s done.

Brooks shrugs. “I tell it like it is. No lube for you, asshole.”

“You are such a dick.”

“We share fifty percent genetic material.”

“You were definitely adopted.”

“Can you two quit it and come unload the truck? I told Liv I’d be back for dinner.” Chase’s arms are crossed.

Brooks rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t want to do anything that would keep Chase from having boring sex.”

Chase laughs. “Spoken by a guy who has no idea what it’s like to have the best sex of your life every fucking night.”

That used to be me. A plentiful supply of reliable—and often great—sex. Terrific, now I’m horny and sad. It’s so weird what’ll still set me off, almost two years after my wife’s death. Some days I’m fine, and others…