Rebel Soul

Steely silence meets my proclamation followed by a low growl of displeasure. “You must have misspoken, because it sounded like you were canceling.”

“Yeah, that’s because I am. Something’s come up.”

“This is a standing reservation, Weston. We—”

I cut him off. “I know, I know. But I think we’ll both survive missing just the one.” Hell, if it were up to me, I’d miss them all. It’s not exactly fun to sit across from someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally and listen to them put you down and pick you apart as if they’re filleting you with a hot knife, removing flesh from bone. Real talk: the filleting would probably be more enjoyable than lunch with Roland Larson.

“This is unacceptable. Something more important than your own blood? Your family should be—”

I cut him off again. “You’re hardly one to talk about family. I have a friend who needs me, and I’m going to be there for her. Some things are more important than blood—a foreign concept, no doubt. But try hard, maybe you’ll get it.” I end the call, knowing if we keep going back and forth, three things will inevitably happen: He’ll snap. I’ll snap. He’ll involve my mother, and Jesus Christ, no one on this earth can guilt trip as well as she can.

However, knowing my dad has a penchant for needing the last word, I switch my phone to silent before hopping into the shower.

As the steaming water rains down on me, visions of Stacia creep to the forefront of my mind. Of her spread out on my king-sized bed as I make her thrash and moan with pleasure. Of her crying out my name as I make her come over and over.

Before I know it, I’m stroking my rock-hard dick to thoughts of the sexy-as-hell redhead who shares a roof with me, wondering how I can convince her to share her heart as well.

Chapter Twenty-Four

West

A week has passed since Stacia and I drove out to her grandparents’ place. Talk about a culture shock—which sounds dumb as hell, seeing as I didn’t even leave the state—but it’s the only way I can think of to describe it.

With my parents, everything is a grand affair. And I mean everything. Be it a random weekday lunch, a birthday, an anniversary, or a wedding, it’s going to be at least five courses with a full wait-staff and, nine times out of ten, a valet.

At Stacia’s family’s house, it was down home, serve yourself in the kitchen and eat it at the table casual. And the food…goddamn. While I love Mrs. Zelda’s cooking, it doesn’t hold a candle to Mrs. Harrison’s—I mean, Gramma, since that’s what she asked me to call her—meatloaf and mashed potatoes. And don’t even get me started on the rolls she made. Long, delicious story short, the woman can fucking cook.

What I really took away from spending time there, though, was what kind of life I want for my kid. I want them to have a home full of life and love, not just material things. I want them to have laughter and memories and pillow forts. I want them to have all of the things my own parents neglected to give me—the things my Mimi Jean tried her best to provide. I want them to feel safe and loved. And fuck me, more than anything else, I want it with Stacia Kellan by my side.

However, she isn’t currently anywhere near my side, in any sense. It seems like lately, every time we try and make plans to chill, something comes up. She either gets called in or some completely preventable crisis pops up with Dirk Hellerman—the C.E.O of the company who’s recently started courting me in hopes of securing a retail contract with my company. They want an exclusive line of Virtual Kitty merch products in a chain of adult novelty stores they run. Between all of that, we may as well be strangers.

Case in point, last night, we had plans for pizza and a movie that fell through due to the studio having a last-minute booking—a bride was left high and dry when her makeup artist never showed, and Stacia jumped on the opportunity.

And tonight, I have an in-person with Dirk, Lord fucking help me. From our conference calls and emails, I’ve deduced the dude is a jackass supreme, but his company is stupidly successful, so I’m—mostly—willing to deal with him. At least, until I decide if I want to move forward or not with him; if I do, I’ll be passing his ass off to Margaret with zero regrets.

Colton will be tagging along as my counsel and to act as a buffer. Which is kind of ridiculous, seeing as he runs far hotter than I do. But, whatever. His ill-tempered ass is still better than me going it alone.