Sledgehammer (Hard to Love 2)

Like the loud and proud bitch that I am, I see my opening and take it. “Speaking of consequences.”

“Uh oh––”

“Your bother misses you.” When that’s met with silence, I decide to go for the kill. “I sympathize. I really do. It must be awful to know that your little brother was balls deep in your wife over and over and over––”

“Okay. Okay,” he says, and follows it up with a dry chuckle.

“––long before you were,” I continue, talking over him. “But you knew that when you started something with her, didn’t you? I would think that family would mean more to you that your ego.”

He continues watching me with a carefully neutral expression. The half finished cigarette drops to the stone patio under our feet and he steps on it. “You’re right. I let it get weird.”

“It’s not weird, Jake. Everyone’s moved on but you. You’re the weird one. Hope seems fine with it. Ethan’s fine with it. He just misses his brother.”

That said, I turn to make my way back to the dinner party. I get as far as the door when I hear, “Hey.” Stopping, I glance over my shoulder. “I’m happy for Ethan. Really––he deserves the best.”

“Your opinion means nothing to me. How you treat Ethan does.”

Chapter Twenty

It’s official I won’t be getting any sleep tonight. I’m too bent out of shape over what happened at dinner. It’s my trigger. No mystery there, I recognize it for what it is. I can’t stand watching someone being systematically taken apart by the people that are supposed to love them most. Granted it was done in jest, but it still ignites an indescribable rage in me. He’s a grown man. And a lawyer, an accomplished one. Let’s not forget that. He can handle his own defense without any assistance from me. However, watching his discomfort set me on fire.

I glance at my iPhone. Ten past midnight. Throwing off the covers, I march out of my room and head for the one two doors down without bothering to put anything else on. I’m in my shorts and tank top and too mad to give a damn. At my quiet knock, he says, “Who is it?”

“Your beard.”

Without waiting for a response, I enter and find him in bed––naked. By the look of the sheet barely covering his privates, the only thing he seems to be wearing are his reading glasses…I think I just felt an egg travel down my fallopian tube.

He places down the book he was reading, and regards me curiously. His brow quirks up.

“I can’t sleep,” I huff.

“I see that.”

“Because I’m fuming.”

He sits up in bed, clutching the sheet to that winning six pack, his expression alert. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like the way they treated you at dinner.” The tension on his face eases. Mine doesn’t.

“That’s what they do. They don’t mean anything by it.”

I couldn’t care less what they mean by it. I. Don’t. Like. It. Their casual ribbing resulted in me watching a man I respect and care for, a good man when everyone knows there aren’t a lot of ‘em out there, a man that is most of the time good humored and upbeat, turn into an ice sculpture. Fuck that. Not on my watch.

“Get out of bed.”

“What?”

“Get out of bed.”

“You’re starting to worry me, Jones.”

“Do I have to ask again?”

He breathes out a tired sigh. “Turn around.”

“Why?”

“Because I sleep naked.” Oh sweet baby Jeezus. “My pants are on the chair.” Instantly, I’m picturing the monster that lives between his legs in all its glory. Triple sigh with a back flip. Heat flares up my neck and south of my waist. Time to implement my plan before I forget what I came here for.

“Oooohh. Ooohh, yeah.”

“Jones?”

“Ooooohh, oh, God. Ethan don’t stop,” I moan a ton louder this time. Then whisper hiss, “Are you decent?”

I get a cough, a clearing of the throat, and a muttered, “I guess.”

As soon as I turn, I’m confronted with the reason for the strange reply. Ethan is standing at the foot of the bed, pajama bottoms hanging low, with an enormous hard-on he’s trying and failing to hide under his hands. I mean…

“Ignore it,” he mutters.

Umm, yeah, sure, like traipsing through the desert and trying to ignore the oasis in my freaking face. Welcome to my theater of pain.

I walk over to the foot of the bed with my eyes aimed above his neck. And he’s not fairing any better. Eyes wide, jaw locked, a streak of color across his cheekbones, he presses down on the kick stand in his pants and it bounces back––with force.

“Ooohh, God. Oooohh, God. Ethan, don’t stop. Whatever you do, do not stop, baby.”

I push the bed and it makes a loud thump. Eyebrows raised, he smiles and I smile back. Then he helps me shove the bed against the wall.