This is War (Checkmate Duet 1)

Currently her name is Rachel and she’s basically salivating at the mouth as she waits for me to give her what she’s begging for.

I give in, of course.

I’m a guy after all.

When we’re both sated and panting next to each other, I clean up and pull my boxer shorts back up. She curls her body around mine and places a quick kiss on my shoulder. “Are you kicking me out now?”

I look over my shoulder and give her a sympathetic grin. “Sorry, babe. No sleepovers.”

That’s not entirely a rule set in stone, but I prefer to sleep alone. Especially if there’s no chance of morning sex the next day. I get up at five a.m. and head to the gym before I have to be to work at eight.

“All right.” She gets up and searches for her clothes. Once she’s dressed, she grabs her purse and walks over for a goodbye kiss. “Call me later.”

“Sure.” I escort her out of the house and kiss her once more before shutting the door. I spin around and nearly run over Viola as she passes in the hall.

“Aw…another victim released. How sweet of you.”

“They aren’t victims if they’re willing,” I retort matter-of-factly.

“Well, they’re airheads if they are.” She continues walking to the kitchen and reluctantly I follow.

“You sure sound pretty envious.”

“It’s not. It’s pity. There’s a difference.” She opens the fridge and reaches for a bottle of water.

“Trust me…she’s not feeling any amount of pity right about now.” I lean up against the doorframe and watch her take a long drink.

“If not pity, then definitely regret. Or perhaps she’s wondering where the nearest clinic is so she can get tested.” She takes another pull of her water and ignores my glare.

“Just because a woman likes sex, doesn’t make her an airhead. But you wouldn’t know that would you? Not when you keep your V-card hostage like it’s a million-dollar diamond.”

“For the hundredth time, I’m not a virgin!” she retorts sharply. “Just because I don’t spread my legs as much as a gymnast, doesn’t mean I’m a prude.”

“Well it sure as hell doesn’t make you a delight.”

She tosses the bottle out and steps toward me, shoving her shoulder against me as she walks past. “Knowing how to use your dick doesn’t make you a god, Travis.”

I spin around and face her as she walks away. “You speak as if you know from experience.”

“Trust me. The walls are thin. The entire neighborhood knows from experience,” she calls over her shoulder.

“So are you saying I should be sorry for knowing how to use my dick?”

She freezes and turns toward me. “No, you should be sorry for anyone that falls for your shit that gets them into your bed in the first place.” She presses her lips together in a fake smile and walks down the hall and back to where Drew is still playing his game.

I don’t know what her problem is, but I’m determined to find out.

It’s already ten o’clock, and I have a long day at the office tomorrow, but I can’t get Viola off my mind long enough to fall asleep.

This never happens by the way.

Okay, well, maybe it does. Only when she gets under my skin, which happens to be all the damn time.

But you can’t blame me. She’s always perfect and proper, never wrong and always knows the answer to everything. She’s that annoying smart kid in class that always fucks up the grading curve for everyone else. The one that wears modest clothes but somehow always ends up looking sexy as fuck.

On the outside, Viola Fisher is the poster child of innocence and purity. But I know better.

Viola Fisher has tattoos and a right hook that could make any grown man cry.

VIOLA

Ugh, I hate him! I hate him so much I want to scream until his ears bleed.

Every time he’s near me, my body temperature rises. He knows how to get me fired up to the point where I want to lose my shit all over him. One day during my freshman year, when he and Drew were juniors, I overheard a rumor about some of the crude jokes he was saying about me. I immediately saw red, already pissed about him asking one of my friends out during homeroom, so I walked toward him and tripped over my own feet, making my entire lunch tray land in his lap. It might not have been a complete accident, but nevertheless, he deserved it. Considering it was spaghetti and meatball day for lunch, he was pretty pissed at that little display of hatred.

But being the loyal sister that I am, I try to control myself, like always. Try being the key word.

“What are you two bickering about now?” Drew asks as I walk back to the couch, his eyes still glued to the TV screen as he works the game controller.