Bradford Bastard (Bradford Bastard 1)

Letting out a sigh, I filter through my options. Stay locked up in my room like a fucking loser or go over there and end up looking like a jealous asshole who can’t handle one little fucking bet.

Shit.

On the other hand, if I don’t go over there, I don’t get the rush from watching the fear flash in her eyes or the hunger from when she watches my every move, remembering what she saw through my bedroom window yesterday.

Fuck it. Call me a sucker for punishment. I want to be over there, and I want to see the fear in her eyes. Screw the boys and their opinions. If they want to give me a hard time about it, then so be it. I’ll just have to kick their asses harder on the field. A few stray tackles won’t hurt.

Taking off down the stairs, I all but blast my way through the front door, the anticipation of fucking with her afternoon too good to pass up. The boys would have slipped through the side gate of Channing’s property, but if I’m doing this, I’m making it count.

Striding over the boundary line, I make my way right to the front door and grip the handle before welcoming myself in. I strut through the house I know all too well and a rush of memories of growing up alongside Jensen Channing assault me. Rumor has it that he assaulted some chick at school last year. I never got that vibe from him, and while he never got arrested or charged, there’s no way of knowing if he actually did it. It was her word against his. All I know is that the guy is a fucking loser. Killjoy really hit the jackpot by becoming his new roomie. She’s going to have to watch her back.

Making my way through the kitchen, I scrunch my face at the chick drinks covering the counter. Jax and Riley would be all over that fruity shit, but the rest of us have respect for ourselves. Logan and I prefer bourbon, whereas Hudson gets hard for whiskey.

The bifold doors are wide open and their mindless conversation flows into the house, slowly killing my brain cells one by one. Jax is shamelessly flirting with the chick I don’t know, leaning into her and whispering in her ear while she goes all doe eyed. Logan and Hudson have made themselves comfortable on the end of Arizona’s sun lounger, to her dismay, of course, while Riley sits on the edge of Brielle’s lounger. His positioning forces her to cross her legs to leave enough space for him, but he still takes up all the space he can, making sure that her skin is pressing against his thigh.

I try to ignore it as I reach up and grip the frame around the bifold doors and watch the performance before me. “The fuck are you assholes doing here?”

The boys all look my way, but I keep my eyes on Brielle, watching as her back stiffens and her head whips around, her hair flowing over her shoulder in the process. Her eyes widen just a fraction, and she pauses a moment, almost as if trying to decide how she is going to handle this. Not going to lie, my heart is beating just that little bit faster. Getting this reaction from her is like a drug I’m already becoming addicted to. She fucking hates me and I love it.

Riley watches me with a smug expression, one I plan to knock right off his face. He knew exactly what he was doing and once again, I’ve just played right into his fucked-up games.

“Holy hell,” the new chick breathes, her eyes flashing toward Arizona. “Who the fuck is that?”

I don’t wait to hear the response as my attention is solely on Brielle and the way she flies up off the sun lounger, anger burning in her narrowed stare. “Who let you in here?” she spits, striding up to me and putting herself right in my way, her chin tilting to meet my gaze.

I don’t dare look away, capturing her stare with my own and holding her captive. Most chicks break, unable to handle the intimidation. They have no choice but to look away, but she doesn’t back down, just dares me to continue. Can’t lie, I’m impressed. “What’s the matter, Killjoy? I figured you’d be the last person to bitch about breaking and entering.”

Amusement flares through her bright blue eyes, and without a doubt, she knows that I’ve seen what she did to my room. All eyes fall on us, their heavy, concerned stares lingering and waiting to see how this is going to go down, waiting to see who will break first.

“Not at all,” she tells me, stepping in even closer and lowering her tone. “I just have issues with assholes like you making yourself welcome somewhere that you’re clearly not wanted.”