Bradford Bastard (Bradford Bastard 1)

A familiar mop of golden blonde hair cuts past me and I reach out, gripping Chanel’s arm and pulling her up short. She goes to bitch at me before seeing it’s me, and the irritation in her eyes is quickly replaced with anger. She still hasn’t forgiven me for the bullshit that went down last year, and I don’t blame her.

Chanel yanks her arm out of my grip and stares at me with a raised brow, not impressed to be standing in my presence. “What do you want?”

“Where’s Brielle?”

Her brows furrow and I watch as that irritation comes storming back full force. Her arms cross over her slender body, unintentionally boosting her tits up higher. “How is that any of your business?”

She’s right. It’s not, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do anything it takes to get the answer out of her.

I step closer, my eyes narrowing on her, and I watch as she sucks in a breath, remembering just how lethal I can be. Hell, our little fuck-fest didn’t end last year only because I was bored with her, it ended because I put her brother in the hospital, and I know she thinks of that every time she looks at me. He was a senior last year and on the team. We all knew he liked his girls young, but when I caught the fucker with a thirteen-year-old girl in his bedroom, making her feel like shit for telling him no, I couldn’t help myself. It nearly lost me my spot on the team but once the girl came forward and my name was cleared, I was welcomed back as a hero. “Where is she, Chanel?” I repeat, my tone lowering as goosebumps sail over her skin.

“She’s not here,” she finally says.

I pull back, confusion lacing my tone. “What do you mean she’s not here?”

“Holy shit, Tanner. Are you seriously that self-absorbed that the idea of a girl not wanting to be near you is that horrifying? She didn’t want to see you because she knows that sooner or later, you’re going to screw her over just like you do everyone, and honestly, can you blame her?” She backs up a step. “Just … leave her alone. She doesn’t know what she’s doing getting involved with you. I care about her, and I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

“Same could be said about you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re playing with Logan and have been for twelve fucking months,” I tell her, voicing the thing we’ve all been tiptoeing around. “Either do something about it or let him go but stop stringing him along. He’s better than that and you know it. You’re just too fucking scared, and sure, that could be my fault, but he’s a good guy, and if you let him in, he’s not going to screw you over like I did.”

I don’t wait for her response because honestly, it really doesn’t matter to me. All that I care about is the fact that Brielle isn’t here. I have an hour until I’m due to race, and when I do, she’ll be right there with those bright blue eyes on me.

Taking off through the throng of drunken seniors, I shove my untouched beer into the hands of one of my teammates before breaking out through the parking lot. My bike is parked right up front, and I waste no time throwing my leg over it and storming off like a bat out of hell.

Wind whips past me, my shirt sticking to my body as I fly back up the road. It takes ten minutes before I’m pulling into my driveway and even less time for me to break into the house next door. Her door is unlocked, and despite our conversation about welcoming myself into her room uninvited, I still push it open and slip inside, grinning as I hear the sound of her shower running.

How is it that every time I come in here, she’s in the shower?

Soft moans come from inside the bathroom, and I groan, barely keeping control. She’s so fucking gorgeous when she comes. I should go in there and help her, but I’m not about to ruin tonight before it’s even really started.

So instead, I take it upon myself to have a little fun. I make my way across her room and search through her wide array of lipstick colors before picking out a deep red, one that hasn’t already been destroyed by our ridiculous messages, and I get busy scrawling a new message across the mirror.

Making a mental note to order her new lipsticks, I step back and admire my handiwork before settling down on her bed and helping myself to the small box of skittles on her bedside table. The smell of her perfume lingers in the air, and I listen to the sweet sounds of her coming, my name whispered on her lips, almost making me feel bad for the message left on her mirror. But fuck, now I know I should have gone in there and joined her.