“Yeah, well, I'm not comfortable ruining this girl's life just because we hate her daddy and brothers,” I say. “There's no honor in that.”
“Honor doesn’t have anything to do with it, Milo,” he says. “You know what the old man told us about what the Longstreets have done to our family.”
“Yeah, I know what the old man told us,” I say. “But I'm not the old man. And what I say here goes.”
Zach holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, Milo,” he says. “I'm not arguing. I just never thought I'd see the day my own brother went soft on a Longstreet.”
“Shut the fuck up, Zach,” I say.
He gives me that crooked, stoned off his ass grin. “Okay, man. Shutting the fuck up now.”
“It's ready,” Q announces.
Taking my beer with me, we walk over to the desk and gather around. Q has the video set up and ready. He turns and looks at me. I didn’t want them to see it anymore. The sport's been taken out of it for me. It was never about the money. The bet was made in fun, meant to be just a gag between brothers. But, the fun has been totally stripped out of it.
“Play it,” I say.
Q hits the button and the video begins to play. As I watch it onscreen, I think back to actually doing the things I'm seeing with Bree. And I feel my body begin to react. My face suddenly feels hot and a sense of desire and longing begins to swirl around inside of me.
As I watch the video, it's almost like I can feel her cool, alabaster skin beneath my fingertips again. Can see the sparkle in eyes that gleam like polished jade, and can taste her sweet mouth behind her full, sensuous lips. The long, red hair that flows over her shoulders was smoother than silk, and her full breasts strained against the plunging neckline of her purple gown.
Physically, she is perfection to me. Recalling the feeling of being inside of her, of hearing those filthy words coming out of her sweet, angelic mouth – it sends a shudder of remembered pleasure through me.
The sound of my brothers laughing hysterically pulls me out of my reverie. I stop the video. Q and Dalton are high-fiving each other, eyes riveted to the screen.
“I can't believe you did it,” Dalton says.
“Yeah, seriously,” Q adds. “I didn't think you had a snowball's chance in hell.”
I smirk at them. “No, none of you clowns had a snowball's chance.”
Zach watches the screen through glassy eyes, sipping his drink. His jaw is clenched, and his body is tense. I know it bothers him that I succeeded where he'd failed. He'd tried to hook up with Bree several times over the years and had been shut down, viciously, every single time. And I know he proposed the bet originally, hoping that I would strike out as badly as he had.
I hadn't though, and I know it must piss him off.
“Man, the way she talks,” Q says. “Who knew little Miss Purity was such a slut?”
I smack him across the back of the head, the pop echoing around the room. Q turns and glares up at me, rubbing the back of his head.
“That fuckin' hurt!”
“Have a little respect,” I growl.
“She's a Long –”
I lean down and stare at him, my eyes narrowed, a dark anger rising within me. “I don't give a shit, little brother,” I say, my voice low and menacing. “She's a lady. You show her some fucking respect.”
Zach snorts. “Yeah, but you’re not sweet on her or nothin',” he says and heads back to the kitchen.
“Cue it up again,” Dalton says and chuckles, nudging Q in the ribs.
“Show's over, boys,” I say. “You got your proof, time to pay up.”
“Oh, c'mon, Milo,” Dalton says. “Let us watch the full video. I could watch her –”
I smack him in the back of the head, though far less roughly than I'd popped Q earlier. This time, it's more playful, and less angry.
“Show's over,” I say.
I drop my phone into my jacket pocket and walk into the kitchen, giving Zach a smug, satisfied smile. He looks at me with a mixture of amusement and disdain – a combination I wasn't aware one could actually combine in one expression. He opens a drawer and pulls out an envelope, dropping it on the counter before me.
“Well earned,” he says.
“It was a pleasure,” I say, picking up the envelope full of money and flashing him a smile. “Really. An absolute pleasure. Believe me about that.”
Zach snorts and gives me a derisive look, knowing that I conquered something he'll never be able to get a sniff of, let alone a taste of. I slip the envelope into my pocket and laugh as I walk out of the clubhouse and head for my room in the main house.
It's been a good night.
Chapter Three
Milo
A Few Weeks Later
I walk down Sutter Street, the main avenue through town, soaking in my last few days at home before heading back to school for the fall term. It's been a good summer. An eventful summer. But, the thing I'm going to remember the most is the night I spent with Bree Longstreet.
I'm not an overly sentimental kind of guy and I've slept with plenty of girls. But, there's something about Bree that's really sticking with me. Ever since that night, I can't seem to get her out of my head. I haven't reached out to her since then, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about her.
The sun is sinking below the horizon and the dark fabric of night is being pulled over the world. It's warm, but not unpleasantly so. Thankfully, there isn't much humidity tonight. Thank God for small favors. Even though this is where I grew up, I've never been a big fan of the heat and humidity that plagues the otherwise fine state of Georgia.
As I stroll down the street, a dark truck, raised well beyond normal or tasteful limits, with windows tinted so dark you can't see into the vehicle, comes to a screeching stop at the curb beside me. I only know of one person with such an absurdly gaudy truck, so I'm not surprised when the doors fly open, and Clyde Longstreet, with a look of pure rage on his face, climbs out from behind the wheel.
He stands in my way, his face less than a foot from mine, and I can practically taste the alcohol on his breath. A couple of his friends get out and stand on the sidewalk behind him. They've all obviously indulged in a little bit of liquid courage and have hyped themselves up for this.
Whatever this is.
“You're in my way,” I say.
Clyde sneers. “What kinda sick sumbitch are you?”
I chuckle. “I guess that would depend on who you ask.”
“Oh, you think this is funny, asshole?”
I shrug. “Not sure what we're talking about,” I reply smoothly. “Depending on what it is, I might find it funny.”
His face darkens even more and his body tenses. Clyde came here looking for a fight. He should know by now that I'm not afraid of him, nor does he intimidate me. If he wants to throw down, we'll throw down. I'd just like to know why we're fighting beforehand.
“I should kill you right now,” Clyde hisses.
I shrug again. “Before you do, you mind telling me what your problem is?”
“As if you don't know.”
A wry laugh escapes me. “I really don't.”
“Right, because I'm supposed to believe you're not the prick who posted that video online,” Clyde sneers again.
At the mention of a video, I feel an icy fist grab my heart and squeeze tight. Clyde must have seen it on my face because I see his eyes widen with recognition as his lips curl into a snarl. I have no idea how he saw the video. It's on my phone. It was on my phone. I deleted it that night and I sure as hell didn't post it anywhere. I wouldn't do that to her.
The only way that video could have been posted – shit. The answer hits me harder than a mule's kick to the gut. Zach. I'd taken the phone, but they'd downloaded it to the computer to play it. If they didn't erase it, they could have uploaded it.
Yeah, heads are going to roll when I get home.
For now, though, I have to deal with what's in front of me. And what's in front of me is one pissed off big brother. I can certainly understand why he's upset – and although I’d done everything in my power to prevent a scene like this – I'm not about to give in to him. He is, after all, still a Longstreet.
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I say.