

### How to Stay Out of Prison;

### A Modern-Day Woman's Guide

Copyright 2019 Monica Clayton

Published by M.E. Clayton

All Rights Reserved

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The entire content is a product of the author's imagination and all names, places, businesses and incidences are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), places or occurrences, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner, whatsoever, without the express written consent from the author, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Formatting: Smashwords

Cover: Adobe Stock

Warning: This book contains sexual situations and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 years of age and over.

Table of Contents

Author's Note

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Prologue

1. Lyrical

2. Nixon

3. Lyrical

4. Nixon

5. Lyrical

6. Nixon

7. Lyrical

8. Nixon

9. Lyrical

10. Nixon

11. Lyrical

12. Nixon

13. Lyrical

14. Nixon

15. Lyrical

16. Nixon

17. Lyrical

18. Nixon

19. Lyrical

20. Nixon

21. Lyrical

22. Nixon

23. Lyrical

24. Nixon

25. Lyrical

Epilogue

About the Author

Other Books

Contact Me

Newsletter Sign-Up
Author's Note

Just a couple of things before I let you go and get your read on. While I am doing my best to work with better editing and proofreading software, all my books are solo, independent works. I write my books, proofread my books, edit my books, create the covers, etc. I have one beta who gives me feedback on my stories, but other than that, all my books are independent projects.

That being said, I apologize, in advance, for the typos, grammar inconsistencies, or any other mistakes I may make. Since writing is strictly a hobby for me, I haven't looked for commitments in regard to publishers, editors, etc. My hope is that my stories are enjoyable enough that a few mistakes, here and there, can be overlooked. If not, my books are probably not for you.

Also, I am an avid reader-I mean an _AVID_ reader. I love to read above any other hobby. One of the things about reading that hurts my heart, though, is when I fall in love with a book, but I have to wait for the additional books in the series to be released. Because I feel that disappointment down to my soul, I vowed that if I ever write a series, all books will be published at once. Nope-no waiting over here...LOL. So, if you are reading one of my books, but can't find any other books on the secondary characters of that book, that means the book is a standalone project.

Now, that being said, if there are enough requests for the secondary characters' stories, I try to accommodate that. So, it is possible for a series to develop unexpectedly. Should that happen, I will do my best to release the rest of the requested book all at once.

Thank You! You are truly making my dreams come true!
Acknowledgements

The first acknowledgement will always be my husband (unless we ever divorce, then probably not so much after that), but seeing as how I can't imagine that day ever coming, I can't ever put myself out there without thanking him for all his love, support and belief in me.

Second, there's my family; my daughter, my son, my grandchildren, my sister and my mother. They are the people who love me the most, know me the best, and love me dearly, despite all they know...LOL!

And, of course, there's Kamala. She insists that I don't have to thank her in every book, but my love for her and gratitude for all her support and enthusiasm, claims otherwise. She's the first person (outside my family) that I shared this dream with, and she's been by my side every step of the way. Kam, you really are the best kind of friend!

Next, are the people who may not know the details like Kamala does, but they support me with all the enthusiasm in the world; Anthony, Steve, Joe, Kim, Myron, Heather, Priscilla, Marla, Janice, The Tuesday Table of Nine, John, and, by association, Celine, Gene, Linda, and Lindsey. Thank You, guys!

And, finally, I'd like to thank everyone who's purchased, read, reviewed, shared, and supported me and my writing. Thank you so much for helping make this dream a reality and a happy, fun one at that! There are not enough 'Thank You's in the world.
Dedication

For my daughter & granddaughter –

May you never let anyone shadow your light or silence your voice. Ever.
Prologue

_Lyrical – (9 years old)~_

This was dumb.

They were dumb.

I mean, nothing they were saying was making any sense to me.

"But...Aunt Blanche asked us how she looked in her big, purple dress," I argued. "I just answered her question."

My mom closed her blue eyes and let out one of those breaths that fill up your lungs too far. "Lyrical..."

I crossed my arms over my chest and I almost rolled my eyes, but my dad would spank me for that, so I didn't. "I don't understand, Mom," I said again. "You guys are acting like it's my fault she looks like a big, wrinkly plum in that dress."

Dad laughed, and Mom shot him that look she does when he's in trouble, but she doesn't want to get him in trouble in front of us. My dad immediately stopped laughing and Mom turned back to me. "Lyric, honey," she said, using her soft voice. "I know it might be hard for you to understa-"

I started shaking my head at her. "You're not supposed to lie," I reminded her. "You and Dad tell me all the time that I'm not supposed to lie." I looked between my mom and dad, making sure they knew that I did my best to listen to them when they told me stuff. "You guys told me that lying is wrong and I'm supposed to always tell the truth."

Mom closed her eyes again while Dad leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands squeezing together. They were sitting on the couch and I was sitting on the table that was always in the middle of our living room. They always sit me here when they need to talk to me together.

It sucked.

I hated this table.

"Lyric," my dad said, taking over where my mom left off, "I-we don't want you lying, that is true-"

"So, then-"

Dad put his hand up to stop me from talking. That was his nice way of telling us to shut up. "Lyrical, lying is wrong. But there are these things called little white lies, and people tell them when they don't want to hurt someone's feelings."

I didn't understand.

I tilted my head to the side. "But isn't lying still hurting someone's feelings?" I asked. "I mean, if you lied to Mom about something, wouldn't her feelings be hurt if she found out you lied?" I watched as my parents shared a look and I narrowed my eyes. They were trying to trick me. I just knew it.

My mom did that breathing thing again. "It's not that simple, Lyric," she said, trying to explain her point. "While lying is wrong, sometimes you can tell a little fib, so that no one's feelings get hurt."

I uncrossed my arms and threw them up in the air frustrated. "I don't understand," I said again. "Isn't it better for me to tell Aunt Blanche that she looks like a big, wrinkly plum, so she can change, instead of letting her walk around looking like a big, wrinkly plum?" I shrugged a shoulder. "I mean, that seems more mean to me than telling her the truth." I looked at my dad and ignored my mom's prayers.

"Jesus Christ," he mumbled.

My eyes widened. "You're not supposed to use The Lord's name in vain," I reminded him.

I watch as my father ran both his hands through his thick brown hair, and then down his face. "Lyric, you're killing me here, sweetie," he said, shaking his head.

I crossed my arms over my chest again. "What do you guys want me to do?" I knew I wasn't supposed to lie, but I didn't want to get in trouble by my parents, either. "Do I tell the truth, or don't I?"

"It's not that simple, Lyric," my mother tried to explain, yet, again.

"It should be," I pointed out.

"Yes, it should," my father agreed. "It should be, but life isn't always black and white."

I was so confused. "What does that mean?"

My mother sighed. "It just means, you need to think about your words before you say them."

This felt like a trick. "So, do I get in trouble for lying or don't I?" I needed to know.

"It depends on the lie, Lyric," my father said.

"That's not fair!"

"Life never is, honey," my father agreed.
Chapter 1

_Lyric – 20 Years Later~_

I laid in bed, looking up at the ceiling, trying to recall where on the list of Commandments did murder rank. Was it the first Commandment?

I mean, if it was first on the list, then I could see that'd be a super no-no, but if it wasn't first...

My thoughts were interrupted by, yet, another opening of the door where laughter, music, and partying snuck through, rattling my walls.

Fuck this.

I reached over towards my nightstand and grabbed my phone. The traitorous screen screamed that it was 1:14 am, but I pretended not to see it as I tapped on the Google icon. And as if I had all the time in the world, my fingers flew across the screen, typing in The Ten Commandments.

Thall Shall Not Kill was number six on the list.

It was number six. It didn't even rank in the top five. So, surely, it wasn't that bad of an offense, right? I mean, if I was lucky enough to make it to The Pearly Gates, I could easily explain how it was totally reasonable to kill my neighbor. He was rude as hell with no thoughts of anyone but himself. And if I stayed true to the other nine Commandments, that should even out the scale, shouldn't it?

I'd been living in my building for over five years already, and I've never had one complaint to mutter about. The building was a high rise of spaciously rent-controlled apartments that I had been lucky enough to land a space in. The building's structure has always been sturdy, clean, and well maintained. The rooms were bigger than a shoebox, and that was a treasure all its own.

I knew how lucky I was to live in this building, especially, when I didn't make a whole lot as a pet store manager. But it was just me, and I got along fine.

At least, I was getting along fine until Bruce Higgins moved in across the hallway about a month ago. And it wasn't that he just moved in.

No.

He moved in because he was fortunate enough to be banging the building manager, Randall Smyth. I found that little tidbit out the first night Bruce had thrown a party (on a Tuesday) and I had, calmly, knocked on his door to ask him to keep it down. Some fuckface partier had opened the door and when I had, politely, asked him if they could keep it down, he had laughed in my face and told me take it up with the apartment manager right before he slammed the door in my face.

Now, stop!

Here's the part where you'd probably want to push him aside, step into the apartment, and scream out a lecture at the top on your lungs on basic consideration, but you don't.

You don't because you don't know the people in attendance, and it takes only one person to come at you all crazy, inciting you to pop them one in the face.

That leads to a night (or two) sitting in a jail cell, possibly bail, and an assault and battery charge. And as that one day in March when I was fourteen has taught me, that's not how I wanted to spend my Tuesday night.

So, instead, I had marched over to Mr. Smyth's office first thing the next morning to log an official complaint. He had accused me of being homophobic and resenting a party attended by mostly gay people. I had been offended at his offendedness but had kept my mouth shut. I did not want to get kicked out of my apartment. It hadn't been until a couple of days later, when I saw Bruce and Randall kissing through the opened crack of Bruce's door, that I had realized I was screwed.

Since then, I've been trying to live life on lack of sleep so severe, it was a miracle I could even still dress myself at this point. There were permanent bags under my brown eyes, and there wasn't enough concealer in the world to erase them.

The great thing about my job was that I spent most of it in my office, and so, I didn't have to interact with people a whole lot. And when I did emerge from behind my desk, I spent a lot of time checking on the animals we sold at the pet store.

I managed A Pet's Love, and it was a pet store that was divided into four sections. The store front housed pet supplies as far as the eye could see. The back was sectioned off into two areas; one housed the animals we sold, and the other housed my office, the employees' restroom, and the employees' break room, even though a lot of employees spent their breaks playing with the animals. The back of the building housed our veterinarian clinic. We had an on-site veterinarian, and he had one assistant. A Pet's Love was a one-stop shop for any pet lover.

I had started working there shortly after I had dropped out of college. I had managed to credit myself with two years of a college education, but once I realized how tight my parents were stretching themselves, after sending my sister, Alice, to college, I had dropped out.

My parents had felt horrible, but not as horrible as I had felt finding out how in debt they had been. It hadn't been an impulsive decision, though. Before I had officially dropped out, I had done the math and had even taken on a couple of jobs to try to make it happen. But college was an expensive mofo.

After that, I worked odd jobs until about five years ago, when I got hired at A Pet's Love. I worked hard and made manager after two years. The promotion gave me enough of a raise to actually be able to live a decent life.

I thought often about going back to college, but if the price was sky high ten years ago, I couldn't even begin to imagine what it cost now. And I was happy. I guess that's why it was more of a fancy idea than an actual urge. If I was unhappy in life, then maybe I'd be more apt to take going back to college more seriously, but I wasn't unhappy.

I had a good life. I had great parents who loved me. I had an awesome sister who was changing the world. And I had a best friend who, I know for a fact, would sit in a jail cell with me if the night deemed it so.

I didn't have a boyfriend, but that was okay. I mean, I didn't have anything against them, or anything, but I liked my life stress-free. Not that men automatically equaled stress, I just didn't feel like taking the chance.

The door opened again, and I wondered if I was going to become an episode on Fear Thy Neighbor.

I placed my phone back on the nightstand and pushed my earplugs farther into my ear canal. Would I go deaf some day? Probably. But sleep was the goal.

I rolled over to my side and nestled my head onto the pillow, then grabbing the extra pillow that occupied the empty side of my queen-size bed, I threw it over my head.

The party was in full swing, and the only thing keeping me from going over there-besides jail-was the fact that I was being sent on a managers' conference in St. Louis, Missouri tomorrow. The travel was far enough from Chicago to warrant an overnight stay with accommodations and that was a blessing.

That meant sleep.

Blessed, peaceful, beautiful sleep.

I'd be flying back on Friday afternoon which meant, tonight and Thursday night, were going to be full of sleep and more sleep. Hell, I might do nothing but sleep while I was away. Screw seeing the sights. Who needed to see the sights? Not this girl. This girl needed some goddamn sleep.

As I laid there-not sleeping-I contemplated sleeping pills. I wasn't a fan and I hated the idea of drugging my body. I didn't want to become addicted to them or read in ten years that my intestines were going to melt inside my body when they discovered that the sleeping pills were actually a toxic poison that I had voluntarily taken.

Super dramatic? Again, probably. But that's what lack of sleep does to a person.

That's why they use it as a prisoner tactic when they capture the enemy. Sleep deprivation was a real, actual method of torture. Like legit.

So, right now, Bruce was actually torturing me. Like, really torturing me as defined by our American government.

So, if I was being tortured, didn't I have the right to defend myself? Didn't I have the right to save myself from unspeakable torture by an asshole who had no concept of basic neighborly consideration?

I think I did.

Plus, it's already been established that Thall Shall Not Kill was number six on the list. So, if I kill Bruce in self-defense to end his legally sanctioned tortured, well, then, Thall Shall Not Kill should rank even further down the list, right?"

But did multiple kills move it back up the list?

Because, surely, I would have to kill Randall since he was an accomplice. I mean, I couldn't let him move in someone else who liked to party until the break of dawn. I had to put an end to Randall's abuse of power.

Someone had fight for the cause, and it looked like that someone was going to have to be me.

I sighed.

I should probably reevaluate my reasoned killing spree after I've had a couple decent nights of sleep. I'll fly to St. Louis this afternoon, sleep, give my all to the meetings, sleep, give some more of my all, sleep, then fly home and, hopefully, not kill anyone.
Chapter 2

_Nixon~_

"We have a problem," Abbi Lewis said in lieu of Good Morning.

I walked past her and straight into my office, knowing she would follow like she does every morning. But, usually, it was with a 'Good Morning' and a rundown of what the day looked like. "Oh, really?"

She said, "Yep."

I placed my briefcase on my desk and turned to face her. "So, what is it?"

Abbi walked up to me with her hand stretched out, handing me some papers. "The building manager for the apartments on Canal Street moved his boyfriend into apartment 4D and he's waiving his rent, letting him throw parties every night, and basically letting him get away with murder."

I grabbed the papers and scanned over them lightly. I didn't really need to read her reports. Abbi wasn't one for extra flair. Whatever she said was usually on her reports, word-for-word. "How do you know Randall's letting all of that take place? Maybe he's clueless about his newest tenant."

Abbi cocked her hair. "Good, ole fashion gossip, Nixon," she answered. "I have a friend who lives in that building, and she and Bruce-that's the boytoy, by the way-have become friends of sorts. Apparently, Bruce isn't big on discretion, and he's been bragging to anyone who will listen about how he has it made as long as he keeps sucking Randall's dick."

Fuck.

I got into real estate seven years ago on a fluke and, for the most part, it's been a positive and profitable direction for me. I graduated college with degrees in Finance and Architectural Engineering, with some grandiose idea of living my life creating magnificent buildings. That shit came to a quick halt when I realized I didn't work well with others. My vision was my vision, and my vision alone. I struggled with suggestions and direction from others.

Word of advice; architecture is not the choice career for someone who can't work well with others.

So, seven years ago, I had been stuck in traffic when a rundown corner building caught my eye. I sat in my car staring at it for a while-mostly because traffic had been at a standstill-but I started to envision everything that could be done to it. That night I called around to find out who owned the building, and with the help of my brothers, I purchased my first flip building.

It had been a different experience from creating something from scratch. I had been limited to what I could do with the building's structure and, believe it or not, it helped me get over my aversion to taking suggestions and the like. Granted, I still had final say over what the building will eventually represent, but I wasn't a dick about it anymore.

Well, not much of a dick, anyway.

Now, seven years later, I've paid my brothers back, have flipped more buildings than I could count, and own multiple commercial and residential buildings; apartment buildings included.

I shook my head. "Why would Randall risk his job for a hookup?" I mean, I was all for scratching that sexual itch, but to risk losing your job and home for it? No pussy was that good.

Abbi cocked her head at me. "You've obviously never had a good dicking," she said sardonically. Abbi wasn't one to mince words.

I cocked a brow. "And, without a doubt, I never will," I said, making sure we were clear on my sexual preferences. I had nothing against how people got down, but I liked women.

"So, what do you want to do about this?" she asked, getting back to business.

I employed enough people that I could have any one of my senior property managers handle it, but I didn't like putting them in sticky situations. When dealing with evictions, property damage, etc., I liked to be involved, so I knew what to expect should I have to make an appearance in court later.

This was no different. If what Abbi reported was true-and I'm pretty sure it was because Abbi didn't exaggerate-I'd be evicting two people from my building today. The Canal property fell under Sebastian Steele's (his name still made me think it was suited for adult films) portfolio. "Let me call Bast and we'll head on over and pay Randall a visit," I answered.

Abbi nodded. "Okay. You're clear after the senior staff meeting, but only for an hour," she informed me. "You have to meet with Grace Properties at eleven o'clock."

I glanced at my watch, and then back up at Abbi. "Is there anything pressing on the staff meeting agenda this morning?" Mondays were usually our most detailed staff meetings. The rest of the week was basically touching base with whatever shit was going on. Since today was Wednesday, I couldn't imagine anything dire being discussed today.

"No," Abbi said, confirming my thoughts. "Just the usual."

"Good," I replied. "Will you, please, send out a senior staff email cancelling today's meeting?"

"Sure thing, Boss. Go get 'em," she teased. I smiled and watched her walk out of my office.

Abbi was a godsend. She had to be the most organized person on the planet, and she was just as ferocious in her quest to maintain order. No one, save for family, saw me without an appointment and she did her best to run my life smoothly. Her only concession was that the weekends were hers. She was willing to work sixteen-hour days during the week, but the weekends were untouchable.

So, while everyone else might get a random call on the weekend, Abbi didn't. She had made it very clear that nothing, and no one, was more important than her family. And Saturdays and Sundays belonged to her husband and children. Coming from a close, loving family myself, I respected her stipulation. Plus, five years later, she's more than proven her worth.

I dropped down on my chair and reached for my desk phone. It was only 8:00 am, but most of my staff was already up and running by now. Sebastian answered on the third ring. "What's up?"

I skipped the greeting. "I just got a report that Randall Smyth accepted a new tenant in the Canal building and in exchange for some...romance, he's letting the tenant live there rent-free and he's reportedly throwing parties every night and whatnot."

"Goddamn it," Bast grumbled. "Are you sure? I mean, I know your reports are usually spot on, but Randall's always been good to S.J.S."

"Well, according to Abbi, love is blind," I retorted.

Bast snorted. "Not as blind as lust, that's for sure."

I ignored his comparison. "Want to take a drive with me?"

"I wouldn't miss this for free tickets to a Victoria Secrets fashion show," he joked. I couldn't help shaking my head.

Most of my senior staff have seen me lose my shit in technicolor once or twice, so Sebastian's glee was real. Apparently, my loss of composure was entertaining. Abbi once said I should sell tickets.

The assholes.

"Meet me in the garage in ten," I said right before hanging up on him. Abbi was probably my closest friend in the building. To everyone else, I was the boss, so I usually skipped the niceties.

I grabbed my cellphone and dialed my brother, Lincoln. When he answered, I cut right to the chase. "I'm on my way to evict a couple of tenants. I might need your assistance later."

His laugher chimed through the phone. "Can I go?"

Goddamn it.

"No," I growled. "You cannot go."

"Awwwwe, come on, Nix," he cajoled. "I've been on vacation since Monday and I've had no drama to keep me occupied since." Linc was a criminal defense attorney, and one of the best. I wasn't just saying that as his brother. I was saying it because it was true. His hourly rate was proof of that.

"I can't believe you make your living upholding the law," I gruffed. "Shouldn't you be talking me out of going there?" No one knew my temper like my brothers.

Lincoln was thirty-five with his own partnered law firm. It was weird to associate him with such a serious profession. Linc was all charm and ease. He had the best sense of humor and tried not to take life too seriously. But once you got him in the courtroom, he turned into a vicious creature.

Jackson was the oldest at thirty-seven, and Dad's junior. He was a pediatrics doctor and very serious. But I supposed you had to be in his line of work, plus being the oldest brother. He loved kids, and he took their health and wellbeing very much to heart. Abuse cases tended to send him over the edge, but for the most part, Jackson was well balanced and happy, if not a little...rigid.

I was happy, too.

It was just when I wasn't that I turned into a world class dick. I was working on that though. It was probably why, at thirty-three, I've yet to settle down. Not too many women wanted to tie themselves to a jerk.

"Why would I talk you out of it?" Linc asked, bringing me back to the topic at hand. "That's more money for me if you do lose your shit, little brother."

"You're a dick," I snorted.

"Takes one to know one," he sing-songed.

I sighed. "Just be...available."

"Of course," he replied like I knew he would.

The only problem with having a brother who was a criminal defense attorney? It gave you the false illusion that you can punch your way out of anything.
Chapter 3

_Lyric~_

It was Friday afternoon, and I was eyeing my apartment building like it was Satan, himself.

I had just spent the last two nights living in a miracle of clean sheets, fluffy pillows, a sturdy but willowy mattress, and honest-to-goodness sleep.

And a restful sleep.

Not the kind that was plagued with tossing and turning. I hadn't even minded the long meeting days because I had been able to go back to my hotel room and sleep. My colleagues had tried to get me to go out and see the sights, but I had held strong. Sleep was more important to me at his stage in my life than seeing the sights of a place I didn't care about. Oh, I was absolutely positive that St. Louis was a beautiful city. It just wasn't more beautiful than sleep.

And now, I was back home in Satan's alley. Okay, that wasn't fair. It was more like Satan's floor. The misery didn't take up an entire alley.

And thanks to the restful sleep I had managed to get, I was able to place Bruce's murder on the back burner, finally realizing that killing him would probably gift me with more problems than just a few sleepless nights. Granted, the idea was just placed on the back burner for now, not ruled out entirely.

I dragged my rollaway behind me and trudged up the stairs into the building. Walking through the lobby, I hated how, once upon a time, I was able to appreciate everything about the building, but now, I dreaded the journey to my apartment.

Along with the sleep I had managed to rack up these past two days, I seriously contemplated if I should take my complaints directly to the building's owner. I mean, Randall had to answer to someone, right? There had to be someone who made sure Randall was doing his job.

Being gone for two days, I couldn't afford to pass up the mailboxes. We had standard apartment mailboxes that lined the north end of the lobby. They were decent sized, but I wasn't sure how long they could hold all my junk mail. I very rarely got any real mail.

After gathering all my mail-and, yes, it was all junk mail-I walked over towards the elevator for my ascent back up to the floor of Hell. I waited patiently for the elevator, contemplating the best way to go about reporting Bruce and Randall, when I noticed the sexiest man on the planet approaching, presumably to wait for the elevator, as well.

Now stop!

With his dark, chestnut brown hair, bright hazel eyes, and tall, muscular build, you might want to just grab the man and climb him like a spider monkey, but don't!

Believe it or not, just touching someone can be considered assault. That's right. You can reach out and just poke someone's arm, but if they take offense to it, they can actually file a police report accusing you of assault.

I mean, what bullshit, right? Because if anyone should be being touched, it's the six-foot god standing next to me waiting for the elevator.

So, instead of jumping his person, I tried to peek subtle glances up at him, hoping he didn't catch me ogling his hot body.

The elevator doors opened, and when I went to take a step forward, Sexy-Man extended his arm out and said, "After you."

I looked up at him, ready to smile and say thank you, but my voice caught somewhere in the pit of my stomach. The man was smiling down at me and he was way better looking than I originally had given him credit for.

The man was fucking beautiful.

After a bunch of mindless gurgles-because who could speak at a time like this-this god of a man grabbed my suitcase and, placing his hand on the small of my back, he ushered me into the elevator.

No one else entered behind us, and once the doors slid shut, he faced the numbered panel and asked, "What floor?"

"Four," I mumbled, completely embarrassed. I could only imagine what I looked like after traveling and it was just my luck that I'd meet up with a goddamn Greek God.

I watched as he pressed the button for the fourth floor only. That meant he was going to my floor, too. Was he a new tenant? God, please, let him be a new tenant. Living in the same building as this man might make up for Bruce and Randall's evil ways.

Sexy-Man still had a hold of my rollaway when he asked, "Would you like some help with this once we get to our floor?"

I looked up at him and, I swear to God, his eyes must emit magic, because I couldn't summon up one single thought in my head other than how perfect-looking this man was. Now, of course, I didn't need help with my rollaway, but I still wasn't sure how to answer. Do I say yes and adopt the helpless female persona, or say no and adopt the independent female persona?

I mean, my simple reply could be life altering if I could determine which kind of female he was drawn to, right? We could end up telling our grandchildren how we met at an elevator. Or forty years from now, I could end up telling my seven cats how he was the one who got away.

After a few awkward seconds, I decided on independent female.

"Uh..." I had to clear my throat. "Thank you, but I can manage."

Sexy-Man smiled. "Okay," he said. "But it's no trouble if you'd like some help."

When the elevator dinged, he stepped back and let me exit first, but before I could introduce myself and thank him for his offer, his phone rang. He looked at me apologetically as he dug his phone out of his pocket.

He looked at the screen and grimaced. "Sorry, I have to take this," he whispered to me.

Now stop!

Right now, you might want to reach out and slap his phone out of his hand, and demand he fall in love with you. But you can't do that. If his phone breaks when it hits the floor, then that's destruction of property. And while that might not come with a court date, it does come with a fine.

So, instead of demanding all his attention, I smiled, waved, and headed down the hallway to my apartment, hoping he lived in the building, so we could fall in love later when he wasn't so preoccupied.

I reached the door to my apartment, unlocked it, and rolled my luggage in. I shut the door behind me and headed straight for the bedroom. I unpacked my rollaway and put all my toiletries away. I threw all my dirty clothes in the hamper and realized I was going to have to do laundry soon. I didn't have a washer and dryer, but the building did have a mini laundromat in the basement. The basement also had extra storage units that you could pay to rent.

But that was as far as the amenities went. There was no gym or spa in the building. There was no pool or sauna. It was a nice apartment complex, but it wasn't anything near luxury-condo like.

Once all my shit was put away, I grabbed a towel from the linen closet and headed towards the bathroom. I had no idea what it was about your home shower, but no matter how luxurious your hotel shower might be, nothing felt better than coming home from a long trip and taking a hot shower in your own familiar watery surroundings.

I took a shower long enough to offend water conservationist everywhere, but I didn't care. Sometimes you had to sacrifice for the sake of sanity, and I took my sanity very seriously.

Wrapping myself up in towels of fluffiness, I went back into the bedroom, picked up my phone and looked at the time. It was only four in the afternoon with the sun still out, but I was so exhausted, I threw on a tank top, a pair of panties, some pajama pants, and after towel drying my hair, I threw it up in a damp bun.

I didn't bother with a bra because my girls didn't need to be contained that way. I had a respectable B cup, but they hadn't been attacked by gravity or childbirth yet, so they still held impressively without a bra.

It was my ass, hips, and thighs that needed to be controlled more than anything else. I had your classic pear-shaped physique and, being only five-foot-four-inches, my lower half looked thicker than I'd like, but, oh well. What can do you do?

Walking towards the kitchen, I had grand plans to make a nice cup of tea, find a corny, low-budget horror movie, and just empty my mind for the rest of the day. All those plans came to an abrupt halt when I heard...hammering?...coming from across the hallway.

Now, I get that it was only four in the afternoon. I get that the sun was still out and people where living their lives in ways that daylight hours allowed them.

I got that.

I swear.

But something about that hammering noise making its way over here to ruin my plans of rest and relaxation snapped something in my head.

I think I really felt something snap. And the twitch in my eye was a sure sign of a mental collapse, right? The grinding of my teeth and my balled-up fists were other indicators that I wasn't in my right mind.

Surely, a mental break could be the only reason why I did what I did next. There was no other explanation. And after working so hard, all these years, to stay out of prison.

Go figure.
Chapter 4

_Nixon~_

When Linc told me I was stupid for cleaning up this shit myself, I should have given his criticism some credit, because it's already been day three, and this shit was going to run into tomorrow afternoon, for sure.

Randall Smyth had still been in his pajamas when Sabastian and I had knocked on his door Wednesday morning. He had looked surprised to see me, but that surprise had given way to nervousness when I had told him I knew about his rent-free tenant. I've learned over the years that the best approach when dealing with shady people was to be confident with your accusations. Never give the other person a chance to make up some bullshit that might put a dent in your mission.

I had told Randall I knew about Bruce and had ordered him to walk with me to Bruce's apartment. After a lot of theatrics from Bruce, both men agreed to leave peacefully, rather than to have to face charges of theft, fraud, vandalism, and trespassing.

The downside was that, once Bruce had vacated the apartment and I had gotten a chance to walk through the apartment, the rumors of his partying hadn't been exaggerated. The apartment had been a fucking mess and needed some work. There had even been a couple of cabinet doors hanging from their hinges.

I had been so fucking pissed, I had opted to work off my irritation by doing the work myself. I had worked a half-day Wednesday, Thursday, and today, and then, I had called Linc to help me since he was on vacation. Jackson had even stopped by for a few hours yesterday to help out, as well.

I had just finished hammering in a new baseboard when Lincoln started bitching again. "I still can't believe I let you talk me into helping you with this bullshit," he griped. "I'm supposed to be on vacation."

"Quit bitching," I replied. "Besides, it'll keep you humble."

Lincoln scoffed. "I'm humble plenty. If it wasn't for that sexy brunette I ran into in the lobby, this entire day would have sucked."

I was about to comment when the front door was slapped open so hard, it bounced against the door frame and swung back. I turned to see a very petite and pissed off ball of fury storming my way.

What the fuck?

She stopped in front of me, planted her hands on her hips, and did her best to burn her hate into me. "Look, I get that you might be feeling like a prince with free reign of the castle because you've got great cock sucking skills that Randall benefits from, but there is such a thing as common goddamn courtesy, you know."

My brows shot straight up, and my hands came up in a calming motion. "Whoa, hold on there-"

"I will not hold on," she snapped. "Just because you're screwing Randall, making you safe from eviction, does not mea-" I stared dumbfounded as she finally took in Linc-with his shirt off-and her eyes rounded to impossible proportions. Seriously. I thought her eyes were going to pop right out of her pretty little head. "Oh, my god!" she shrieked. "Randall is giving you a free apartment and unlimited sex, and you can't even bother to be faithful to him?!" She removed one hand off her hip and gestured towards Linc. "Do you just sleep with any man who you can fleece?"

Who the hell was this woman?

"First off, I'm not gay," I said, finally snapping out of my shock. "I don-"

Now, her pretty brown eyes were really threatening to pop out of her head. "You're not gay?!" she screeched. "Holy shit! Are you just such an opportunist that you'd sleep with men when you're not even gay just to benefit from them?"

I stepped towards her until I was towering over her. "I do not sleep with men for-"

"Awe, sweet pea, don't be like that," Lincoln cooed from where he was standing.

I turned to face him, my face incredulous that he would dare joke at a time like this. I was getting cussed out by a woman I didn't know, and he was playing into her accusations for his own personal entertainment. "Do you fucking mind?" Linc shrugged a shoulder but smiled all the same.

"Look," she continued, "I don't care who you sleep with or why. What I care about is all your goddamn partying and the lack of sleep it's causing me. I mean, Christ, how can you be so goddamn inconsiderate of your neighbors?"

Okay.

She obviously thought I was Bruce and, apparently, she's reached her limit on how much more she was going to take from him. It made sense, and I actually felt bad that I had let Randall's mismanagement go unnoticed. I may have deserved to get cussed out, but she was cussing me out for the wrong reasons.

"Look, I-"

This time, she actually poked me in the chest. "No. You look," she seethed. "Since you moved in, I've had a total of about ten hours of sleep, and it stops now!"

Her words were registering-I swear, they were-but the second she jabbed me in the chest with her finger, her touch brought on an entirely new set of issues I didn't know how to deal with. I'm not sure if it was the contact of her finger, the shock wearing off, or the realization that she thought I was Bruce but, all of a sudden, I noticed the little ball of hate and accusations was clad in only a tank top and pajama pants. My mind alert and my eyes focusing, I took in everything about her.

She was no taller than five-foot-four, was my guess. She had a tangle of wet brown strands perched on the top of her head, and her face was devoid of any products, whatsoever. And, Christ, what a face it was. She had identical brown arched brows that were sitting over a pair of stunning chocolate pools. Her lashes were unadorned, but full enough not to need any enhancement. She had a straight, slim nose centered between two rosy cheeks. The only thing I couldn't figure is if they were rosy because that was her natural complexion, or if they were rosy because she was pissed as hell.

That brought me to the lips that were spewing cuss words and resentment. They were both full, with the lower lip slightly more plumped. They looked fucking delicious. They looked like they belonged wrapped around my cock.

As my eyes traveled downwards, it was then that my dick joined in the perusal my mind and eyes were taking. Her tits were bra-less with her nipples standing at attention and my dick was noticing how they would fit perfectly in my hands. They weren't huge, but they weren't small. They were fucking perfect for all the things that were now running through my mind.

Farther down, I saw how her waist tapered in, but then flared out into a set of holy-fuck-me hips. I wasn't able to check out her ass without looking like a certified creeper, but the pajamas she was wearing did nothing to disguise the thickness of her hips and thighs and, suddenly, all I could think about was how comfortable those thighs would cradle me as I buried my face between her legs.

Her legs were just as perfect as the rest of her right down to her bare feet with the yellow toenail polish and toe ring she was sporting.

And she thought I was gay. Or straight.

She thought I was gay/straight and fucking the apartment manager for perks.

She thought I was gay/straight, fucking the apartment manager, while also having an affair on him.

With my brother.

Jesus fucking Christ.

She was still poking my chest as she continued her rant. "Now, here's what going to happen," she said menacingly. "You are going to limit your parties to the weekend and let the rest of us hard working folks get some sleep during the week. If not, I'm going to go tell Randall that you're cheating on him."

I decided to clear this up, once and for all. "I'm not Bruce," I finally divulged.

Her chocolate spheres narrowed, and then she shot those babies towards my brother. "Oh, my god!" she said, directing her wrath his way. "What kind of monster are you?! You were actually going to just stand there and let your lover take the blame, Bruce?!"

Lincoln threw his hands up in a surrendering motion. "Oh, hey-"

"I can't believe you," she said, cutting him off. The look she gave him would have withered a lesser man. "And to think I actually thought you were hot and sexy in the elevator."

Lincoln went from defensive to intrigued in less than a second. "You think I'm sexy?"

My little resident psycho threw her hands up in utter disgust. "Unbelievable," she accused. "But, of course, what would you expect from a person with no common courtesy, whatsoever." Her eyes darted back and forth between me and Linc before she finally said, "To hell with the both of you!"

She turned around and stormed out of the apartment, and when she did, I was finally able to get a look at that ass I was curious about.

Mother. Fucker.

After slamming the door behind her, Linc broke the silence. "Holy shit. That's the sexy brunette I was-"

Looking back over at my brother, I growled, "Back off. She's mine."

Linc smirked. "I'm pretty sure she said she thought I was sexy, so-"

"Don't make me have to explain to Mom why she's down one son," I threatened.

My brother let out a low whistle. "Damn," he rushed out. "And so, it's happened."

I didn't comment because he was right.

I was pretty sure I had just fallen in love.
Chapter 5

_Lyric~_

I was so heated, I couldn't remember walking up the two flights of stairs to the sixth floor.

What assholes. I mean, I knew Bruce was a jerk, but for him to let me yell at his lover like that? What bullshit.

I wasn't sure how long I was banging on the door, but it finally swung open. "Holy shit, Lyric," Rena yelped. "Why are you knocking on my door like you're the goddamn police?"

I didn't wait for an invite into her apartment. I made my way in, and she wisely let me. "I'm going to fucking kill him, Rena," I spat.

Rena shut the door and watched as I paced her living room. "Kill who?"

"Bruce fucking Higgins," I said, his name like acid on my tongue.

"Okay, calm down," she replied. "Let me get you some tea, so we can plan his murder calmly, like civilized adults."

I let her head on to the kitchen and threw myself on her couch. Rena Salinger's been my upstairs neighbor for the entire five years I've lived in the building, but she's been my best friend for the past three. Rena and I were the same age at twenty-nine, but she had silky blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes. She was about five-foot-six with an hourglass figure I often envied. Her curves weren't exaggerated, but they were very prominent, and she worked those curves like a sexy sex goddess. Rena was also a web designer and worked from home a lot, which was great for me.

Like, right now, for instance. It was great for me right now.

Rena dropped down on the armchair next to the couch, crossing her legs underneath. "Okay, the tea is a'brewin', so tell me what happened with Bruce."

I grabbed one of the throw pillows on the couch, and lifting it to my face, I screamed into the poor innocent thing. Once I came up for air, I told her about cussing out Bruce and his lover. "And you want to know the worst part of it all?" I didn't wait for her encouragement. She was already invested in my story, so of course, she wanted to know the worst part of it all. "I actually thought Bruce was hot as hell when I saw him in the lobby and we rode up in the elevator together. I mean, Jesus, Rena, talk about a ten."

Rena's brows drew down, and she cocked her head at me. "You actually think Bruce is a ten?"

Was she blind? "Hell, yeah, don't you?" Before she could answer, my mind wandered towards his lover. "But, I gotta tell you, Ren, where Bruce is a solid ten, well...probably higher than that, the man did have his shirt off and...whoa..." Where I thought he was stunning fully clothed in the elevator, when I got a good look at him shirtless, his stunningness had gone up a few notches. "...but his lover? Holy Baby Jesus. His lover was...well, I don't blame him for cheating on Randall with that man."

Rena started shaking her head. "Bruce? You think Bruce is a ten?" she asked again. Before I could clarify, the tea kettle-yes, Rena made her tea the old fashion way-whistled, and she got up to go prepare our drinks.

Most people fell victim to coffee, and while I had nothing against it, I preferred tea. It just felt more...soothing. And on cold winter nights, I went with hot chocolate. I didn't prepare my tea the legit way Rena did, though. I heated that shit in the microwave like a true sloth.

Rena returned with our tea and she still sounded baffled when she placed the cups on the coffee table in the center of her living room. "I...I just never imagined Bruce being your type, Lyric," she said.

I picked up my teacup and dunked my bag, helping the brewing to come along. "How is gorgeous not my type?" I asked. "Hell, gorgeous is everyone's type."

When I thought back to Bruce's lover, I could feel what a waste the pulsing between my legs was. Why are all the hot men gay or married? Because that man was fucking scorching.

He stood high above me at...I'd say over six-foot, for sure. He had dark chocolate hair, much the same shade as Bruce. As a matter of fact, now that I thought about it, they rather looked a lot alike. As Mystery Man had stared down at me, I had seen that his eyes were a bright hazel color with lots of flecks of green that sat below brows matching his hair color. His features were rather Romanesque, with a strong, straight nose, sharp cheekbones, and a cut jaw line. His lips were a soft pink and thick. He also looked like he was built to hold a girl up against the wall with no effort at all.

He appeared to be around my age, maybe a couple of years older. But his simple jeans and t-shirt hadn't taken away from how the fabric of his shirt had flowed over muscular planes and grooves .And I just knew he was hiding a six-pack underneath all those ridiculous clothes. And he had to be great in the sack for Bruce to risk eviction just to sneak around with him.

"I suppose I just don't think Bruce is gorgeous," Rena said, shrugging a shoulder. "As for cheating on Randall, now that they've been evicted, it makes sense that Bruce wouldn't care who helped him get the rest of his stuff."

The tea burned my tongue.

"What?" Did she just say...

She grinned, holding her cup close to her face. "So, Wednesday there was all kinds of commotion in the building, and I found out from Sally Ruth that the owner of the building somehow found out about Randall and Bruce and he came over, fired Randall, and evicted them both."

My eyes widened, my burnt tongue forgotten. "What? How...why didn't you call me or text me or something?"

Rena took a sip of her tea before setting it down. "Because you were away at work," she replied. "I didn't want to bother you."

Was she for real?

This kind of news was worth being bothered for. "Holy shit," I exclaimed. "This has got to be the best news ever."

"See? So, their murder is no longer necessary," she reasoned. "I'm surprised to hear Bruce was still cleaning out his apartment, though. The rumors I heard were that both he and Randall had been banned from the property."

Wow. This was big.

This meant sleep; sweet, blessed sleep.

"Well, maybe now that Randall can't do anything for him, he's moved on to the new guy," I said, suddenly feeling a little bit sorry for Randall.

"I still can't believe you think Bruce is a ten," she repeated. "I mean, I obviously have nothing against blondes, I just didn't think they did it for you."

Blondes?

I set my tea down and curled my legs underneath my ass. "What do you mean blonde?"

Rena cocked her head, looking a bit puzzled, but then her eyes widened. "Lyrical," she said slowly, "Bruce is blonde."

I shook my head in denial. "No, he's not," I argued. "He's tall with brown hair and hazel eyes." I thought back to that day I'd seen him and Randall kissing through the crack in his door, and admittedly, I had mostly seen Randall cradling another man. I had never paid attention to the details.

Rena was shaking her head back at me. "No, he's not," she argued back. "He's only like five-eleven, or so, and is blonder than I am."

I wanted to continue arguing with her, but since I've never actually met Bruce until now-maybe-it was hard to dispute her claims. In order to preserve my God-given freedom, I had made great efforts to avoid Bruce in the weeks he had been living here. And now...

"Then who the hell was in his apartment hammering at shit?" But even as I said the words, a cold dread settled in the pit of my stomach. "Contractors?" I asked in a hopeful voice.

Rena's lips curled in and she looked sorry for me. "Okay. I'm going to just ask," she said, straightening her back, and steeling herself for some great revelation. "Did the two men you cussed out both have brown hair and hazel eyes? Did they look alike? And did they both look like you could probably orgasm from just looking at them?"

My heart started beating faster and I could feel goosebumps breakout all over my body. My mouth that housed my burnt tongue wouldn't work. I suddenly had an image of me sitting on a park bench, all my belongings in a trash bag next to me.

I stared at my friend and simply nodded my confirmation of her apt description of the two gods who I had just cussed out in spectacular fashion.

"Oh, Lyrical," she mumbled. "You didn't cuss out Bruce and his secret lover." Even before she said the words, I knew this was bad. "Mind you, I haven't seen them, but according to Sally Ruth, the two men you just verbally assaulted were Nixon St. James, the owner of this building, and his brother, Lincoln St. James, who also happens to be his lawyer."

"What?" I squeaked out, my voice barely above a whisper.

This couldn't be.

There's no way I could have made this huge a mistake.

Rena nodded her head. "According to Sally Ruth, Mr. St. James decided to clean up the mess Bruce left behind himself and recruited his brother to help. That's all I know, though."

Now stop!

This is the part where you might want to look for the nearest window and jump to your death. But, on the off chance that you survive, suicide is an actual crime. So, just don't.

Do. Not.

At least, not today.
Chapter 6

_Nixon~_

Lyrical Rodgers.

What a hell of a name. I wondered if her parents were hippies or something. I mean, my brothers' and my names weren't common either, but I couldn't think if I've ever heard the name Lyrical before.

After she had stormed off, bra-less with no shoes, it had taken everything I had to finish up the repairs Linc and I had been working on. It had taken us well into the evening before we were finished with everything, but we had gotten it all done. Unfortunately, we had left the building without another Lyrical sighting, and, boy, did I want to see her again.

It hadn't helped that Lincoln wouldn't shut up about how she thought he was sexy. I managed to stow away my irritation by telling myself that if she thought he was sexy, then she had to think I was sexy by default, since we looked alike. Hell, all of us looked just like our dad, except that Jackson got Mom's blue eyes instead of Dad's hazel ones. But, other than that, we all looked similar. So, if she thought Lincoln was sexy, well, then, I was sexy too, and so was Jackson.

And as if my obsession with Lyrical wasn't bad enough, the second I had made it home, I headed straight into my office, pulled up the Canal rental property, and broke the motherfucking law. I pulled up Lyrical's rental agreement information to straight up stalk her.

However, I hadn't been irresponsible about my stalking ways. Before I had powered up my computer, I had called Lincoln and asked him just how illegal was I about to get. He had told me invasion of personal privacy was a pretty big deal, to which I ignored, and hung up on him.

Armed with Lyrical's name, I had been cyber-stalking all her social media sites. After a couple of hours, I had managed to find out that she worked as a pet store manager, had one sister, both her parents were alive and well, and she had a best friend who also lived in the Canal building.

But, most importantly, I had been able to deduce from her online presence that she wasn't married, and she didn't have a boyfriend. I also noted that most her friends called her Lyric. I found I liked both versions of her unique name.

Now, it was Sunday evening, and still seated at my desk, my eyes glued to the computer screen, it dawned on me just how frightening it was to realize just how easily someone could pick apart your life if they know just where to look on the internet.

As I was comparing my stalking skill to those of others, my phone rang. I grabbed it off my desk and saw that it was Jackson. I answered, of course. "What's up?"

"Hey, Nix," he replied easily, and I smiled. Jackson was way too serious sometimes. I get that his job was stressful, and he was super dedicated to it, but he needed to find a way to enjoy the rest of his life, as well. Granted, Linc, and I took our jobs seriously, too, but we weren't absorbed by our careers the way Jackson was. He seemed to only be happy when he was tending to his patients.

It was kind of funny how my brothers were perceived. Lincoln was so easy-going, you'd never guess he was a ruthless criminal defense attorney. And watching him in action in the courtroom was such a contrast to his personality outside of it. But when you had the people's freedom in the palm of your hand, you had to always give more than your all, and Linc delivered on his promises to his clients.

Jackson was an enigma, as well. He was one of the best pediatric physicians in the state, but looking at him, you'd have your doubts. His dimples were reserved for his patients only...well, his patients and his family, but everyone else got the serious doctor. Colleagues, co-workers, patients' parents, hospital staff, and the rest of the world, well, they were all greeted with a six-foot-two-inches, tattooed mass of muscle, seriousness, and unparalleled medical talent.

My brother made no effort to hide his tattoos or his scowl. But his reputation and the bond he created with his patients was enough that no one minded the tattoos or the scowl. The second a parent saw Jackson with their child, all preconceived notions of my brother's abilities became non-existent.

"To what do I owe the honor," I teased.

I could hear Jackson huff over the phone. "You still making it to dinner Wednesday?"

Once a month, our mother insisted on a family dinner. While she was very proud of us, she was adamant that our careers were not going to come before family. So, once a month, we had to clear an evening on our calendars for a family dinner. Jackson's only exception was if he got an emergency call during dinner, then he was allowed to leave.

"Yeah," I answered. "I'll be there."

My brother chuckled. "It's not like we really have a choice."

He wasn't wrong. "Not unless you want Dad kicking your ass for upsetting his wife," I pointed out. "I'm not trying to get my ass kicked."

Jackson let out a small laugh. "I'd rather Dad kick my ass than watch Mom cry," he countered.

I winced. No one wanted to see Mom cry. Mom was our hero. She was the St. James' men's sole purpose for existing. "No shit," I grimaced.

"Anyway," he said, pulling me away from the image of Mom crying, "the reason I called was to give you a heads up."

"Jesus," I murmured. "What'd Linc do now?"

Jackson laughed. "Nothing. Well, nothing that I know of," he amended. "This isn't about Linc. I just wanted to warn you that, yesterday when I was helping Mom buy some more flowers for her garden, we ran into Dina Rivers at Healthy Gardens. As I stood there, my ears bleeding everywhere, she was catching up with Mom and telling Mom how she's divorced and moved back to town for a fresh start."

"So?" I had no idea what Dina Rivers had to do with me.

I could hear Jackson sigh over the phone. "So?" he parroted.

"Yeah. So?" I repeated. "What's Dina have to do with me?"

"Jesus, Nix," he grumbled. "I don't know how you can have the brain of a financial wizard but be so dense. You dated the girl for four months. You don't think she was hinting at Mom about her fresh start?"

"Uh, first off, I didn't date Dina for four months. We hooked up when our schedules lined up," I corrected. "Second, I have no desire to pick up where we left off."

"I got news for you, little brother," Jackson retorted. "You might have been only hooking up with her, but she was dating you. Besides, why would you introduce someone you were just hooking up with to your family?"

He was right. I would never introduce my family to someone who I was just fucking. However..."I didn't introduce her to you guys willingly. That one time she met you and Linc, she made an unannounced appearance at my office. And the time she met Mom and Dad, they showed up early for our lunch date and Dina was still at my place," I reminded him. "I might be a dick, but I'm not such an asshole that I'm not going to make proper introductions when the woman still had my handprints on her ass, Jackson."

Jackson chuckled again. "Jesus, you're something else."

"Look," I told him. "It's fine. Whatever Dina is doing has nothing to do with me, Jackson. I'm sorry to hear about her divorce, but it's been, what...a least a year since I've seen her, and longer than that since I've been with her. I'm sure she was just making polite conversation. And, honestly, I haven't given Dina Rivers a thought since the last time I did speak with her."

"All right," he conceded. "If you say so, Nix. Just don't say I didn't warn you when you come home to a bunny boiling on your stove."

I laughed. Dina Rivers might have had bigger plans for us than I had, but I didn't think she was a full-blown psychopath. "Jackson, even my ego's not so big that I think Dina's been carrying a torch for me all this time," I pointed out.

"True. You are kind of a dick," he agreed. "Now that I think about it, you're probably right."

"Says the man who has an aversion to smiling," I joked.

"Hey," he scoffed. "I smile all the time."

"Yeah, but only to people under the age of eighteen," I reminded him.

"They're the only people worth smiling at," Jackson retorted.

I laughed. He wasn't entirely wrong. "Well, I appreciate the call, but I got some online stalking to get to."

For a man not prone to smiling, I knew he was smiling now. "Oh, yeah," he grinned. "Lincoln told me all about the cute, little brunette who handed you your gay ass the other day."

I rolled my eyes. "Did your brother also tell you how he encouraged her gay opinion of me?"

Jackson laughed. "He sure did," he replied. "You know Linc, he never leaves anything out. He's all about the details."

"Yeah, well, I need to do a little more recon before asking her out," I added, ignoring his observations on Lincoln.

"And that's the reason I don't date," Jackson snorted. "Things sure are different from the days when you could just approach a woman and ask her out to dinner."

I scoffed. "You don't date because you're a bigger asshole than I am," I corrected.

"At least, I'm not a stalker," he countered.

"Yet," I volleyed. "Wait until you meet a sassy brunette who turns you stupid."
Chapter 7

_Lyric~_

"So, I might have to move back home and live off your good graces and occasional handouts for a while," I announced.

Now Stop!

This is a family dinner where you might not want to air your dirty laundry in front of your perfect sister and hardworking parents. You know, that family dinner where your parents dote on the perfect sibling and you just want to stab everyone with your fork, but assault with the intent to commit bodily harm comes with real jail time, so you just grit your teeth and try not to choke on your steamed peas?

Well, I don't have that kind of judgmental family, so I've always felt safe announcing my failures for my sister and parents to join in on the excitement.

"Why? What happened?" my sister asked.

I pointed my fork, filled with a heap of mashed potatoes, at her. "In my defense, I hadn't slept in weeks," I started, then amended, "Well, except for the two nights prior, but still..."

My father sighed. "Lyric, you don't have to defend yourself to us," he reminded me. If there's one thing I could say about Janice and Louis Rodgers, it's that they were truly the stone-cold definition of supportive parents. When my parents say they just want me and Alice to be happy, they mean just that.

"So, what happened?" Alice asked again.

I swallowed my bite of mashed potatoes and steeled myself for the laughter that was sure to come. "It was a case of mistaken identity," I began. "Last Friday afternoon, after I got back from St. Louis, I mistook my building manager, Nixon St. James, for the rude neighbor I've been telling you guys about. And I may, or may not, have cussed him out."

My mother's fork stopped midway to her mouth. "You used actual curse words, or is this situation salvageable?"

"I used actual curse words, accused him of cheating on his gay lover with his own brother, and then accused him of not being gay, but being so opportunistic that he'd pretend to be gay just to score a come up," I confessed. My mother's fork went into her mouth, my father took a drink of his beer, and my sister's fork clattered against her dinner plate.

Five...four...three....

Alice erupted first. Once her laughter flowed over the table, my mom and dad joined in.

The assholes.

"Okay, you jerks," I scowled. "Laugh it up. But you won't be laughing when you have your twenty-nine-year-old daughter living back home with you, disrupting how you guys get down at night."

My dad was the first person to get himself under control. "Okay, okay," he said, still chuckling. "We're sorry, Lyric. We didn't mean to laugh at you-"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Yes. You did," I argued.

My dad smiled, and it was like looking in a mirror. I took after my dad, while Alice took after our mother. I had Dad's brown hair, brown eyes, and smile. Alice had Mom's auburn hair, blue eyes, and damn near my mom's entire face. Both women were extremely beautiful. "Can you blame us?" he asked sheepishly.

"A little support here," I harrumphed.

My mom slapped a hand at me. "Oh, Lyrical," she chuckled. "You know we support you. And if you do get evicted, you can always take your old room back."

Alice finally settled down. "So, he's not gay or into incest?"

This time, I narrowed my eyes at my sister. "No," I clipped. "He's not gay. He made that very clear when he was trying to defend himself. And I'm pretty sure he's not into his own brother." I shrugged my shoulders. "But, people, ya know? Who knows what goes on behind closed doors."

Alice just smiled my mom's smile, while my dad chimed in, "I seriously don't think you can legally be evicted for cussing out the property owner, Lyric. At least, I don't think so."

"Your father's right, honey," my mom added. "As long as you have a good standing history of paying your rent on time and not causing any issues, you should be fine."

"Okay. Well, then, do you guys have any advice on mortification?" I asked. "Because, let me tell you, if I never see that man again, it'll be too soon."

"Oh, come on, Lyric. It couldn't have been that bad," my sister said, trying to put a positive spin on the debacle. "I mean, if it was, he'd have evicted you by now, wouldn't he have?"

I shrugged a shoulder. "I'm not sure. I've never been evicted before, so I'm not sure how it works," I said right before I shoved a piece of steak in my mouth. I was definitely eating my feelings this evening.

"I'm sure if you just apologize and explain, he'll understand," my father said, trying to help. I thought about that and I seriously wondered if my pity party wasn't due more to the fact that I had embarrassed myself beyond what I usually did.

Now, for the most part, I very rarely care what people think of me. I learned long ago that people will judge you for being too perfect just as harshly as they'll judge you for being a loser. I live my life investing in my happiness, but I also did my best not to be a complete dick to the people around me.

Though, sometimes the lines got murky because I had a tendency to speak my mind. I didn't like lying and I'd rather remain silent than engage in little white lies. Unfortunately, my silence came off as rude sometimes, but I didn't mean to be rude at all.

I stabbed at my steak. "I don't want to apologize," I grumbled. "I hope I never see either of them ever again."

"Lyric," my mother began, "while I understand how embarrassing this must be for you, apologizing to those men is the right thing to do."

I looked up at my mother. "I accused him of being a fake gay hustler who had no shame about cheating on his latest mark with his own brother, Janice," I reiterated. "I'm beyond embarrassed."

"Do not call your mother Janice," my dad chastised me.

I rolled my eyes. "Sorry, Mom. But this is mortification at its finest," I repeated.

I could see my mom was about to say something, but her mom eyes flew over to my sister. "Alice, what on earth are you doing?" she asked. "You know there are no phones allowed at the table during our family dinners."

Alice smiled as she held up her phone and shoved it in my mother's face. "This is why she's embarrassed." The kitchen table was a small rectangular table that was big enough to fit only six people. Now, in most normal settings, my father would sit at the head of the table, with my mom opposite him, and me and Alice on either side, facing each other. But we weren't traditionalist like that. If we were, my name wouldn't be Lyrical.

So, my dad and mother sat sitting next to each other, opposite Alice and me, while the chairs on either end of the table sat unused. And since Alice was sitting directly opposite Mom, she was able to see exactly what Alice had pulled up on her phone.

"Oh, my," my mother fluttered.

"What's that?" my dad asked.

My mom's eyebrows shot up. "I can see why Lyric's a bit...ruffled..." My dad's eyes scanned Alice's phone really quickly, but then he just rolled his eyes and got back to eating. I could see the small smile touching the corner of his lips, though.

"What is that?" I asked. "What's she showing you?"

Alice turned to face me, and with her phone all up in my face, I could see what she was displaying on her phone. She had looked up Nixon St. James, and there, in full living color, was a picture of the man.

Fuck my life.

Facing back to my place of food, I shrugged a shoulder, and tried to act all unaffected like. "So, the man's looks decent. So, what?"

Alice gasped. "Looks decent?" she exclaimed. "Are you blind? That is not looks decent, Lyric. That's hot as hell."

"Hey," my father muttered, trying his best to curb the hot guy talk.

Alice looked over at Dad. "Sorry, Dad," she said sweetly. "But there's no denying that Nixon St. James is the stuff of fantasies. Just ask your wife," she teased.

Mom tsk'ed. "I have no idea of what you speak, Alice," my mother denied. "There is no man more stunning on this planet than your father." My father laughed while Alice and I chuckled.

God, I loved my family.

My father pinned me with a stare. "See, Lyrical. Since I'm the most handsomest man on the planet, you have no cause to be embarrassed in front of any other man."

My heart melted a little, and I smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

He smiled back. "Nothing is ever as bad as our insecurities make it out to be," he said wisely.

He was right. And even without his sage advice, I knew I was going to have to get over it. I was about to reassure him when Alice's voice cut through the room. "Oh, shit," she exhaled. "He has brothers."
Chapter 8

_Nixon~_

"So, I hear we're finally going to get a daughter-in-law," my mother said not two seconds after we were all seated around the table.

We were sitting in the formal dining room, and I was pretty sure this was the only time my parents ever use this room. If wasn't Easter, Christmas, or this mandatory monthly dinner, my parents usually just ate at the kitchen table.

Jackson St. James, Sr. was a retired judge and Felicia St. James was a retired family attorney. So, with good, long-standing careers behind them, they were able to afford the finer things in life and their home was one of those finer things. Their house wasn't big or obnoxious, though. On the contrary, it was a quaint two-story, four-bedroom home. It was the inside that made it classy, though. My parent's home was furnished in good taste, but it was still livable. No need to take off your shoes before entering.

Now, between both my parents, they were a walking, talking law library. And while Lincoln did take after their law careers, my parents had never pushed us one way or another in choosing a career. They weren't heartbroken when Jackson had said he wanted to be a doctor, or when I had said I wanted to be an architect. They also hadn't celebrated the house down when Linc had said he wanted to be a lawyer. Our parents just wanted us all to be happy. If we were happy, then that was enough for them.

And while this dinner took place in the formal dining room, we were still anything but. Casual clothes were worn everywhere, and curse words were only banned out of respect for my mother. Except, for Dad; Dad was allowed to cuss.

"Jesus," I mumbled, placing a napkin over my lap. It was a paper napkin because my mother thought cloth napkins ridiculous and useless. "Is there nothing sacred in this family?"

"Nope," Linc answered.

"Not at all," Jackson added.

"Not since the day you were born," my dad threw in right before he took a sip of his wine.

"Don't be ridiculous," my mom chided.

My father set his glass of wine down and speared me with a look. "Have you made it clear to the young lady that you're not gay, yet?"

Jesus. There really was nothing sacred in this family.

I cocked my head at the man. "I haven't even seen her since Friday, Dad," I answered. "Now, can we just eat a nice, family dinner without talking about Lyrical?"

"Lyrical?" my mother echoed. "Oh, my God. Is that my future daughter-in-law's name?"

I could feel my eyes bugging out of my head. "Mom," I said, steadying my breathing.

Her chocolate brows shot up. "What?"

Weirdos.

All of them.

It was hard to be stern with my mother, though. She was all of five-foot-two and, with the exception of Jackson getting her blue eyes, none of us looked like her. She had light brown hair, bright blue eyes, and her petite frame made us want to exist for nothing but protecting our mother and making her happy.

She was all femininity, while my father was all brute male. Dad was strong, fair, and stolid, and he raised us to be the same. His only weakness was our only weakness; Mom.

I went to cutting my rib-eye, wishing we could talk about anything else, but knowing better. But before I could answer her, Jackson decided to take the wheel. "Yeah, that's her name," he said, answering her. "Nixon's been stalking her the past few days, so he ought to know."

"Oh, that is such a beautifully unique name," she said, not caring how ludicrous this topic was.

"She's smokin' hot, too," Linc decided to add.

I shot him a look. "Do you mind?" Then, I looked back at my mother. "Why can't we talk about the ladies Lincoln or Jackson are interested in?"

My dad snorted. "Is that what you call them? Ladies?"

"Jackson," my mother hissed. "Be nice."

He looked across the table at my mother. "Seriously, Felicia?" he retorted. "Since when has Lincoln or Jackson every brought home a nice lady for us to meet? Or Nixon, for that matter?"

"Hey," Jackson objected. "Just because I'm not looking for a serious relationship doesn't mean the women I meet occupy street corners, Dad."

We all turned, simultaneously, to look at Linc. His fork stopped midway to his mouth as his eyes scanned our faces. "Oh, hey," he yelped. "I've never picked up a hooker."

My mother shook her head, no doubt wanting to rid herself of the picture of her second born pulling up at a street corner. "At any rate, I'm not interested in Jackson's flavor of the month or Lincoln's flavor of the week-"

"Day," I corrected.

"Hour," Jackson added.

"Suck my-"

"Hey," Dad boomed, cutting Lincoln off. "There will be no talk of dick sucking at the dinner table."

Jackson looked over at Dad. "So, the topic's fair game as long as we're not eating dinner?" he asked sardonically.

"Watch it, Jackson," my father muttered. "I can still kick your ass."

"Not without Mom's help," my brother teased.

"Can we please get back to Nixon's girlfriend?" my mother said, ending all other conversation.

Luckily, I was done swallowing my food or else I probably would have choked on it. "Mom, Lyrical is not my girlfriend," I clarified again. "I've only spoken to her that one time. And, as I'm sure Lincoln didn't spare any details in his gossip-fest, that one time didn't go all that well."

"She thinks I'm sexy," Lincoln threw in for good measure.

I sliced my brother with a look as my mother cooed, "Well, of course, she thinks you're sexy. My boys are all handsome."

"How soon before we get grandchildren," my father questioned, eyeing me over his fork full of broccoli. "We're not getting any younger you know."

"Jesus Christ, Dad," I replied, surprised but not surprised. I mean, it's not like I haven't known these people all my life. "We haven't even been on a date yet. Can you give me a little more time here?"

"A surprise pregnancy, how wonderful," my mother exclaimed, a smile beaming across her face.

I looked at my parents-who just happened to be the epitome of law and order-and wondered how they became so stunted. Maybe it was their retirement. Like if you didn't stimulate your brain anymore, weird shit started taking up residence in your head.

I was going to have to look up hobbies for my golden years. I didn't want to end up a wacko like these two. "No one is getting pregnant, Mom," I clarified. "Can I just work on getting a first date first?" I looked between my parents. "I promise to work on the unplanned pregnancy and shotgun wedding afterwards, but just...give me some time."

My mom huffed and went to cutting another slice of her steak. "I don't see what the big deal is," she muttered. "Any girl should be happy to be knocked up by any of you sweet boys."

Jackson reached up and pinched his nose. Clearly, he saw that our parents were losing their minds just like I did. "Mom..." he said calmly, but then he must have thought better of it, because he just trailed off and didn't say anything more.

"Sorry, Mom," Linc chimed in. "No unplanned pregnancies here. I'm super responsible."

I glared at my brother. "This is all your fault, Linc," I accused. "All you had to do was keep your goddamn mouth shut."

"Language," my father growled.

"Puhleeeeeeeease," he remarked. "There's no way I was going to be able to keep that shit to myself."

"Language," my father barked.

"I mean, Christ, Nix," he said, ignoring our father. "She stormed in, accused you of being gay, then accused you of not being gay, then accused you of cheating on your gay lover with me. How in the hell did you expect me to keep that shit to myself?"

"He's got a point," Jackson quipped, not looking up from his plate of food.

My father's fist banged on the table. "Goddamn it, you two," he thundered. "Language. Quit fucking cursing around your mother."

We all stopped and looked up at Dad.

And then, I rolled my eyes at my mother's insanity. "Thank you, Jackson," she whispered sweetly. "I love you, honey."

Dad grumbled. "I love you, too, Sheesh," he said, using his nickname for my mother.

My eyes bounced back and forth between every member of my family and I wondered how we didn't have a circus named after us by now.

I also wondered how soon was too soon to get a certain psychotic brunette pregnant.
Chapter 9

Lyric~

Whoever said being a ninja wasn't hard has never tried being a ninja.

Adopting the skill of stealth was a hard sonofabitch.

I've spent the last few days coming and going from my apartment through back and side entrances to avoid any chance of the possibility of running into Nixon St. James or that jackass brother of his. Ugh, I still couldn't believe I thought he was sexy. I mean, sure he was sexy. They both were. But I didn't have to like it.

And, holy six-pack Batman, when Alice had pulled up a picture of all the St. James men, I'd had to get an extra napkin to wipe the droop off my face. Why does The Lord do that? I mean, isn't there a standard in a family where you have one hot brother, one nerdy brother, and one ugly brother? Don't they have to balance the Universe out? Why would God create three, count them-THREE-absolute male perfections and put them all in the same family? I bet the dad was hot, too.

Meanwhile, over here in Rodgers Land, Alice had stunning auburn hair, fierce green eyes, and was slim, but feminine. And me? I was shaped like a pear. I was shaped like the fruit that was left lonely in the fruit bowl after everyone's eaten the apples, oranges, bananas, and nectarines.

Straight up bullshit, if you asked me.

And because it wasn't enough that I was as sexy as a pear, I had to go and humiliate myself in front of, not one, but two sex gods, and now, had to live the rest of my life hiding in shadows and trying to blend in with the homeless.

And, yeah, I could move back home, but I wasn't eager to hear my parents going at it at night any more than they were eager to have to keep it down because I could hear them going at it. So, I decided I wasn't going to move unless Mr. St. James really did evict me.

God, I hope he didn't evict me.

"You're not going to be evicted, Lyric," Rena said, echoing my thoughts.

I looked up at her from where I was sitting on the couch. "You can't know that for sure," I argued.

It was Friday night, one week after the 'incident', and we were vegging out in my apartment, drinking this shitastic week away. Sure, things were great at work, but trying to break in and out of your own home, unseen, took a lot of damn work, and it was exhausting as hell.

"Lyric, it's been a week," she reasoned. "I'm sure you would have gotten a notice or something by now, don't you think?"

"Maybe," I conceded. I still wasn't positive, though. However, I needed to come up with a better plan than becoming a ninja. My paranoia was the reason we were staying in and drinking tonight instead of heading out to a club and getting drunk enough to jump a random stranger. I was afraid that in my inebriated state, I would forget my ninja commitments and accidently show myself out in the open for Mr. St. James to pounce on.

Granted, my nether regions weren't objecting to his possible pouncing, but I didn't think my mind and body were on the same pouncing page.

Rena sat down next to me, handing me a shot of tequila. "Why don't you just bite the bullet and go talk with him? Clear the air," she suggested.

Now stop!

While her suggestion might have merit, I wasn't sure if he'd agree to an appointment to speak with me after everything I accused him of. So, then, that would mean that I'd have to show up at his office unannounced. And depending on how my arrival was embraced, my mind was conjuring up all kinds of images of me running from his security until I was caught by the actual law, and then, being charged with trespassing and running from the police.

And, believe you me, you do not want to go down that road. Trespassing charges could lead to restraining orders and that shit stayed on your record forever. So, for the rest of your life, you were going to have to explain how your crazy actually reached the level to warrant a restraining order.

Not the best plan.

"My dad suggested the same thing, but why voluntarily throw myself in front of a bullet, ya know."

We threw back our shots before Rena replied, "How long do you think you'll be able to be a ninja, Lyric? I mean, I think you're doing a fantastic job so far, but sooner or later, you're going to have to interact with the real world."

"Maybe I can just send him an apology card?" I suggested, and the more I thought about it, the more the idea had merit. "I mean, it's an apology without throwing myself in front of the bullet, yeah?"

Rena took a drink of her beer, her face pensive, like she was really giving it some thought. "A card might work," she agreed, then her eyes found mine, and her face brightened up like Christmas morning. "Or you can show up at his office, naked with only a trench coat, and really apologize."

I snorted. "If I had your body, that might work. But, somehow, I can't see a man who looks like that attracted to pears."

Rena narrowed her eyes at me. "I hate when you do that," she said sternly. "You are absolutely beautiful, with a great body, Lyric. I've seen the way men check out you out when you walk by."

I chuckled. "That's because they're probably wondering if the jiggle in my ass ever comes to a complete stop." The direction of this conversation required a long, heavy drink of my beer.

"You have a sexy body," Rena argued. "Men love a nice, pumped ass."

My eyes scanned her body. "No. Men like a Jessica Rabbit body," I countered.

Rena shook her head. "I think we're both wrong," she replied. "I think men like pussy period, and they don't really care what the package around it looks like."

If only that were true.

"Have you online stalked them yet?" I asked. "Because if you have, you'll see that those men can get any woman they want. Even if your theory was correct, I repeat, they can get any woman they want."

Rena cocked her head, before jumping out of her chair like a goddamn lunatic. "More shots!"

I shook my head and wondered why that girl was single. Rena was beautiful, smart, sassy, and full of moxie. I'd totally date her if I swung that way.

When she returned with our fourth shot of the evening, hers was already making its way down her esophagus before her ass had even hit the chair cushions. I threw back my shot and the second my head came back down, I knew I just crossed over from buzzed to legally intoxicated.

"So," Rena said, bringing me out of my self-realization, "I have online stalked the St. James brothers, and I gotta ask. Would you jump Nixon's bones if he was interested?"

Even without the beers and shots of liquor, that was an easy question to answer. "Hell, yeah, I'd jump his bones," I retorted. "I mean, that'd be like a crime against humanity not to take a man who looks like that up on an offer of wild sex."

Rena started laughing like a loon. Looks like I wasn't on the side of intoxicated alone. "Oh, my God," she exclaimed. "How awful would it be if he had a small dick?"

My eyes almost bugged out of my head. "Don't say that!" I mean, what a horrible jinx. Men who looked as good as the St. James brothers, but had small dicks, was the Devil's work.

Rena wasn't fazed. "What?" she asked. "It's been known to happen, you know."

I shook my head, trying to rid myself of that abomination of a thought. "Well, if I'm fortunate to get his penis, instead of an eviction notice, I'll let you know the size of his manhood. But I'm still leaning towards getting evicted, rather than getting some dick."

Rena's head dropped back onto the back of the chair. "I bet you guys would make beautiful babies," she murmured.

I snorted. "That man is not looking to have babies with me," I argued. "Ugh, why couldn't I like his brother?"

Rena's head popped back up. "You did say the man was sexy," she reminded me.

"He was...is," I amended. "But once I got a look at Nixon...Holy Mary, Mother of God," I breathed. "My lady bits had ignored Lincoln and focused all their lustful attention on Nixon. Stupid lady bits," I mumbled.

Before Rena could comment on my lady bits and how stupid they were, there was a knock at the door. "I'll get it," she sing-songed as she got up to go check who could be knocking on my door on a Friday night. The only person I could think of would be Alice. But then, Alice had a life. Why would she be knocking at my door? I heard Rena open the door, but I didn't bother to look to see who it was.

I should have bothered to look.

"Uh..." Rena's voice trailed off, but then she said, "Lyric, someone's at the door for you."

"Did they bring more alcohol?" I called, not moving from the couch.

My eyes closed, and my lady bits became stupider when a deep, masculine voice, that I've heard before, reached my ears. "No," he said. "I didn't bring any alcohol. I just brought me."

My head whipped around so fast, it would have done The Exorcist proud. My eyes rounded, and I briefly wondered what Rena had put in those shots, as I stared into the perfect face of Nixon St. James.

What. In. The. Fuck?
Chapter 10

_Nixon~_

I usually cursed people who keep their faces glue to their phones, but this was one of those moments where I wish I'd had my phone out.

Lyrical's face looked priceless.

I also noticed her eyes were a little bloodshot, and that made her request for alcohol make more sense.

She leaped off the couch-more graceful than I would have expected-and stood there staring at me. After a few seconds, she spoke, and I wondered just how drunk was she. "I thought the sheriff would show up. What are you doing here?"

My eyes drew downward, and I cocked my head. "The sheriff?"

Lyrical rolled her eyes. "Yeah," she said, all duuuuh-like. "You know, the sheriff."

"I don't know him, personally, but I do know what a sheriff is," I replied, not knowing at all why she was expecting the sheriff. I mean, what kind of party were these two having?

"Uh, I think I'll just-"

Lyrical was around the couch and standing in front of her friend quicker than I thought her capable. "You will just not just nothing," she hissed, then she got on her tiptoes to look her friend in the eye. "You better not leave me."

And then, God bless drunk friends.

It took everything I had not to flat out laugh the place down when her friend whispered-not whispered back, "I have to leave, Lyric. How else are you going to jump him if I stay?"

Lyrical's gasp was theater worthy. I was surprised she didn't tip over in her outrage. "Rena!"

I stuck my hand out towards Rena. "Hi, Rena," I said. "I'm Nixon. It's nice to meet you."

Rena took my hand in hers-completely ignoring an outraged Lyrical-and said, "Hi, Nixon. It's nice to meet you, too."

Lyrical reached out and snatched Rena's hand out of mine. "Oh, my God!" she screeched. "What kind of best friend are you? Consorting with the enemy?"

The enemy?

The odds of me scoring a date with Lyric just plummeted. How was I going to tell my mom and dad their dreams of an unplanned pregnancy and shotgun wedding were not going to come true?

"The enemy?" I asked, trying to see if it was the alcohol talking or her warped, crazy mind at work.

Lyrical turned towards me. "Well, of course, you're the enemy," she replied. "Why wouldn't you be?"

I stuck my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her and just kissing the hell out of her. "Why would I be?"

"Uh, so...yeah, I'm just-"

Lyrical turned back towards Rena. "You leave and you are dead to me, Rena," she threatened. "Dead. Like deader than dead. Not fake dead."

"What's fake dead?" I asked, because...how could I not?

Turning back to me, Lyrical narrowed her eyes. "Fake dead is when you fake being dead, Nixon. Jesus," she mumbled, exasperated.

I couldn't make heads or tails of that sentence. But I did know one thing.

She used my first name.

It fell off her lips like we'd known each other for years.

Before I could garner up a reply, Lyrical planted her hands on her hips and glared up at me. "What are you doing here? Are you here to evict me?"

I had to admit, most of the things she's said since I've known her have been full of surprises, but this was the biggest. I shook my head. "No," I answered. "Why would you think I'd evict you?"

She cocked her head and looked at me like I was the dumbest motherfucker on the planet. "Why would you evict me?" she parroted. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that I cussed you out for being a straight man pretending to be a gay man just to come up on a hustle? I mean, why else would you be here?"

I couldn't help the smirk that lifted my lip. "I'm here to prove to you that I'm not gay," I answered honestly. Rena gasped as Lyrical's eyes rounded to the size of dinner plates.

Christ, she had beautiful eyes.

"Fuck this," Rena rushed out. "I'm leaving." She ran out of the door before either of us could stop her or encourage her.

"Wha...yo...how...what...what?" Lyric sputtered.

Armed with Rena's slip of the tongue, I stepped to her until she had to tilt her head back to look at me. "I said," I stressed, "I'm here to prove to you that I'm not gay. I'm also here to prove that I'm not straight pretending to be gay or cheating on my lover with my brother."

Lyrical's eyes went from dinner plates to narrowed little slits. "Are you seriously daring to come into my home and make fun of me?" she asked menacingly.

I smirked again. I couldn't help it. This woman was fucking fascinating. "No," I answered. "I'm here to ask you to have dinner with me."

I wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or her lack of restraint, but she looked genuinely bewildered when she screeched, "Why on earth would you want to go to dinner with me?"

Now, I narrowed my eyes at her. "Why wouldn't I?"

Stepping back on her left foot, she leaned back, and her eyes raked down my body before meeting back up with my eyes. "Look at you," she stressed. "I mean, Christ on a pogo stick, you could be having dinner with any woman on the planet."

Any woman on the planet was stretching it a bit. I mean, I knew I wasn't a bad-looking guy, but any woman on the planet? That's insinuating that I could have my pick of any lesbian on the planet and my good looks, alone, could switch which team she batted for, and that simply wasn't true. "Even lesbians?" I asked just to trip her up.

Her energy evaporated just like that. "Well, of course, not lesbians, you dolt."

Dolt?

"Then you're exaggerating," I pointed out.

She slapped her hands on her hips and corrected herself. "Fine. Any straight woman," she amended.

"Even married ones?" I asked just to be contrary. I knew what she was getting at, but it was just so damn much fun fucking with her.

But instead of volleying verbally with me, she narrowed her eyes at me again and said, "Get out of my house."

I shook my head. "Not until you agree to have dinner with me," I replied.

"Why?" she asked again, looking genuinely confused. Or maybe she was just that drunk.

"How drunk are you?" I asked, instead of answering her.

"I was awesomely drunk until you walked into my apartment and killed my buzzed a horrible death," she retorted.

I eyed her for a second before I asked, "So, you're not drunk, right now?"

"No," she insisted. "But I wish to God I was because you're exhausting. Now, why in the hell would you want to go to dinner with me after all the horrible things I said to you?"

Well, I figured a person with her outspoken personality would appreciate honesty, so I honestly said, "Because every time I close my eyes, I relive last Friday when your tank top did nothing to hide those perky tits of yours. I relive how your nipples were poking out and teasing me. I relive how, with every word you spewed at me, all I could do was imagine your mouth wrapped around my dick. I relive how weak my knees got when you turned to storm off and I was graced with the view of that thick, luscious ass and all the things I want to do to it." That was as about honest as I could be with her, leaving out the stalking part of my obsession with her, of course.

Her chocolate eyes were blinking in a frantic manner and I wondered if maybe she was having a stroke of some sort. After a few seconds, she finally found her voice. "You can't just come in here and tell a person those things," she announced.

This time I put my hands on my hips and peered down at her. "Why the hell not?" I waited for her to answer, but she didn't seem to have one. "Tell me you aren't attracted to me and I'll leave, Lyrical," I said, realizing I might be scaring the crap out of the poor ball of emotions.

Her eyes started darting all over the place, buying some time to come up with a lie of some sorts, no doubt, but when she met my gaze again, she decided on honesty. "I can't," she whispered. "I can't, because I am attracted to you."

Recalling what Rena had said earlier, my hand shot out, and I cradled the left side of her face, my fingers dancing in her hair, and asked the most important question of my life right now. "Do we really need to go to dinner first?"

Lyrical shook her head. "No," she said, her voice low and husky. "We don't need to go to dinner first."

Thank God.
Chapter 11

_Lyric~_

My conscience was screaming at me that we'd respect ourselves in the morning better if we really were drunk and could play this off as a reckless, drunken moment. It screamed at me to go take a few more shot, so that we'd have a legitimate reason behind the decision to be a hussy, but my body was yelling at me to do no such thing and go out and be the best hussy we could be. My body wanted to experience everything Nixon St. James was going to do to it stone-cold sober.

Plus, when was I ever going to get the chance to experience someone who looked like Nixon St. James?

Uh, never.

And that thought, right there, brought me up short.

I knew I wasn't ugly by any stretch of the imagination, but I knew I wasn't in this man's league. It made no sense that he'd be attracted to me. My attraction to him was different. Any woman with eyes would find him sexy as hell. But me?

Nah.

Something was up.

Now Stop!

This is the part where you might let your insecurities reach up and start to strangle you. But you don't want to go there. You want a clear head while you're in this game. If you start to analyze every flaw you have versus every perfection he has, you'll start to cry, turn into an emotionally unstable lunatic, forcing him to call the police, and because your family never takes anything seriously, when the cops call them to verify your identity, they'll believe this is some kind of elaborate hoax and encourage the cops to lock you up in the looney bin.

Well, no thanks.

No dick-no matter how long my dry spell-was worth ending up in a straight-jacket, trying to prove my sanity.

Besides, it was quite possible that the prosecution might have more witnesses to the contrary than the defense would have claiming I'm sane.

I wasn't the friend-making type.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge all the craziness and focus on the issue at hand. "I think you need to leave," I said as sternly as I could.

His perfect hazel eyes blinked, and I could tell he was surprised by the sudden change. "I thought-"

I waved what he was about to say away. "I know what you thought, but I'm coming to my senses," I informed him.

Nixon's brows shot upward. "And those senses are telling you to kick me out?"

My nose started to tingle, and I was instantly pissed that he was making me feel inadequate. "It's telling me that this has to be some kind of joke," I snapped. "I stand by what I said earlier. There's no way someone who looks like you would be interested in someone who looks like me."

Nixon's face went from surprised to pissed. "Oh, really?"

I planted my hands on my hips and leaned into the jackass. "Yeah. Really." My brain short-circuited with what happened next.

It was the only excuse I had for what I let happen.

Nixon's hands ran up my jaw until he had handfuls of my hair fisted in his grip, and then he slammed his lips down on mine.

Holy Fuck.

My hands went to his wrists, and I held on for dear life as Nixon St. James kissed the hell out of me. It was mere seconds before I opened for him, and the instant his tongue swept in to play with mine, I knew I was a goner.

This motherfucker could kiss.

He was kissing me the exact same way every girl has ever wanted to be kissed. The way every female fantasizes when watching those horrible romantic comedies. Nixon was making me weak in the knees with the kiss he was taking-owning.

It wasn't until my back hit the wall that I realized he'd been walking us backwards, so he could hold me captive against his hard, muscular frame.

And then, I realized I didn't mind so much.

In fact, I didn't mind so much to the point where my hands traveled up the planes of his arms, biceps, and shoulders, and anchored around his neck. And, let me tell you, my hold was tighter than gripping knuckles on a rollercoaster.

Nixon broke the kiss long enough to growl, "Do not tell me I shouldn't be attracted to you ever again, Lyrical." I whimpered. "Because I happen to think you're sexy as fuck and I've been thinking of nothing but fucking the holy living hell out of you for seven fucking days."

News flash: Words are a powerful thing.

And hearing this man tell me he's been doing nothing but thinking of fucking me for the past seven days? Well...there went Insecure Lyrical and Let's-Be-A-Hussy Lyrical has taken her place.

I grabbed onto Nixon St. James like he was a lifeboat and we were on the Titanic.

My arms were like barnacles wrapped around the poor fool, and I almost felt a little sorry for the poor bastard. I've had a hell of a dry spell and this poor, unsuspecting soul had no clue what he was in for. If I was only going to get one shot at this, I was going to attack the man with no regrets.

Before I could figure out a way to attach myself to this man forever, Nixon pulled away, and I loved how labored his breathing was.

It meant I wasn't the only desperate fool in the room.

His hands reached for the hem of my shirt when he said, "Why the fuck are you wearing clothes?"

I lifted my arms over my head to assist him. "I'll never wear them again," I offered.

My heart swelled and my hips twitched as I watched Nixon's eyes darken when he got a look at my bra-cladded breast. His hands reached up to cup each one, and I made no effort to stop my moan. "Why in the hell would you ever wear clothes in the first place just baffles my mind," he muttered.

I closed my eyes and dropped my head back against the wall. His hands felt wonderful even over the material of my bra. "Laws," I answered. "It's against the law to walk around naked."

"Goddamn, laws," the man mumbled. Words escaped me when I felt him pull the cup of my bra down and wrap his lips around my nipple.

My mind was literally wrestling with letting him continue or dislodging him from my tit and dropping to my knees. I was frantic in my desperation for pleasure, and let me tell you, it would please me greatly to weaken this man's knees. I wasn't a porn star by any means, but I was going to give this man my greatest efforts.

Ten years from now, when he was at the country club reminiscing with his millionaire golfing buddies over great sex stories, I wanted him to include this night in his tales of crazy sex and debauchery. I wanted to debauch the hell out of this sexy man.

I opened my eyes, and the second I looked down and saw the sheer pleasure on his face as he suckled me, the fight was over.

I reached down, and grabbing hem of his shirt, I started pulling the fabric upwards, forcing him to detach himself from my breast. Nixon didn't complain, though. Instead, he jumped on board with my plan to get us naked and helped me pull his shirt up and over his head.

Holy. Fuck. Balls.

Nixon was fucking built like a goddamn Spartan Warrior.

My mind instantly went to the six-pack abs I didn't have and, suddenly, having my shirt off felt...jacked-up. I did a good job of putting together camouflage outfits, but once my pants came off, Nixon was going to get an eye full of a soft belly, thick thighs, and a jiggly ass. And that fucking sucked. Jesus, why did I let him take off my shirt? I should have left the shirt on to hide everything. Besides, all he needed was access to my nether regions, right? He didn't need to actually see them.

Insecure Lyrical was steadily making an appearance and Let's-Be-A-Hussy Lyrical was slowing giving up the fight. "Nixon, hold on," I urged, pushing at his chest; his smooth, muscled, rock-hard chest.

Nixon blinked at me in confusion. "What? Why?"

My brown eyes met his hazel ones, and I didn't mean to turn into a spaz and ruin the passion, but I did. "Can...can I put my shirt back on?"

It took a moment, but the second it dawned on him what I was asking and why, Nixon's features softened, and I didn't expect the words that came out of his mouth. He leaned in to kiss the corner of my mouth. "Why don't we both put our shirts back on," he suggested.

"I'll understand if you want to leave," I muttered, knowing I ruined the moment.

He smirked. "Oh, make no mistake, Lyrical. We're still fucking," he replied.

Well...okay, then.
Chapter 12

_Nixon~_

It was probably super insensitive of me, but I knew I couldn't fix her self-esteem issues tonight, so I was willing to compromise, and do whatever it took, to make her comfortable enough to let me fuck her.

I would work on her self-confidence tomorrow.

And the next day.

And the day after that if I needed to.

And for the rest of our lives if she wasn't magically cured of her insecurities by the day after next.

Her eyes were full of so many emotions, it was sweet and endearing. "You still want to do this?"

I reached down, grabbed both of our shirts, and quickly threw mine back on. When I started pulling her shirt back down over her head, I said, "Hell, yeah, I still want to do this."

"But...but, I just spazzed out on you," she informed me as if I hadn't been here to witness it. "Why aren't you running away like any sane man would?"

Tugging on the hem of her shirt to make sure she was covered again, I looked into her eyes and said, "Because your sexy outweighs your crazy?" I voiced it like a question, and the girl didn't disappoint.

Her little hands started flailing at my chest like a flapping bird. "Get out," she snapped. "Get the hell out of my house, you jerk."

Instead of conceding to her wishes, I grabbed both of her wild hands with one hand and wrapped my other hand around her waist, turning her until I had her pushed up against the wall. I had her caged in with her cheek pressed against the wall and my body covering her entire back.

My right hand had a death grip on her hands-because, well...she was crazy-but my left hand was already snaking its way down her stomach, over her pelvis and it didn't stop until it was nestled in between her thighs.

Now, while most guys would do almost anything to get laid, I wasn't that guy. Don't get me wrong. Nothing on this earth felt better than sinking your dick into a warm, wet, willing pussy, but I didn't lose my mind if it's been longer than a month.

So, I wasn't manhandling Lyrical because I needed to get laid, and now that I've had her tit in my mouth, I felt like she owed it to me to follow through. No. I was manhandling this nutjob because she had been so spectacularly vulnerable when she asked if she could put her shirt back on, I couldn't think of anything else but trying to make this woman see herself through my eyes.

For the most part, I was an asshole and not very people-friendly, but something about Lyrical called to the part of me that wasn't a complete dick. The part I reserved for my friends and family wanted to get to know Lyrical.

I started rubbing her center through her the fabric of her simple cotton pants and I could feel the heat from her pussy warming my fingers. Now, while I did imply that I wouldn't cut my arm off for some sex, having my hand between Lyrical's thighs, feeling the heat coming off her, had me damn near in a frenzy.

Lyrical immediately stopped struggling when I started rubbing her pussy and let out the softest, sexiest moan. "Oh, God..."

"Here's the thing, Lyrical," I said, my voice a whisper next to her ear. "I don't care if you are crazy. I don't care about anything other than getting inside that sweet, hot pussy of yours." She rubbed her ass against my groin, and I took that as a positive sign. "And if we have to be damn near fully clothed to make that happen, then that's what we're going to do."

"Nixon..."

I didn't give her a chance to argue with me-which, let's face it, odds were she was going to-before I was releasing her crazy hands and unbuttoning her pants and pulling down her zipper. My right hand was inside her panties within milliseconds, and my fingers were already parting her slick folds and tunneling their way inside her pussy. "Christ, you're so fucking wet," I breathed against her neck.

And she was.

Lyrical was so wet, I could hear the moistness my fingers were playing in over the sounds of our harsh, heavy breathing. But even though she was wet as fuck, she's already tried to kick me out twice, so I needed her out of her mind with lust. I needed to make sure she was so lust-drunk, she wouldn't think about kicking me out until the morning.

I wanted to worship this woman. Really, I wanted to. I wanted to take my time kissing every inch of her body and tasting every secret she had, but I knew I was working against the insanity that resided inside that pretty little head of hers. So, while I used my right hand to distract her crazy, I used my left hand to unbutton and unzip my jeans.

Have you ever tried to undress yourself with one hand while controlling a crazy person with the other?

The shit wasn't fun.

Or easy.

When I finally managed to get my jeans down to my thighs, I pulled my fingers out of her cunt and used both my hands to push her pants down over magnificent ass. I hated how this was rushed and sloppy, but the little whimper that escaped when I removed my fingers from her pussy told me she was so on board with this, and we'd work on finesse and grace later.

I grabbed onto Lyrical's hips, angled her back, and grabbing my dick in one hand, I lined it up against her soaked pussy and slammed home.

I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling to the back of my head. I knew she wasn't a virgin, but it has got to be years since she's been fucked because she was tighter than anything I've ever experienced. She was hot, tight, and perfect.

Lyrical's hands slapped against the wall and her back arched at my invasion. "Nixon!"

I completely ignored her cries, and with my hands on her hips, I stared down and watched as her ass bounced and rippled with each push into her hot, tight, perfect body. "Jesus Christ."

Not worrying that I was taking The Lord's name in vain, Lyrical immediately started pushing back with each thrust, actively fucking me back. "Oh, God," she moaned. "Harder, Nixon. Fuck me harder."

Not a problem.

My hands tightened on her hips and I rammed my cock into this girl like it was the last time I was ever going to get pussy. I drilled my dick inside her so hard, and so deep, I was certain she was going to be sore in the morning. At least, I hoped she would be. I wanted to leave a lasting impression on this woman.

"Is that hard enough, baby," I grunted in her ear. "Or do you need it harder?" I was giving it to her hard enough to leave bruises, but if she wanted it harder, I was going to do everything in my power to damage the both of us.

"Oh, Christ, that's perfect," she cried out. "I think I'm already going to cum."

Praise Jesus and Halle-fucking-lujiah.

But because I wasn't so egotistical that I thought I was a god in bed or anything, I figured Lyrical's quick and early eagerness, partnered with how tight her pussy was, was a clear indication that it's been ages since this girl's been fucked good, long, and hard.

I was about to give her my best dirty talk when she went and detonated all over me. Lyrical came hard around my dick, and it almost made me explode prematurely inside her, but luckily, my male ego was holding on for dear life with the determination that we were going to give Lyrical at least one more orgasm before we gave up the fight.

Men's egos are so fucking ridiculous.

But, nonetheless, I rode her through her orgasm, not letting up one bit as her pussy contracted, strangling the fuck out of my dick.

"Nixon, I..." she interrupted herself to let out a small moan, but then continued, "I...stop, please. I can't..."

Stop?

Not on her fucking life.

Now, if she meant it, that'd be one thing, but she didn't mean it. And how did I know this you ask? I knew it because her lips were telling me one thing, but the fact that her ass was pushing back against me, begging for more, told me her truth.

"No," I rasped out. "Give me one more, and then I'll stop." I tightened my hands on her hips and pounded into harder than I thought I could anymore. "Come on, Lyrical. Give me one more, baby."

"Oh, God..." she moaned as I could feel her body tightening up again.

"That's it," I encouraged. "Be a good girl and cum all over my cock again, so I can fill you up, Lyrical."

My words must have worked because, the next thing I knew, Lyrical was convulsing all over my cock and screaming my name. "Nixon!"

Fuck.

Yeah.

Less than five pumps later, I was cumming inside her tight, spasming heat. "Motherfucker," I hissed. Nothing had ever felt so good. But then, it occurred to me that nothing in my life had ever felt so good because I've never had sex without a condom.

At least, not until now.
Chapter 13

Lyric~

"So, then he just left?" Rena asked, bewildered and confused.

"Well, to be fair, he left in the morning, Rena," Alice said, coming to Nixon's defense. "It's not like he made a run for it while she was still dripping on the floor."

I winced. "Gee, Alice. Thanks for that visual," I grimaced.

She laughed as she was sprawled out across my bed, not caring if she was wrinkling her outfit. "Well, it's true," she defended.

We were at my apartment getting ready for our monthly girls' night out, and Alice and I were already finished getting ready. We were just waiting on Rena to finish taming her blonde locks. I was sitting on the dowry trunk on the foot of my bed, while Rena was doing her hair in front of my vanity.

Looking in the mirror, Rena said, "I just don't understand. You guys screwed all night long, and in the morning, he just...left. With no talk about seeing you later or calling you or anything?"

I let out a sigh.

After Nixon had pounded me up against the wall, he had redressed us, and then walked us to my bedroom, where he had done the most amazing, caring, silly, wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me.

This perfection of a man had pulled the covers back on the bed, pushed me onto the mattress, walked over to the light switch, turned it off, got undressed in the dark, then crawled into bed with me, where he undressed me in the dark and let me hide underneath the protection of covers.

From there he had spent all night just straight up fucking me.

He hadn't tried to explore my body or push me out of my comfort zone. He had kept his lips limited to my lips, my face, and my neck. His hands had stayed planted on the mattress, on my hips, or around my neck. Nixon hadn't tried to touch or kiss my body, not once.

Nixon had taken me missionary, from behind doggy-style, and from behind in spoon fashion, but mostly missionary. He never asked me to get on top or take over. He had done his best to make it an enjoyable experience while catering to my insecurities. And in the light of morning, I had woken up feeling utterly, idiotically foolish.

I'd never had problems with sex before. Sure, Nixon was the first man to blow my mind with his talents in the bedroom, but I've never been afraid of sex to the point where a man has had to screw me in the dark. Something had misfired in my brain when I had gotten a look at how hard and fit his body was. And when he had slammed into me, while I hadn't touch his dick at all last night, his apparent size had been super noticeable.

"Well, he did leave," I reiterated.

"Wow," Rena replied, surprised. "I hadn't taken him for being an outright jerk."

I could feel the bed's movements behind me. "What are you not telling us, Lyric?" my sister asked.

Now Stop!

This is the part where you would love to tell people that shit's none of their business, but don't. There's a reason Rena's my best friend and I get along so well with my sister. See? They're crazy, too.

So, if I tell them to mind their own business, then that's a surefire way to start a fight, where the cops will be called, and we'll all be arrested. And since my parents can't afford to bail both their daughters out of jail, they bail Alice out and leave me to rot for what should just be a mutual combat call, but will no doubt be an assault charge because Alice doesn't look like the type to fight anyone.

But, let me tell youuuuuuuuuuuuuuu...

Not to mention, Rena will most likely break out of her handcuffs, escape the law, and then become a fugitive for life, and none of us wanted that. Rena was irreplaceable.

"Ugh," I huffed-rather dramatically, I might add. "Fine. I might have woken up first, left a note next to his pillow telling him I had a swell time, but I forgot I had to go to Minneapolis for the weekend, and to please lock the door on his way out."

"Why Minneapolis?" Alice asked, clearly losing focus of her original question.

"Why not Minneapolis?" I countered. I mean, why not?

Rena stopped whatever she was doing and turned, eyeing me. "So, that's why you were knocking on my door this morning at all hours of the A.M.?"

"Maybe," I mumbled.

"Oh, my God!" she screeched, rightfully so. "You said you were feeling like crud and needed some love." She wasn't not lying. I did say that. "I took you in, cared for you, and worried about you. I nursed you back to health, dammit!"

Alice threw a finger up. "Uh, did you really?" she questioned. "I mean, if she wasn't sick in the first place, then you really kind of didn't nurse her back to health. She was already healthy."

Rena slapped her hands on her hips, forgetting about her hair. Her blue peepers shot up really quickly as she said, "I'm leaving the damn thing down. I don't have time for this. And, yes, Alice. It does count. Her being a lying liar does not negate my healing efforts."

Alice cocked her head. "You got a point," she conceded, before turning back to me. "So, then you hid out at Rena's until Nixon left?"

"Something like that," I mumbled.

"No," Rena corrected. "Exactly like that."

"He didn't leave a number or anything?" Alice asked as she stood up to give herself one final look in the full-length mirror, even though she didn't need to. She looked perfect in her black top, pale pink flare skirt, and black heels. The outfit showed off her slim figure and her killer legs.

Rena was dressed in a men's button-up, blue shirt, a pair of hip-hugger jeans, and a pair of matching blue sandals. Rena liked to dance, so she wasn't a fan of heels unless shit was formal. But no matter. With Rena's figure, it didn't matter what she wore. She was a knockout.

I was probably the least dressed up. I had thrown on an emerald green tank top, a pair of black hip-huggers, and had finished it off with a pair of black heels. They were taller than Alice's because I was the shortest of our group. And while Alice's hair was braided into a loose French braid, and Rena's was flowing down her back, I threw my brown tresses up in a messy bun. Any more effort than that and I would have voted to stay home and get drunk.

"I didn't see a note of any kind," I verified for Alice.

Rena rolled her eyes. Rude. "Maybe because a man like Nixon St. James has, oh, I don't know, maybe a smidge of pride in his backbone and knew a brushoff when he saw one?"

I gasped. "Hey! There's no way he could possibly know that I didn't really have a trip scheduled to Minneapolis."

Rena cocked her head to the side. "We have internet-stalked these men enough to know that he comes a family that boasts his father as a judge, his mother as a lawyer, his brother as a doctor and his other brother as a lawyer," she recited. "I'm going to go out on a limb and say that the real estate mogul probably has, at least, one working brain cell, if not two." She threw her arms up and injected some real enthusiasm into her next words. "Of course, he knew you ditched him, Lyric!"

I stood up, knowing we were getting ready to head out to the bar. "I don't think so," I argued.

"Well," Alice said, chiming in, "I think I'm going to have to agree with Rena on this one, Lyric. I mean, did you mention how you needed some sleep for your upcoming trip at all? Did you even pretend to pack or anything?"

"Of course, I didn't mention my trip. It was a forgotten trip," I reminded her. "And, besides, we didn't spend...uh, a whole lot of time talking last night."

"Okay. I'm just going to say it," Alice said, gearing up for something big. "We've all been avoiding the elephant in the room, and I say no more."

I looked between her and Rena. "What elephant?" There was no elephant. There was never an elephant. My shame and embarrassment were usually all out in the open for everyone to enjoy.

"How big is his dick?" Alice asked.

"Is he good it the sack?" Rena asked at the same time, overlapping Alice's question.

My eyes widened. Did these women have no shame? No sense of respect or privacy? "I am not going to ans-owwww!"

Alice had me by my ear. "Don't make me waterboard you, Lyric," she threatened. "I will so torture the hell out of you."

"Oh, my God," I yelped. "Rena? Are you just going to let her t-"

"Hell, yeah, I am," Rena replied, interrupting my pleas for help. "Answer the questions, Lyric."

"Jesus. Fine. Fine," I cried, surrendering like a pussy. "Let go of my goddamn ear, Alice."

Alice let go of my ear, and both women stood in front of me with their arms crossed over their chests, waiting for me to give up the goods. "Well?" Rena prompted.

I took a deep breath and huffed it out, letting them know that I was clearly against this sort of interrogation. My theatrics didn't faze either wench. "Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine," I exaggerated. "I'm not sure the size because I didn't have a ruler on me, but he was big enough to bottom out a few times. As for his Yelp sex review, a solid ten stars out of five." But, really, he deserved a twenty-star mark.
Chapter 14

_Nixon~_

I sat on the barstool drinking my beer as I waited for my jackass brothers to stop laughing.

Fucking assholes.

"Oh, this is priceless," Lincoln said through this unappreciated laughter. "She actually snuck out of her own home, pretending she was leaving for Minneapolis. Jesus Christ, Nix, how bad in the sack are you?"

I flipped him off.

That question didn't warrant an actual answer. I didn't suck in the sack goddamn it. But I didn't want to explain to Linc and Jackson that Lyrical was crazy. I wanted them to meet her first, and grow to love her, before I explained that she was a bit off in her pretty little head.

Jackson wasn't being as big of a dick as Lincoln was, but he was close. "I don't think, even during my worst performance, I've ever had a woman sneak out of her own home just to avoid me."

It wasn't my proudest moment. And, normally, I wouldn't share such personal details with others, but these were my brothers, so they didn't count as others. Plus, I needed to talk to someone about this madness because, much like Jackson, I've never had a woman willingly flee the comforts of her own home just get away from me.

Maybe I needed to confess to them that Lyrical was actually a little touched in the head.

"It wasn't the sex," I insisted. "Not to...uh, brag or...tell her business, but...she responded eagerly to everything I did to her." And, hell, I hadn't even done all that much to her. Knowing she was neurotic about her body image, I had done my best to curb most of my wants and a lot of my needs. Because, let me tell you, I needed to eat her pussy. I needed to suck on her tits. I needed to choke her with my cock. I needed to consume every physical inch of her perfect body.

It had been hard to limit myself to only fucking her in certain positions and not touching her everywhere I could. But she had accused me of not paying attention when she spazzed out, and that wasn't true.

I had been paying attention.

While not being an expert on women and their neuroses, I had done my best to calm her fears but still reap the rewards. The small glimpse I had seen of her, when her shirt was off, had been enough to know that she looked fantastic naked. Her tits were a perfect handful, and she was soft like a woman was supposed to be. I just wish I could convince her of that.

Lincoln took a drink of his beer before saying, "Maybe she just wanted to get laid and didn't want an awkward morning-after."

"Or, maybe, she thinks you just wanted to get laid, and she was giving you an out, Nix," Jackson suggested. I didn't remark on either possibility and, instead, signaled the bartender for another round.

Huxley's was a low-key bar where you went if you wanted to just enjoy a beer and bullshit. They had a jukebox, and brought in a DJ during the late hours, but for the most part, it was perfect for uneventful relaxing. It was why I had suggested we come here instead of a club. I wasn't in the mood to party and fight the crowds for much-needed drinks. Lyrical really fucked me up with her disappearing act this morning, and so, I needed some quality time with my brothers, even if they were both idiots.

I turned back to face my brothers just as Linc asked, "What are you going to tell Mom and Dad? I mean, I can't see them taking this news well, Nix."

Jackson's head nodded in affirmation. "Yeah. They're really looking forward to the wedding and the baby."

I was sitting in between my brothers at the bar, so it was hard to stink-eye them both at the same time. So, I picked Lincoln first, because he usually deserved it more than Jackson did. "Somehow, I doubt Lyrical would be open to marriage right now. Never mind a baby."

"Good thing you made sure to wrap it up last night then," he smirked. "Seeing as how you're so responsible and all."

I tried to poker face him, but my wince came across loud and clear. I felt Jackson's hand slap across the back of my head at my obvious body language. "Do not even tell me you didn't use protection, Nix," he growled.

Awe, fuck.

There were times when Jackson being a doctor sucked. I turned to face him. "Jacks-"

He started shaking his head at me. "No, Nixon," he said, interrupting my ready excuse. "I see what happens to kids who are not wanted. Keeping having unprotected sex and I will cut your baby maker off with my scalpel."

I rubbed the back of my head. "Hey!"

"What?" he growled.

I leaned into my brother. "Don't lump me in with the losers you come across, Jackson," I barked. "If I got Lyrical knocked up, I'd do the right thing."

"Doing the right thing is not the same as wanting the child," he countered.

I tried not to take his words personally. I knew how my brother felt about children and their neglect. "I'd want any child I made, Jackson," I said more calmly. "You know this."

Jackson sighed. "I know, Nix," he replied. "It's just...I'd hate for the mother of my niece or nephew to run off with the kid, who we will never see again, and all because you sucked in bed." Linc laughed and, just like that, they were both back to being assholes.

"I don't suck in bed, you fucks," I mumbled.

"And, yet, a woman who doesn't know you well enough to know you're a complete dick, fled the confines of her own home just to ditch you," Linc recited. "Sounds like you suck in bed to me, Nix."

I flipped Lincoln off again. "I'll have you two fuckwads know that Lyrical fled because she was so overcome with emotions of our night together, she didn't know how to process them all," I retorted. "She just panicked. That's all."

"Yeah, disappointment, dissatisfaction, and sorrow are some pretty serious emotions," Jackson chuckled, and then I flipped him off.

I swiveled around in my barstool until I was facing the crowd. It wasn't super crowded, but there were enough people to make it interesting. A few couples, but mostly groups of friends or co-workers drinking the day away. I scanned the faces of the groups of women who weren't accompanied by men and I imagined they were all pretty sane. Too bad that wasn't what I was obsessing over.

No. I was knowingly obsessing over a little ball of insanity and probably homicidal intent.

I looked over at my brother. I always thought it'd be Lincoln who would end up with a crazy wife. I mean, seriously.

"Look, why don't you just stop by her house when she gets back from her imaginary trip to Minneapolis, and ask her, pointblank, what's the deal?" Jackson suggested.

I turned to him and narrowed my eyes at his maturity and sensible rationale. "That's a horrible idea," I scoffed. It wasn't, but I wasn't about to tell him I was half-ass chicken shit of the truth, whatever it was.

Before Jackson could call me an idiot, Lincoln let out a low whistle, and then turned towards us laughing like a goddamn idiot. Mom and Dad really should have given me sisters instead of these two buffoons.

"What?" Jackson asked.

Lincoln had that smile on his face. You know, the one where he's about to commit some sort of atrocity against nature, and all we can do is stand by and watch, because no one's figured out how to rein in Lincoln's warped mind? Yeah, that smile.

"I guess your girl wrapped up shit in Minneapolis faster than she anticipated," he smirked, then jerked his head towards the front door where three women had just walked in. The first being Rena, the second being a slim, pretty, auburn-haired beauty, and the last being the crazy woman who was supposed to be in Minneapolis.

"Motherfucker," I gritted out.

"Hold up, wait," Jackson sputtered. "Are you telling me one of those women is Lyrical?"

"The brunette," Linc so helpfully provided.

"Holy shit," he whistled out. "Look at that fucking ass. I-"

I turned to my oldest brother, ready to slap his face with my invisible glove, and make an appointment for pistols at dawn. "Don't even finish that sentence, Jackson," I growled.

He threw up his hands in surrender, making sure not to spill his beer. "Oh, hey. Calm down, little brother," he laughed. "Her ass is all yours."

Then Lincoln really started laughing when he said, "Holy shit, Nixon. You fucked her all night long last night, and she's out tonight? Dude, you must really suck in bed."

"She bailed on you because she didn't have the heart to tell you, I bet," Jackson added.

"Fuck you, both," I growled. "Just. Fuck. You. Both."

This was not good.

I could feel insecurity and that green-eyed little monster making their appearances.

Lyrical should have stayed her ass in imaginary Minneapolis.
Chapter 15

_Lyric~_

We made it to Huxley's fairly early, so we found a booth immediately. As soon as my ass hit the bench, Alice piped up. "I'll go order the first round." And with that, she flounced-yes, flounced-over to the bar to get the first round.

"So, what's on the agenda tonight," Rena asked.

Agenda?

"I thought we were just coming out to have a couple of drinks and gossip," I replied.

Rena rolled her eyes. "Says the girl who got her world rocked last night," she retorted. "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've been laid?"

Since Rena was my best friend, I knew that answer. "Stewart, who you met at High Café seven months ago," I announced.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Steward, seven months ago, and he sucked."

"Oh, hey," I said comfortingly. "You did say he did give it his all, though. The poor man tried to please you and your impossible demands."

Rena's eyes rounded. "My impossible demands?" She snorted her disbelief. "I wasn't even asking for an orgasm, Lyric. I was just hoping he'd last longer than five minutes each round. It was horrible."

"So, we're here to get laid?" I asked. I needed absolute clarification on my role here tonight.

Alice placed the bucket of beers in the middle of the table, plopped her ass down next to Rena and asked, "We're trolling for penis tonight?"

I plucked a beer out of the bucket. "I'm not. But, apparently, Rena is," I clarified.

Alice nodded in thought, and as she grabbed her own beer, she said, "Well, good. That makes sense, and it's actually a good thing."

Rena glanced at her. "It is? Why?"

Alice took a very big, very construction-worker-gulp of her beer before saying, "Because while I was waiting for Mr. Bartender to fill the bucket full of beers, I happened to give the room a curious glance and I notice three very hot, very built, very drool-worthy men sitting at the bar together an-"

Rena huffed. "Probably married or gay," she remarked, interrupting Alice.

Alice ignored her. "Annnnnnnnnnd, due to my diligent internet-stalking, I was able to identify those three male specimens of perfection as the St. James brothers."

Rena started choking on her drink and I turned into a statue, hoping my complete stillness would, somehow, turn me invisible. Hey, don't judge. It could work.

After Rena got herself under control, she shot Alice an incredulous look. "Are you sure?"

"Don't look and be all high-school-girl obvious, but I am absolutely sure," she said, the biggest smile on her face.

Oh, no.

I knew that smile.

"Hey, Rena, you want to follow me to the jukebox?"

"Don't you dar-"

"Absolutely," Rena said, already laughing with anticipation of whatever Alice had planned.

Alice reached over and patted my arm. "You'll thank us for this one day, Lyric," she said as she stood up. "If not, well, remember how much you love me and that I'm your only sibling."

Everything in me wanted to scan the faces at the bar, but I was supposed to be in Minneapolis. I had to act like I didn't know Nixon was here. With his brothers, no less.

So, instead of acting like a bigger spaz than I already have, I grabbed my phone and pretended to answer a text as I sipped my beer, all calm, cool, collected, and sophisticated. But let me assure you, in case you were confused, I was not calm, cool, collected, and sophisticated. However, to be fair, I've never been sophisticated, so that was a rather lofty goal to try to accomplish, anyway.

Alice and Rena made it back at the same exact second a beat boomed out of the jukebox, and immediately recognizing the song, I glared at the two people I hated most in the world right now. "You did not just-" I stopped when I realized they did.

Eddie Money's Take Me Home Tonight started thumping around the room and I just knew this was going to be something worthy of its own YouTube clip, and we were going to be the stars.

Goddamn it.

And suddenly-but not surprisingly-Rena started singing into her beer bottle, and she was looking right at me, so that the entire bar knew I was being serenaded. "'I can feel you breathe. I can feel your heart beat faster'," she crooned, and then Alice-the traitor-joined in for the chorus. "'Take me home tonight. I don't want to let you go till you see the light. Take me home tonight. Listen, honey. Just like Ronnie sang...'"

I turned, mortified-in case that wasn't clear-to face my sister as she belted out Ronnie Spector's part. "'Be my little baby...'"

And just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, I started hearing whoops and hollers from the spectators in the room. They were encouraging these two psychos, not realizing the havoc they were encouraging that was about to release. They had no idea of the evils these two were capable of, and here they were, just egging them on in this madness.

I watched-again, mortified-as Rena and Alice got up from the booth and started prancing around the room, singing at me from all different directions.

These fools were singing a song about asking someone to take them home in front of several single men, and I hope they were prepared for when those single men started approaching our table, thinking this performance was our ritual mating call.

And then, things got worse.

Oh, how could things get any worse, you ask?

Now Stop!

The climax of the song started and Alice and Rena, in a very concert-at-Madison-Square-Garden fashion stopped in front of our booth and handed the lip syncing over to me. I had a split second to decide if I was going to ruin their fun and the entertainment of the rest of the bar, or if I was going to join in the madness and give everyone a good laugh.

I wanted, so badly, to ruin everyone's good time, because I did not relish becoming a YouTube clip. But I looked into the faces of my sister and best friend and I couldn't do it. These were the best people I knew, and no matter how insane they were, I knew they only had my best interests at heart.

If we ever ended up in jail, it'll be because whatever got us there had started out in good faith. I was sure of it.

So, in true rock star fashion, I pointed at the two lunatics and channeled my inner Aerosmith. I waited for the music to drop and away I went. "'Take me home tonight. I don't want to let you go till you see the light...'"

"'Oh, oh, oh, oh, ohhhhh...'" Alice jumped in, while Rena joined me in the second hook.

We lip synced the shit out of the rest of the song and we got a chorus of laughs, applause, and cattle calls once the song faded away.

I couldn't help it. I laughed along with them in our booth like idiotic teenagers. It was silly, ridiculous, and utterly embarrassing, but fun. But I suppose fun usually was silly, ridiculous, and embarrassing.

"Oh, God. I can't believe we did that," I laughed.

"Oh, hey, look," Rena chuckled. "If you weren't going to balls up and go drag Nixon into the bathroom to blow him, we had to come up with a way to give him the hint that you were down with round two."

My eyes rounded. "And that was your best idea?"

Alice laughed. "No," she answered. "We had way better ones, but none as fun as that."

"Newsflash, you twits," I snorted, "I don't find humiliation fun at all."

"How was that humiliating?" Rena asked, right after finishing up her beer.

"Oh, come on," I groaned. "You know there's at least one person who recorded that and is going to post it all over the internet."

"Yeah, but-"

"Hello, Ladies," came a smooth, deep, rich voice, effectively cutting off the debate about our future internet sensationalism.

All three of our heads turned and looked up into the face of a very nice-looking man with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a sexy, smirky smile.

No bad.

And, luckily for him, Rena was looking to get her bell rung. I was pretty sure Alice was on board with some naked time, too. As a matter of fact, I think Alice was long overdue more so than Rena was.

"Well, hello, there," Alice purred, confirming my suspicions.

He glanced back at his table really quickly, then said, "We were wondering why that song?"

Why that song, indeed.
Chapter 16

_Nixon~_

I saw that asshole approached their table, and as I glanced over at his friends, I notice how their numbers lined up. There were three girls and three of them.

This shit was not happening.

When the girls had started singing, I couldn't help but laugh and enjoy their spectacle along with everyone else. It had been cute, fun, and unexpected. And their song choice was all the hint I had needed.

I didn't know who the third girl was, but I already knew Rena was on my side, so there was a strong possibility that she played that song for me and Lyrical. And if she hadn't, well, it didn't matter. I've already convinced myself that she had, so that means she did.

"Looks like she forgot all about you while she was in Minneapolis, Nix," Linc remarked as he took in the guy who approached their table.

My insides hollowing out was not a pleasant feeling. "He could be approaching Rena or the other girl," I pointed out.

"Which one is Rena," Jackson asked.

"The blonde," I answered automatically. "I'm not sure who the other woman is, though. But it was those two who started the show off, so maybe it's one of them who caught his eye."

Linc snorted. "Yeah, Nix. His eye and the eye of the other two dudes he's with. Do the math, little brother."

I took my eyes off Lyrical's table long enough to glare at Lincoln. "I did, fuckface. And that's why you and Jackson are going to go over there with me, so that there's no room for confusion as to who belongs to whom."

Jackson choked on his beer as Linc said, "Uh...I'm pretty sure we can't just go over there and claim them like that, Nix."

"Why not?"

Linc's face took on a bewildered look. "Uh, because this is America, and you can't just own another human being. It's sort of against the law."

"I beg to differ." Did I mention Jackson as being an asshole earlier? Because if I did, I take it back now as he refuted Lincoln's claim. "You can legally own another human being under the ceremony of marriage, dear brother."

"Are you for real, right now?" Linc asked, still bewildered. "That's a partnership, Jackson. You don't suddenly own another person just because you say 'I do'. It doesn't work that way."

Jackson snorted. "The fuck you don't," he countered. "The woman who becomes my wife is going to be owned and operated by me, and only me." He smirked. "But, hey, if your wife is going to be free to do whatever she wants, more power to you, Linc. I know I couldn't do it."

Lincoln coolly arched a brow. "My wife will do what I tell her," he stated with authority he knew he didn't possess.

"Not if she's free and can't be owned," Jackson laughed.

"Fuck you, Jacks-"

"Dudes! Can we focus here on the asshole currently trying to lure Lyrical home, instead of the fictitious wives you guys don't even have yet?" I snapped, seriously losing it. I mean, I literally spent all night inside Lyrical last night. There was no reason she should be talking to another guy right now.

No. Reason. At. All.

"Damn, Nix," Lincoln whistled. "Never seen you lose your shit over a woman before."

"I am not losing my shit," I gritted out through my teeth. However, I totally was. "Now, here's what's going to happen. We're all going over there-I don't care which female you guys claim-but know that you're claiming one, and we are going to sit with them, drink with them, maybe dance, and just have a merry fucking good time for the rest of the night. Got it?"

I didn't wait for them to answer. I slammed my empty beer bottle down on the bar, hopped off the barstool, and stomped my way over to Lyrical and her friends like a spoiled child having the worst tantrum in history.

And before anyone judges, the tantrum was warranted because, with every second that passed, where Lyrical was actually chatting it with another man...well, it solidified Lincoln and Jackson's opinions that I sucked in bed.

And I did not suck in bed.

And I also knew my brothers were right behind me. That was one of the great things about my family. We always had each other's backs, even if we were wrong. We'd work to get each other right after the fact, but we still went all out for one another.

I completely ignored Lyrical's astounded expression as I saddled up next to Blondie. I approached the table like I had every right.

And I did.

After last night and her phantom Minneapolis trip this morning...well, I absolutely did have the right to harass her in public.

"Hey, baby," I said, greeting her as if we're actually dating. "I take it you didn't see us sitting at the bar?"

Mr. Surfer-Me-Blonde glanced at me, and looked ready to say something, but-thank God for my brothers-before he uttered something that was going to get him popped in the face, Lincoln dropped down to sit next to Rena and placed his arm around her. "You didn't get my text that we were at the bar?"

Lyrical looked like she was in the middle of a stroke as she scooted out of the booth and came to stand next to me. "Nix-"

Jackson took that opportunity to take her place in the booth. He leaned his arms on the table and leaned into the third girl as if he's been dating her for years. "Hey, baby," he cooed. "Climb over the table and come sit next to me. I've missed you."

"Oh, hey," Blondie said, taking a step back from the table. "Sorry. I didn't realize-"

Ignoring whatever Lyrical was about to say, I turned and gave the unwelcomed guy my undivided attention. "Oh, yeah," I said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "A little miscommunication, but these ladies are with us."

He took it all in stride, and gave everyone a nice, big smile. "My mistake. It was nice meeting you ladies, nevertheless," he replied before turning around and heading back to his table.

The second he was out of earshot, Lyrical hissed, "What in the hell was that all about?"

I grabbed her by her arm and shoved her back into the booth, caging her in between Jackson and me. I twisted in my seat to face her. "How was Minneapolis?"

She had enough shame to look uncomfortable, but she didn't back down from her lie. "Uh, great," she mumbled. "Got a lot done."

I wanted to throttle her.

Straight up strangle her in front of everyone in here.

But no matter how strong the urge, I knew there was no way Lincoln would be able to get me off with so many witnesses. I was going to have to strangle her later.

"So, let's table your trip to Minneapolis for now, and you just introduce me to your friends instead," I said in lieu of manslaughter.

It took her exactly five seconds to decided what to do, but I could see the fight go out of her right before she made the introductions. "Nixon, you already know Rena..."

"Hey, Nixon," Rena said, her face a full-watt smile.

"Nice to see you again, Rena," I greeted back.

Lyrical jerked her head towards the other woman. "That's my sister, Alice. Alice meet Nixon St. James. He's the guy who owns the building I live in."

Ouch.

I'm the guy who owns the building she lives in? I mean, I am...but fuck...

"Hi, Nixon," she replied. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," I said, doing my best to inject some genuine interest, but I was more concerned with Lyrical than making new friends. "These are my brothers, Lincoln and Jackson. Lincoln and Jackson, Alice and Rena." After that shit effort, I turned back to face Lyrical. "Get your shit and let's go."

Her face took on the perfect amount of outrage. "What? You can't just deman-"

"If you don't want an audience of a huge ass fight over your fake trip to Minneapolis, then I suggest you get your shit and let's go, Lyrical," I barked. I wasn't kidding.

"You better go, Lyrical," Jackson ordered. "He's a jerk on the best of days, but when he's pissed, he's an outright asshole."

Lyrical turned her outrage towards Jackson. "He is not an asshole!" she exclaimed, defending me.

And that's when I knew it was love.
Chapter 17

_Lyric~_

The ride to Nixon's place was quiet and filled with tension, but it was my fault. I owned it.

I also owned the fact that if I was going to lie, I needed to get better at it.

Neither of us spoke as Nixon drove into the underground garage of his apartment high-rise. We didn't speak during our walk to the elevators, or in the elevator, or in the hallway leading to his door. It wasn't until I noticed only two doors on either side of the hallway that I asked, "Why are there only two doors?"

"After the twentieth floor, there are only two apartments per floor," Nixon replied, short and clipped.

Well, okay, then. Not that it mattered, because I knew the St. James family was...uh, fortunate, but when you see it live and in living color, well that was something else.

Nixon unlocked his door and stepped back to let me go in first. As soon as I was a couple of steps in, Nixon followed, and shutting and locking the door behind him, he flipped on the lights.

Holy Money In The Bank, Gina.

The apartment screamed money, taste, class, and a shitload of other words that equaled fancy. Black hardwood floors, grey with glass furniture, art on the walls...hell, even the plants looked like they cost more than my rent.

Not Stop!

Here's where you might start scoping out the place, making note of all the items that you could fence on the street. The things you can't afford on a pet store manager's salary, you could certainly afford if you sold off a Rembrandt, Picasso, or one of those plants.

But while you're enjoying the pedicures, the facials, and the Jimmy Choos, grand larceny is a real felony. Like, if the amount exceeds a certain limit, you'll go straight to prison. They'll skip right over local county jail time and send you. Straight. To. Prison.

Sure, you'll have the prettiest toes and softest skin in there, but that glamour will fade really quickly if you don't continue the upkeep. And who can continue the upkeep when you're too busy making shivs and fighting for your life?

Ditch the robbery plans and stick with earning a normal paycheck like the rest of America.

"You have a nice p-"

"Cut the bullshit, Lyrical," Nixon snapped, cutting off my compliment of his lovely home. "Why did you sneak out of your house and lie about a last-minute trip?"

Well, my mother didn't raise a coward, contrary to my disappearing act on Saturday morning. I turned to face the gorgeous man and disclose just how high my level of crazy went. And-scary for him-it went rather high.

I threw my hands up in the air and let them slap down against my sides for dramatic affect. "Because I'm crazy, Nixon," I confessed. "Because I'm shaped like a pear, with no tits, a flabby tummy, a huge ass, thighs that rub together, and I'm pretty sure I suck in bed." Nixon's eyebrows chased his hairline in a look of utter shock.

Well, at least, he wasn't pissed anymore.

"First of all, you're not shaped like a pear. And even if you were, I like pears. Second, you do have tits, as I should know, since I had them in my hands and mouth before you made me put your shirt back on last night. I can't speak on the tummy or the thighs since I did my best to be a gentleman and respect your boundaries as I fucked orgasm, after orgasm out of you last night. I can, however, speak on that ass of yours since, it's visible no matter what you wear, and it's not huge. That ass you're sporting is sexy as hell and I'm hoping one day you'll let me slide my cock inside it."

Nixon started walked towards me and I suddenly felt like prey as I digested his words and willed them to be true. Most women had insecurities and knew their every flaw, but I was neurotic in addition to being insecure, so this was a crazy combo ticket Nixon was purchasing. "Nixo-"

He advanced, and I retreated until I found myself stopped by a wall. Nixon planted a hand on either side of my head and leaned down. "And as for you sucking in bed," he whispered against my face. "Even without the foreplay, even without the kisses, the touches, the...details, last night was still the best fuck of my life, Lyrical." My eyes soaked up his lips as they moved. "And I have every intention of doing my best to make sure tonight exceeds last night."

"You can do so much better," I whispered, making sure to look him in the eye. If my eyes wandered anywhere else, I was sure to jump his bones.

Nixon started placed soft kissed on my face as he said, "I can't, Lyrical. I really, really can't do better than you, because there is no one better than you."

Let's-Be-A-Hussy Lyrical grabbed Insecure Lyrical by the ear and growled, "Listen to the man! He's given you no reason to doubt him. He's given you no reason to think he's a liar. He's not the one who went to Minneapolis this morning!"

Oh, screw it.

I threw my arms around Nixon's neck and started attacking him with all the force of a sex-crazed fiend.

He threw himself into the kiss, and soon, our hands were everywhere. But before shit could turn NC-17, Nixon untangled himself and escaped from my attack. "Wait," he panted out. "Wait, a second, Lyric."

He called me Lyric.

Surely, that meant this was something more than two semi-strangers scratching an itch, right?

I didn't want to wait, but I did anyway. "What's wrong?"

Nixon cradled my face in his hands and those deep, sweet hazel eyes of his looked so serious when he said, "Tonight, I get you naked with the lights on, Lyric." My eyes widened, but he didn't let me hide. "Tonight, I get you completely naked with the lights on while I caress your body, taste your skin, suck on your tits, and eat your pussy." Jesus, this man had some great dirty talk. "I get to watch your entire body cum, not just your face. I get to watch my dick break open your pussy, baby. I get to watch your ass bounce as I fuck you, and your tits shake as you ride me. Alright?"

This was it.

We'd only known each other a freakin' week. We'd only met up three times. We were virtual strangers. But Nixon was asking me to surrender all my insecurities and just be with him. Just be with him and enjoy the moment. No crazy, no expectations, no stress, no anything...just pleasure.

Could I do it?

Hell, yeah, I could.

Last night had been phenomenal even without all the extras. So, now that he was throwing in the extras, I couldn't even begin to imagine how great tonight was going to be. I just had to trust it.

Trust him.

I took a deep breath, and from the bottom of my heart, I said the truest thing I have ever said. "You can do whatever you want to me, Nixon."

He groaned, and it was like my words were too much to handle. "Don't say shit like that, Lyric. I'm fine with baby steps."

"To hell with baby steps," I said, my voice sounding like it was totally on board with my body. "I want you to fuck me like you're going to get charged at the end of the night."

"Jesus Christ," he huffed through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, I realized how unfair I'd been to this man, and I wanted to make up for it. My hands went for the buttons and zipper on his jeans and my knees were already on the floor before he knew what was happening.

I looked up and his perfect face was so full of hope, I almost laughed. We hadn't gotten to this last night, what with all my crazy issues and all, so this was something I really, really wanted to give him. But I also didn't want him to get his hopes up to high. "I'm going to do my best to give you the best blow job you've ever had, Nixon."

He groaned and lost his hands in my hair. "Baby, you don't have-"

Too late.

His protest was silenced and replaced by a hiss as I wrapped my hand around his dick as far as I could and leaned forward to swallow him whole.

"Holy fuck," he moaned as his hands tightened in my hair.

I did my best to relax my throat muscles and not strangle myself on his cock, but the dude was packing some pretty impressive equipment. My sore body this morning had been proof of that. I shook off all thoughts except the one to do my absolute best to bring him to pleasure.

I sucked, licked, nibbled, and swallowed him like I was auditioning for my first porn video. I let the vibrations from my moans dance along his cock and I put breathing on the back burner just so that Nixon could fuck my face.

Before long, Nixon had hit his breaking point. "Lyric, baby, I'm going to cum. So, if you don-fuck."

I upped my tempo until Nixon was erupting in my mouth and I gulped that shit down like a seasoned pro. And I kept his cock in my mouth until I had licked him completely clean.

I looked up rather pleased, and Nixon said, "Marry me, Lyrical. For the love of God, marry me."
Chapter 18

_Nixon~_

Walking into my apartment after a long Monday suddenly felt lonely, rather than relaxing, and I imagined that had something to do with missing Lyric.

She had kept true to her word Saturday night, and she had let me do all the things I had wanted to do on Friday night to her. By the time the sun had come up on Sunday, there hadn't been an inch of her body I hadn't explored. I had touched, tasted, and fucked her everywhere.

It had been perfect.

Lyric had stayed to have breakfast, and we had hung out a little bit before she said she had to get home and do her Sunday chores before the work week started. I had been reluctant to let her go, but since she said she was going home and not Minneapolis, I figured I had made great leaps of progress with her.

We had even exchanged phone numbers.

But now, walking into my apartment, I realized how much I wished I was walking into hers. Or, at least, have her here waiting for me.

I dropped my briefcase on the sofa and headed towards my bedroom to change out of my work clothes. I wanted to pretend like I could go on with life as usual before I pulled my phone out to call her like a lovesick puppy.

Once I went from suit to jeans and t-shirt, I padded my bare feet to the kitchen to see what I could whip up for dinner. I had my phone in my hand, ready to dial Lyric, when there was a knock at my door.

I felt like a thirteen-year-old girl who was passing her school crush in the hallway. That's how many butterflies had taken over my gut at the thought that Lyrical could be here.

Jesus, if Lincoln and Jackson could see me now.

I damn near skipped to the front door, but when I pulled it open, it wasn't Lyric on the other side. I blinked a couple of times, wondering if the vision was real. And when I realized it was, I asked, "What are you doing here?"

Rude? Yeah. But...what the hell?

"Really, Nixon," Dina muttered. "Is that any way to greet your guests?"

Probably not.

But what in the fuck was Dina Rivers doing here?

I snapped out of my shock and tried to invoke some of the manners my parents had taught me. "I'm sorry, Dina. I was...just surprised, is all," I said, apologizing.

She seemed placated as she asked, "Well, aren't you going to let me in?"

For fuck what? "Uh, yeah. Sorry," I mumbled as I stepped aside, so she could enter.

I watched her as she glanced around, taking in the apartment. I wasn't sure why, she's been here before when we were seeing each other, and it's not like anything has changed. And then, she said as much, "Looks like nothing's changed."

I gave my apartment a quick run over before my eyes found hers. "Nope," I agreed. "I'm not much for decorating and shit, so...everything's pretty much the same as since the last time you were here."

"Hmm," was her only reply as she continued to look around.

Finally, at the end of my patience-because I really wanted to call Lyric-I asked, "What are you doing here, Dina?" I didn't think I was being rude, but what I had told Jackson was true. I haven't given this woman a second thought in years. What we had back then was a casual fuck and nothing more. So, yeah, I was surprised as fuck that she was here.

She finally turned her attention to me and cocked her head. "I'm not sure if you know or not, but I ran into your mother a few days ago, and, well, I got a divorce and moved back to town," she stated, and I couldn't have cared less.

I stuck my hands in my pockets and remained standing by the door. "I'm sorry to hear about your divorce. It always sucks when two people find themselves at that final choice," I replied, suddenly realizing Jackson was probably right about Dina's intentions.

"Well, it's my fault," she bristled. "I settled, and I knew I was settling. I should have had more patience to wait out something better."

Uhm, okay. What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

Before I could comment, or ask her to leave, she continued, "I figured you've probably sowed all your wild oats these past couple of years and might be ready for something more serious, Nixon."

Well. Fuck. Me.

Granted, she was right. Too bad for her, though, the something serious I wanted, I wanted with Lyrical.

Damn, this was going to suck.

"Dina, look," I started. "I know we go way back, and we've always gotten along well, but...well, I have met someone who's made me want serious, and I absolutely adore the woman."

Dina couldn't conceal the shock that ran across her perfectly made-up face. But even without the makeup, Dina Rivers was a beautiful woman. She stood at five-foot-ten-inches, with legs for days. She had platinum blonde hair, sea-blue eyes, and a face constructed out of class and grace. Her body was made up of both original and store-bought parts, but all put together, it made for a lovely package.

She quickly got control over her facial expression and did her best to sound casual. "So, are you telling me that The Great Nixon St. James is in love?"

In love? Probably not. I mean, I've only known Lyrical going on two weeks, so it was way too soon to profess love, even if I did ask her to marry me several times Saturday night. No. I was somewhere in between liking her a hell of a whole lot and love.

That being said, I knew I wasn't scared to fall in love with her at a later date, and I had every intention to. However, I knew if I said anything short of being absolutely in love with Lyrical right now, Dina would take that as a challenge, and Lyrical wasn't a challenge. This wasn't a game to be won. Lyric was clearly the champion.

"Incredible, I know," I answered her. "Proof right there that God does exist, and miracles happen every day."

Dina shrugged off her jacket, and it gave me pause. I just told her I was in love with someone else. Why would she need to take off her jacket and make herself at home?

And then, I got a look at her outfit, and I gotta hand it to the woman; she came prepared. But the skin-tight, black minidress did nothing for me. I already knew what she had underneath it and I've already had it. If it hadn't been good enough to lock me down years ago, I had serious doubts that, with or without Lyrical in the picture, it wasn't good enough to lock me down now.

"How are Lincoln and Jackson?" Before I could answer she went on, "I saw Jackson with your mother that day I ran into her, but he wasn't being very social."

If she only knew. "They're both fine, Dina," I said, sticking the short answer. I wanted this woman gone, but for the sake of our history, I'd give her a few minutes to save face and walk out willingly.

She started walking towards me as her fingertips danced across the back of the sofa. "You know, Nixon," she said smoothly, her voice velvety and practiced. "I'm wondering just how serious you are about this girl. I mean, you say you love her, but you're not engaged or married. Why is that?"

I had to grit my teeth. My first instinct was to tell her it was none of her damn business, but I didn't want to draw her into an argument, prolonging her stay. I figured the sooner I answered her, the sooner she'd get the hint and leave. So, I told her the truth. "I've asked her to marry me several times..."-Saturday night was proof of that-"...but she keeps telling me I'm moving too fast. She'd prefer a real wedding to eloping to Las Vegas." Okay, that last part was a lie. But the asking Lyric to marry me several times was the actual truth.

"Maybe she just doesn't want to marry you, Nixon," Dina countered. "I mean, you are rather difficult to deal with sometimes."

"I was only difficult to deal with because I refused to let you take our relationship further than what it was," I reminded her coolly. "Trust me when I tell you that my girl handles me perfectly."

Dina bristled a bit before saying, "Well, I can see you've clearly moved on."

I gave her a terse nod. "I have, Dina. I'm in love for the first time in my life and there's nothing I won't do for that woman." I refused to give Dina Lyrical's name because I didn't want to give her anything she could use to manipulate the situation.

She plastered on her fakest smile and said, "Well, before I take off and leave you to be in love, do you mind if I use your restroom really quick? I just want to freshen up before I go meet my client for our business dinner."

The alarm bells should have rung loud and clear, but they didn't. My hackles should have risen at the mention of a business dinner, because as far as I could recall, Dina didn't work and she was the type of woman to bleed her ex-husband dry to maintain that lack of responsibility. But all the warning bells remained quiet. So, what did I do? "Sure, help yourself. You remember where it is, right?"

"Thanks, Nixon," she cooed. "You're the best."

Turned out I wasn't quite that good at being the best.
Chapter 19

_Lyric~_

My palms were sweaty, and I felt ridiculous. But, nonetheless, I stood in front of Nixon's door another few minutes before gathering up the courage to knock.

Saturday night had been beyond what I have ever imagined sex could be. Nixon had worshipped every inch of my skin and each word he whispered, every kiss he placed, every tenderly violent act he had committed, had made me feel beautiful, wanted, and desired.

Even now, I wasn't sure how he had managed it, but I'd only felt embarrassed a couple of times that night. The rest of the time, I had been so lost in the pleasure he was creating around me, I hadn't had time to worry about flabby skin or dimpled thighs.

The first time had been when I climbed over him to ride him. The second I sat my weight across his waist, I worried that I might be too heavy. The second Nixon had sensed the change in me, he had grabbed me by my hips and used every rippling, sweaty, strong muscle in his arms to lift me and slam me down on his cock. Not only did he blow my mind with the pleasure from seating himself so deep inside of me, but he had proven to me that my weight was nothing for him.

The second time embarrassment started to rear its ugly head was when I had just been coming down off an orgasmic high and Nixon had nudged the head of his dick against the opening of my ass. Never having had anal sex before, my entire body had turned bright red with embarrassment and anxiousness.

I had started worrying about the logistics of how it would all work when Nixon covered my back with his chest and had whispered in my ear, "Trust me, Lyric. Trust me, and if I let you down on this, I'll never ask you to trust me ever again." I still hadn't been sure, but then he had upped the ante by adding, "I dream of fucking you up the ass, baby. Don't ruin my dreams because of fear. I promise to make you love it."

So, I had trusted him and let him do his worst. At first it had been painful, and I wondered who in their right minds would ever want to engage in something so painful, dirty, and sinful. But then, the pain had given way to a different sensation that eventually gave way to unimaginable pleasure.

By the end of the night, I had begged Nixon to violate me everywhere on my body. And the man had done his best to deliver.

Now Stop!

This is the part where you might want to ditch your birth control, get pregnant and trap him into marriage.

DO. NOT. DO. THIS.

If you go and trap this wonderful man, then he'll be forced to marry you, but start to resent you over time, thus causing him to cheat on you, and because you have insecurities a team of psychologists couldn't fix, you'll end up murdering him and his mistress at their hotel room where there are cameras, instead of plotting out a more carefully crafted double murder where you don't get caught.

Murder is usually a guaranteed life sentence, but double murder? Yeah, just...do no trap him. Let him fall in love with you naturally.

I decided I'd been standing in the hallway looking like a tool long enough. I squared my shoulders as if I was preparing to go into battle and knocked on the door. Nixon must have been standing next to the door because the door swung open not a few seconds later.

He looked down at me and he looked...confused. "Oh, hey. Uhm, I wasn't expecting you," he uttered, sounding a bit lost in thought.

It wasn't the enthusiasm I was hoping for, but it wasn't a door slammed in my face either. "I'm sorry," I immediately replied. "I probably should have called. Are you busy?"

Nixon shook his head a little, like he was clearing away the confusion on his face, and blurted out, "No. I'm not busy."

I stood there as my anxiety was taking off at rocket speed. "Can I come in?"

"What?" His brows shot upward, and he really looked out of sorts. "Of course. Yeah. Come in, come in," he muttered as he stepped aside and allowed me entrance to his apartment.

I walked and the first thing I noticed was a jacket that appeared to be feminine lying across the back of his couch. My heart started to beat frantically, and I could feel emptiness where my insides used to be.

Don't jump to conclusions.

Don't jump to conclusions.

Don't jump to conclusions.

I mean, the man had a mother, right? Maybe his parents were visiting him this evening and that's why he seemed all scattered brain. He just wasn't ready to introduce me to him parents and I've gone and placed him in an awkward position.

I wasn't going to play any games, though. I mean, he couldn't say all the things he said Saturday night and not expect me to think that we were exclusive, right? Sure, we were nowhere near a serious commitment, but the man did propose several times Saturday, so that had to mean something.

I turned to face him and pointblank asked him, "Do you have company? Am I interrupting anything?"

He stepped to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. "Not exactly," he replied. "But you're not int-" Whatever Nixon was about to say was cut short when a very stunning, built, and flawless looking blonde walked out of the hallway, wearing nothing but a matching red-laced bra and panty set that looked like it cost more than a car. She also came with perfectly matching red fuck-me heels.

She looked like she belonged as the centerfold in any men's magazine in the world.

"Oh, Nixon, darling," she sing-songed. "I can't wait any longer, lover." Her eyes shot to mine and she let out the most feminine shocked gasp I have ever heard. "Oh, my God. Oh, I'm so embarrassed." She looked back over at Nixon. "Nixon, honey, why didn't you tell me you were expecting someone."

I noticed that, in her shocked embarrassment, she hadn't bothered to shield herself in the least. But, hell, why should she? She had a perfect fucking body.

Nixon's hand dropped from my shoulders as he turned to face her. "What?"

"I better leave," I mumbled, numb, and yet, feeling like a complete fool.

Now Stop!

Here's the part where the level of your pain and humiliation is so high, you don't care if you go to jail. Your first instinct will probably be to storm over to the perfect female creation and beat the ever lovin' snot out of her, but don't. Because, let me tell you, women like that have an attorney on retainer and not only will she press charges, she'll sue you, too.

You can't afford to lose what little you have over a man-any man. Besides, she's not the cheater. Oh, you'd love to place the blame on her because if it's her fault, then your poor man was innocently outmaneuvered by a master manipulator, and you won't feel like such a weakling when you forgive him later.

Because you always want to forgive him.

You don't want to believe you weren't enough. You want to believe it has nothing to do with his love for you. You want it to be her fault.

But it's not.

It is his fault, and his fault alone.

And any man who is going to spend all night inside you on Saturday, and then have a woman, who looks nothing like you, half-naked in his house two days later isn't worth the jailtime.

No man is worth the jail time.

So, you don't whoop her ass, and you don't waste any more time on him.

I brushed past Nixon towards the door, but I wasn't even two steps in when I felt him grab my arm. "Lyric, wait a sec-"

"Nixon, who is this woman?" the perfect female asked.

Nixon turned to her but didn't release my arm. "Are you fucking kidding me, right now, Dina?"

Dina.

Her name was Dina and it fit her perfectly.

"What's going on, Nixon," she asked. "Who is she?"

The more outraged she sounded, the sorrier I felt for her. For both of us. Nixon St. James was playing us both, but it seemed like he's been playing her longer. "I'm no one," I told her, hoping I could get out of here without being subjected to any serious drama. The sooner I could get out of here, the sooner I could get home and fall apart.

Nixon ignored her questions and looked back down at me. "Lyrical, it's not what you think. She-"

I hate that phrase: 'It's not what you think'. It has got to be the biggest insult to someone's intelligence when you tell them that.

"Really? Because it looks like I interrupted a night of fun and excitement for you and Dina," I retorted, trying to hold onto my hurt emotions and temper.

"Lyric-"

"Goddamn it, Nixon," Dina barked. "Are you cheating on me?"

That was my cue.

I shook off Nixon's hold on my arm and ran out of his apartment like a coward.
Chapter 20

_Nixon~_

What the fuck was happening?

I heard the door shut behind Lyric, and as much as I loathed to leave Dina in my apartment, I knew I had to go after Lyrical. I grabbed Dina's jacket off the couch and threw it at her. As it slapped against her chest, I yelled, "You have two minutes to get your shit and get the fuck out of my house before they never find your body, Dina!"

"Are you serious?" she asked, actually offended. "Let's talk-"

I had one hand already on the doorknob. "If you've ruined what I have with that woman who just left here, I will fucking ruin you, Dina." I didn't bother to wait around for her response. I flung the front door open and ran down the hallway to chase Lyric down. The elevator doors were shutting, but I could see Lyric frantically pushing the buttons through the closing gap. "Lyrical!" I was too late, and the elevator started to descend.

Luckily, the stairwell wasn't too far away. I slammed open the door and hit those stairs running. I ran down twenty-five flights of stairs, and the only things that kept me going were adrenaline and fear. If Lyrical made it out of the lobby, I was going to lose her. I didn't care that I was barefooted, there was no way I wasn't running after her.

This couldn't be happening. It's been years since I've seen Dina, much less slept with her. I never would have thought Jackson's warning deserved any consideration. It wasn't like I was a great guy back then. Hell, I wasn't even that great of a guy now.

What Dina and I had back then had been very casual. I never treated her like a girlfriend or potential wife. We fucked. End of story. But, man, oh man, I guess that woman scorned thing was true, because that shitshow back at my apartment was all jealousy and unwarranted revenge.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Dina had probably been planning on laying out on my bed in her lingerie, hoping to entice me. But when she had heard a woman's voice in the living room, she had decided to change up her plans and fuck my life up.

And I wasn't a complete idiot. Shit looked bad. I realized that. And I knew that scene looked worse for someone with Lyric's deep seeded self-esteem issues. Now, while in my eyes, Lyric was perfect, I could only imagine what she thought looking at a perfectly built Dina Rivers. It didn't matter that Dina was fake as hell. Some women couldn't help but compare themselves to other women, and with Lyric feeling like she was shaped like a pear and undesirable, I knew that, in this moment, Lyric was convincing herself that I belonged with someone who looked like Dina.

After what felt like a lifetime, I pushed open the stairwell doors, and raced towards the elevators. I looked up to see the numbers had hit the lobby already. When I started scanning the room, I noticed Lyrical striding towards the front doors of the lobby. She had her right hand on the door handle when I reached her, grabbed her arm, and drug her into the nearest corner.

I had to give it to her. The girl was scrappy. She was fighting my hold with everything she had. "Let me go, Nixon!" she seethed, her eyes blazing with pure unadulterated hate.

"Not until you've heard me out, Lyrical," I snapped. I could admit it looked back, but I deserved a chance to explain. She couldn't just assume the worse and storm out of my life.

All my life, I've never given much thought to the women who I've slept with because I had been always upfront about my intentions. I never led them on, and I always tried to be respectful, if not detached. Dina had been no different, even though I did sleep with her longer than my other hookups. I've never been afraid of a woman dumping me or walking away from me. This was a first and, hopefully, the last.

But, fuck, Lyrical was unpredictable, and...well, crazy.

Still trying to yank her arm out of my hold, she snapped back, "I don't need to hear you out, Nixon. It's clear to anyone with eyes what that was. And if you think I'm going to stand down here, and argue with you, while you have a naked woman up in your apartment, you are sorely mistaken."

"She was not naked," I said, correcting her. I'm sure to her that distinction was irrelevant, but to me, I felt like it was something I needed to clarify.

Lyrical shook her head. "You think that matters?" she yelled, confirming that it was indeed irrelevant to her. "Fine. I'm not going to stand down here, and argue with you, while you have a half-naked woman up in your apartment."

"Lyric, don't do this," I begged as it dawned on me just how resolute her voice was. "I'll go upstairs and get rid of Dina, but please hear me out. Let me explain."

"Explain, what?" she growled. "What's there to explain?"

"That it's not what it looks like!" I snapped, feeling desperate and panicky.

I watched as Lyrical took a deep breath and did her best to calm down. I was guessing she didn't want to end up on YouTube any more than I did. When she finally got herself under control, she said, "I'm going home, Nixon. If you want to discuss this, then you can come by later, after you've...after you've handled your business with Dina."

My stomach hollowed out.

I didn't trust her words. I felt like if I let her out of my sight, I'd lose her forever. But what choice did I have? "Okay," I replied. "I'll be there ten minutes after you get home."

Lyric left me standing in the lobby as she stormed out of the building, and sometime told me to just go after her as is, but I didn't. I headed back to my place to at least grab some goddamn shoes. When I turned to rush towards the elevator, I saw it ding open, and Dina walked out.

I knew I had a violent temper, but I've never felt such rage against a woman before in my life. But even as angry as I was, I knew I couldn't kill her.

Too many witnesses, for one.

They wouldn't let Lyrical live with me in prison, for two.

"Nixon-"

I didn't stop on my way to the elevator. "Stay away from me, Dina," I called back to her. "If you ever come near me ever again, you will be sorry." I stepped into the elevator and pushed the button that would take me to my floor with more force than was necessary.

Why, why, why?

Why would The Fates do this to me? Was it payback for every woman who I never took seriously? Because, I mean...come on. Falling for a crazy person should be Karma enough, don't you think? I already knew my life would be riddled with colorful moments being with someone like Lyrical, I didn't need this trial-by-fire bullshit.

I already knew Lyric was crazy.

I already knew she wouldn't take my shit.

I already knew Lincoln was going to have to be on retainer for her, too.

I did not need Dina fucking Rivers popping into my life as a goddamn test.

I stepped out of the elevator when the doors opened to my floor. I raced to my front door, and flinging it open, I found a pair of shoes, slipped them on, grabbed my wallet and keys, and rushed back downstairs.

When the elevator hit the garage floor, I practically ran to my car. I was out of the garage in under a minute, and the entire drive to Lyric's was made in a complete state of panic.

Lyric wasn't like a lot of women. She didn't care about my money, my looks, or my family's pedigree. A lot of women would blow this off in favor of benefitting from all those three things, but not Lyrical.

Lyric was more likely to tell me to go eat a dick as she'd be to ask me to borrow five dollars. I couldn't blind her with diamonds or furs. I couldn't seduce her with good looks or charm, which, admittedly, I was short on the charm part because I had a brooding disposition, but still.

I was driving like a maniac to her place praying that begging and logic would prevail. But how did begging and logic prevail when you were dealing with someone who was prideful and crazy?

Life has come easy to me for the past few years. I haven't had to fight for anything or anyone in a long time. And I sure as hell have never fought for a woman before, so I was super out of my element, and I wasn't so insecure I couldn't admit it.

I pulled up to the curb in front of my building and the feeling was an odd one. I wasn't here to inspect the property or evict a tenant. I wasn't here to showcase the place or meet with the new building manager.

I was here to fight for the only woman who has ever inspired that out of me.

I got out of the car and briefly wondered if I should have called Linc to have him on standby. As pissed and hurt as Lyrical was, who knows what awaited me in her apartment. She probably had a set of steak knives that were going to be aimed at my head the second she opened the door.

I got onto the elevator and the ride was the longest in history. I did my best to not fidget, but the other people in the elevator could tell I was on edge.

How do I know that, you ask?

I could tell when the little girl with the blonde pigtails told her mother, "I think that man's nervous."

No shit.
Chapter 21

_Lyric~_

I didn't want to go to my apartment and wait for Nixon.

I didn't want to see him, much less, listen to whatever lame ass excuse he has planned to follow 'It's not what it looks like' up with.

But the funny thing about it all? I wasn't even sure what I was feeling right now. My heart was telling me it was broken, while my mind was telling me to be practical since Nixon and I had never clarified that this thing we were doing was exclusive. However, my anger? My anger was telling me to go back there and beat that woman until she no longer looked like perfection. And it was also telling me to cut off Nixon's dick and feed it to him until he choked to death.

And, oh, how I wanted to listen to my anger, but pride stepped up and was telling me to get it together. It was also pointing out that I should be quite tired of humiliating myself in front of Nixon by now. And I totally decided to ignore my mind when it kept trying to interject that we had never established exclusivity. Besides, it wasn't like Nixon didn't already know that I was crazy. So, if I decided to go ahead and ignore my broken heart, mind, and pride, and just feed into my anger and go balls-out on the fuckface, he shouldn't be surprised, right?

It was only eight minutes later when there was a knock on my door. I seriously contemplated not answering, but if there was one thing that I knew to be true, it was that people need closure. You needed the grand finale or else you ended up with pockets of self-doubt later down the road. And I might not have an issue living with pockets of insanity every now and again, but regret sucked, and so, I tried to avoid it as much as possible.

I answered the door, and a very haggard looking Nixon St. James stood before me. At least, he put on some shoes, which was a good thing, since he looked like he ran here. I stepped back and gave him enough room to walk into my apartment, even though what I really wanted to do was slam the door in his overly handsome face.

When the door shut behind me, Nixon turned around and he looked like he had so much to say, but suddenly, had forgotten how to speak English. He looked lost, and I hated that. I hated it because he actually looked like he was the victim in all this.

The asshole.

"Lyrical, I-"

I put my hand to stop him. I knew that I told him he could come over to explain, but I really just didn't feel like hearing his bullshit. And because I had deep seeded issues, even if there was an innocent explanation for all of this, seeing firsthand the kind of women who he got involved with was a real eye opener.

How it in the hell did a pear compete with a shiny, ruby red apple? Everyone loved apples. They were so loved, there was even a saying coined after them: 'An apple a day keeps the doctor away'. Have you ever heard any snazzy sayings about pears? No? Yeah, well, neither have I.

"Nixon, can I be real with you?" I asked, even though his answer was nonconsequential since I was going to say what I had to say, regardless.

Nixon let out a deep sigh. "Have you ever been anything else?" What a fucking twat. I mean, he's the one who fucked up here. You'd think the least he could do was watch his words.

I decided to ignore his comment, because let's face it, it hadn't really been a question, and I had been about to go full-blown psycho on him. But my pride rose up from the ashes of my broken self-esteem and whispered, "This will be like the hundredth time you've humiliated yourself in front of this man. Don't do it, Lyrical. Don't. Do. It."

And then, the pressure started building behind my eyes and I could feel my nose tingle and that just couldn't be. My pride was right, and Nixon's comment of 'Have you ever been anything else' was enough for me to pull out my hidden supply of cold, cool, and calculated. "Nixon, let me be frank with you," I started, ignoring the tick in his jaw. It was probably due to how unaffected my voice sounded. "It really doesn't matter whatever you have planned to say. No words, explanations, or excuses can create time travel and make what just happened not happen. And I'm finding that two weeks of knowing a person doesn't exactly equal an epic heartbreak just because I wasn't the only one. So, I-"

Nixon was up in my face before I knew what he was about. He snatched me by my arm and shook me a little. Gotta say, I wasn't expecting that. "You are the only one, Lyrical," he snapped. "You've been the only one since the second you accused me of cheating on Randall with Lincoln. I haven't been with or wanted to be with anyone else since I met you."

Now Stop!

This might be the part where you cave. Where your heart overrules your mind and screams to believe him. But do you know why it does that? It does that because heartbreak is painful as hell. It hurts so much, you'd give almost anything to not feel the anguish you're feeling. Your heart convinces you that it was all a big misunderstanding, so that you can look yourself in the mirror everyday, even though, deep down, you know the real truth.

But you don't cave.

You don't cave because your mind explains to your heart that we can get through this heartbreak once, but we're not sure if we can twice. And if a man cheats once, he'll cheat again.

I tried to laugh out an evil cackle like they did in the movies, but it just sounded like I was choking on my own spit. Once I got that shit under control, I was able to pull off a respectable scoff and said, "Says the man who had a half-naked goddess walking out of his bedroom." I yanked my arm out of Nixon's grasp. "Jesus Christ, Nixon. You must really think me stupid. Or desperate."

His jaw ticked again, but I didn't care how pissed he was. "I can explain tha-"

"Oh, I'm sure you can," I scoffed, instead of trying for the evil cackle again. "Let's see, she's a model who got lost in your building and she mistook your friendly help for something more. Or she's your sister, but she's just friendlier than most. Or she's a crazy ex who is stalking you and climbed in your bedroom window unbeknownst to you. Or-"

"That's enough, Lyric," Nixon barked. "Are you going to listen to what I have to say or not?"

I cocked my head at him, pretty proud of myself that I wasn't a blubbering mess right now, and laid out the absolute truth of the situation. "Here's the thing, Nixon," I replied. "It doesn't matter which one of those scenarios are right, if any. It doesn't matter because it's not like we were in a relationship or anything like that."

His face paled a little bit. "Lyr-"

"We've only known each other for a couple of weeks and we've only fucked, like twice," I recalled coldly. "It's not like you were my boyfriend and I had all exclusive rights or something."

Nixon's face went from pale to a furious red. And I think Furious Red should be a legit shade on the color prism because it looked extremely colorful on Nixon's pissed off face. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

I shrugged a shoulder, sticking with Cool Lyrical. "Well, I mean, sure I was upset at first. I think it was the unexpected shock, you know. But once I had time to think about it...well, you aren't my boyfriend, Nixon. You never were, so it's totally cool if we see other people. It's my fault, anyway, for not calling ahead to let you know I was stopping by."

Nixon stood there, giving me the dirtiest look imaginable, and then he was able to do what I hadn't been. The bastard cackled evilly as he said, "Bull-fucking-shit, Lyrical." He grabbed me by my arm again. "You think I don't know what you're doing?" He didn't let me answer. "I know exactly what you're doing."

I didn't bother to try to break free from his hold. We both knew he could out muscle me. "Oh, yeah? What am I doing?"

"You're playing like what we've done doesn't mean anything, so that you're not hurt by the truth you already believe inside that beautiful, whacked-out head of yours," he hissed in my face.

How dare he bring up my mental defects!

"So, then what's the story, Nixon?" I asked, not really wanting to know, because the man had hit the nail on the head. "If the story in my whacked-out head is false, then what's the truth?"

Nixon's gorgeous face contorted into a vicious snarl, and I'm not going to lie, it was kind of hot. "That fucking bit-woman in my apartment was someone who I briefly dated a couple of years back." I knew I wasn't going to like his explanation, but the pang still hit hard at hearing that he had been involved with that vision of perfection at one point in time. "She got married last year, and she stopped by to tell me that it didn't work out and that she's moved back to town. She was hoping that I'd sowed all my wild oats and was ready to settle down. Preferably with her."

"And you insisted the conversation take place with her dressed in her lingerie?"

Did I look stupid?

"No," he snapped out. "I told her I was dating you and she asked if she could use the restroom before she left. I didn't think anything of it and told her yes." Nixon ran a hand through his chocolate tresses and let out a low growl. "She must have heard us talking and decided to put on that ridiculous show, hoping to break us up, and maybe make me available to her again. I don't know, Lyric. But I didn't have a half-naked woman at my place. If I had, you think I would have let you come inside?" I hated that his story sounded plausible. I hated the fact that some women are capable of that kind of deceit and drama.

But worse than that?

I hated that I wanted to believe him.

Those women? Those women who are so in love or so desperate for affection that they jump at the chance to believe the first excuse to leave the betrayer's mouth? Yeah. I didn't want to be one of those women. I didn't want to be blinded by love or desire. I didn't want to be a fool.

I planted my hands on my hips and cocked my head. "And it only took you eight minutes to come up with that story?" I smirked. "I'm impressed."
Chapter 22

_Nixon~_

I was pissed.

I was so fucking pissed, and the only thing keeping me from tearing the place apart was the fact that this woman, who'd given herself over to me Saturday night, had walked into my apartment to find a hot woman wearing nothing but lingerie coming out of my hallway as if we had a night of debauchery scheduled.

I knew how bad it looked, and for that reason alone, I was doing my best not to flip the fuck out at Lyrical calling me a liar to my face. In all my thirty-three years of life, I've been a lot of things, but never a liar. I didn't lie. There was no point in it. Sure, it made me appear like a dick sometimes, but in my opinion, the truth was more important than what people thought of me. And, right now, I was trying to recall the last time someone insulted my integrity to my face.

I couldn't remember the last time.

My back straightened and I could feel the anger boiling in my veins and I wasn't doing anything to hide it from my face. I towered over Lyrical, pissed as fuck. "It's not a story I made up," I seethed. "It's the fucking truth, Lyrical. She's someone I used to fuck with years ago, and she didn't take it well when I told her I'd moved on to a relationship that was actually serious."

The mutinous look on her face faltered a bit, but she was quick to call on her reinforcements. She shrugged her damn shoulder again as if she didn't have a care in the world. "I don't really care if your story is true or not, Nixon. The fact remains that we've only known each other for a couple of weeks. There's nothing wrong with seeing other people."

That was the second time she's said that shit, and it was making me murderous. Hell, maybe I was in love with her, because I couldn't imagine how I was getting this feral over her if I wasn't. I could barely get the words out, but I managed through gritted teeth. "I will fuck up any man you dare bring home, Lyrical. So, I suggest you don't."

Her beautiful brown eyes widened, and I could see she wasn't expecting that. "You...you can't just say stuff like that," she announced. "Fighting is against the law, Nixon. You'll get arrested."

Like I gave a fuck.

"Well, then I guess it's a good thing that Lincoln's a damn good criminal lawyer," I snapped. Jesus Christ, I was pissed. I couldn't recall ever being so mad before in my life, and that's saying something with the temper I have. But Lyrical was trying me something fierce.

She must have seemed to realize that she's broken her cool, aloof persona, because she quickly shook off her shock and went back to acting like an ice princess. "Don't be ridiculous, Nixon," she huffed. "Jail isn't worth it over a casual hookup."

Forget assault on her imaginary lover, Lincoln was going to have to defend me for murder. Because I was about to strangle the shit out of this crazy woman saying fucked-up shit like that. "Believe me when I tell you, nothing about you is casual, Lyric," I said acidly. "But that aside, I'm not lying about how Dina ended up in my apartment. I'm not a fucking liar."

She narrowed her eyes at me, finally getting rid of her cool girl act. "Even if your story is true, Nixon, that doesn't mean you need to explain yourself to me," she snapped. "Like I said, this is a casual hook-"

Fuck that shit.

I wasn't going to stand here and listen to her tell me how acceptable it was to have another woman in my apartment. I was not going to stand here and let her downplay our connection, because, believe me, we had one. Even if she didn't want to acknowledge it right now.

My arm snaked out, and grabbing her by her arm, I pulled her towards me, and then flung her crazy ass over the back of the couch. She was wearing a skirt and I just knew-just knew-The Good Lord had done me this favor to make up for Satan steering Dina in my direction. He was a good Lord, after all.

"Nixon, what are you doing?" Lyrical gasped.

I had her skirt flipped up over her waist with one hand positioned flat in the middle of her back, keeping her in place. My other hand was working my button and zipper. "I'm proving to you that this thing between us is anything but casual."

"Oh, my God! Are you insane?" she said, adding more gasping to her theatrics.

"Yes," I bit back. "I am, now that you mention it. You want to know why? Because you make me fucking crazy, Lyric. You are constantly driving me out of my goddamn mind. So, congratulations, you win. You win my sanity, my heart, my soul...all of it!"

"Nixon..." she breathed out.

I didn't want to hear it.

I just didn't.

Lyrical thought I was bullshitting, but I wasn't. She was seriously driving me out of my goddamn mind, and I didn't know how to deal with it. I wasn't good with uncertainty and shit was always uncertain where this woman was concerned.

The second my dick was freed, I yanked Lyric's panties down until they got trapped around the middle of her thighs and I slid my cock between her ass cheeks, and sure enough, when the head of my dick rubbed against her opening, it was already slick with need.

Casual my motherfucking ass.

I rammed my cock in hard and deep and I ignored her scream as I started pounding into her tight, hot paradise. "Motherfucker." I couldn't stop the hiss that escaped from my lips. Both nights I spent with Lyric, I spent them fucking her all night long, but sliding into her always felt like the first time.

"Oh, God, Nixon..."

My hands grabbed her hips, and I was pounding into her body so hard, the couch kept moving with every thrust. I was so lost in the sensation of her tight pussy, it was hard to think, much less speak, but I managed. "Want to tell me again how this is casual?" I panted out.

"Nixon, please..."

"Please, what? Please, make you cum? Or, please, go make Dina cum?" It was a fucked-up thing to say. It had to be the biggest asshole moment of my life, but I was pissed. Of course, that wasn't any excuse because anger didn't give anyone the right to hurt someone else's feelings. But Lyric was accusing me of being a liar and saying it was okay for us to fuck other people. I just wanted her to put her money where her mouth was.

"Fuck you, Nixon!" she screamed. "Fuck you!"

Interesting that I noticed she didn't ask me to stop as she was cussing me out. "Ah, so then, it is you that you want me to make cum, huh?"

Lyrical reached back and her hands started pushing at my chest. She was slapping away, trying to get me off her. "Get off me!"

Since I wasn't a rapist, I pulled out of her immediately, and took a couple of steps back. I wasn't expecting to see what I saw when Lyrical whirled around to face me.

Lyrical looked like she hated my guts.

The hate, the pain, the regret...they were consuming everything that made up those beautiful brown eyes of hers. I watched her skirt slide down over her hips as I tucked my dick back into my pants. "Get out of my house, Nixon," she seethed, hate dripping from every syllable. "Get out of my house and don't ever come back. Don't ever call or come by or...or anything!" Tears started streaming down her face and I wasn't sure if they were from pain or anger.

The full force of what I had just done hit me as soon as her tears spilled over, and regret was like the heaviest of boulders sitting in the pit of my stomach. "Lyrica-"

"No. Fuck you, Nixon!" she yelled. "You stick your dick inside me as some half-ass show of proof that what we have is serious, but then you dare to say another woman's name at the same time? Are you fucking kidding me?!"

I put my hand up to try to calm her. "Look, I realized that might have been an error on my part, but-"

Her eyes rounded and her brows shot up. "Might have been?" Lyric shook her head and her usually beautiful face contorted maliciously. "Whether casual or not, it doesn't matter anymore, Nixon," she said, her voice full of conviction and hatred. "Whatever this is, it's over. Now, get out of my house."

Panicked was probably the word I'd use to describe what my entire body was feeling right now. I screwed up, and I screwed up badly. And we didn't have a long history to keep her from ending this. We didn't have words of love, or kids to keep her from just cutting her losses altogether.

"I'm going to leave, Lyric, because we're both in a bad head space right now," I told her. "But you're out of your mind if you think this is over." She went to open her mouth, but I cut her off. "I know I fucked up, but you fucked up, too. You should have given me the benefit of the doubt and not jump to the automatic conclusion that painted me as the bad guy. I'm a lot of things, Lyrical, but I'm not a fucking liar."

She raised her chin and did her best to stare me down. "You might not be a liar, Nixon," she said, her eyes lasered in on mine. "But you're definitely a mistake. One I won't keep repeating." Lyrical stormed back to her bedroom, not giving me a chance to claim that I wasn't.
Chapter 23

_Lyric~_

There was music, laughter, and conversation all around me, but I wasn't absorbing any of it. The only thing I was absorbing was the alcohol from the beers and tequila shots.

"Look, Lyric," Rena said right after our third shot. "I get that what he did was super dickish, but you gotta take some responsibility for this crap, too."

I twisted in my barstool to gape at her. "What? You're supposed to be on my side, dammit!"

She rolled her eyes. "I am on your side, Lyric. I'm always on your side," she assured me. "The thing is, had you given Nixon a chance to explain, it wouldn't have gotten that far."

"And you think he deserved for me to hear him out?" I scoffed. "He had a half-naked bimbo in his apartment, Rena."

Rena cocked her head at me. "Let me ask you this. Do you believe him or not about what that woman was doing there?"

Ugh! That was the worst part of all this bullshit. I did believe him. I believed him, but I didn't want to. I wasn't going to lie to Rena, though. "I do," I admitted. "I do, but I don't want to."

Rena's face was full of confused surprise when she asked, "Why the hell not?"

I downed my beer and signaled the bartender for another round. I looked back at my best friend and told her the absolute, insecure truth of the matter. "Because I don't want to be that female, Rena."

"What fucking female?" She shook her head and yelled at the bartender, "And another round of shots, too, please." She looked back at me and repeated, "What fucking female?"

"The one that's so in love she ignores the signs, Rena. That female," I groaned. "The female who...who sits at home, like an ignorant fool, while the man she thinks loves her is fucking around with other women behind her back. That goddamn female, Rena. That one!"

"Jesus Christ, Lyr. What has Nixon done to ever give you the impression that he would turn you into that kind of woman? You've only known the man...what? Three weeks?"

The bartender placed our beers and shots in front of us, and like the fine-tuned engine that our friendship was, we halted the conversation and threw back our shots before resuming our points. "God, Rena," I said on a sad, sad laugh. "You should have seen her. She was too perfect-looking to be real."

Rena's face softened as soon as she realized what the real issue at hand was. "Lyrical..."

"I got scared, Rena," I finally admitted out loud. "I...I think I'm really falling for Nixon and when I compared myself to...to what he's used to dating, well, how the hell am I supposed to keep his interest in the long run?"

"Oh, sweetie," she said sadly. "Then tell him that. You've always spoken your mind about anything and everything, so don't start hiding now, Lyric. Tell him the truth. Be honest and let him decide if he wants to commit to having to reassure you forever or if he'd rather just walk away."

I took a drink of my new beer before asking, "Just like that, huh? It's just that simple?"

Rena scoffed. "Hell to the fucking no. There's nothing simple about laying yourself bare to another person, especially one who already intimidates you. I imagine it's going to be one of the hardest things you've ever done."

"Thanks," I deadpanned. "Thanks for that. So, you're saying I'm the one who needs to apologize?"

"Fuck no," she scoffed again. "He needs to apologize. He needs to apologize for the ex and being a first-class dick. What you need to do is let him because you haven't been being fair to the man. From the beginning you have been using your insecurities as a shield against whatever he's been trying to build with you."

I twisted all the way around on my barstool and looked out over the lounge. It was only early evening, but it was already crowding with preppy types and professionals who appeared to be real professionals. I imagined this was the type of place the St. James men would frequent and feel comfortable being here.

Rena's gaze followed mine. "I still don't know why you chose this place. These people set their drinks down on coasters and there's not even a karaoke machine anywhere in sight."

I let out a soft laugh. "I chose this place because I was pretty sure we wouldn't run into anyone we knew," I answered. "I wanted to wallow in private, but where there was an unlimited amount of booze at my disposal."

"Well, we definitely aren't going to run into any of our people here, that's for sure," Rena retorted, her voice full of wryness.

I had a good buzz going, and I knew I needed to speak with Nixon, so I was about to suggest we leave, but then a tall, perfect looking, platinum blonde walking in caught my eye.

Motherfucker.

"That's her," I announced before thinking better of it. This was Rena I was talking to, after all. The woman wasn't afraid to catch a court case.

"Who's her?" She asked, but then realization dawned as she took in my expression as I stared at Dina standing near the door, her head swiveling about, taking in the scene.

My voice caught when Dina's casual glance found me looking at her. The fucking bitch smirked and actually had the audacity to make her way over towards us.

This bitch.

Her expensive, black heels stopped directly in front of me, and she only spared Rena a quick glance before turning her attention back on me. "I'm sorry," she said smoothly. "I wasn't able to catch your name the last time we...uh, met."

I called on every scrap of inner pride I had and did my best to keep my face looking neutral and making sure my temper stayed in check. "It's Lyrical," I replied, then added, "Dina."

The corner of her lip lifted, and her face looked perfectly haughty. "Ah, so Nixon has mentioned me," she replied.

Rena was quiet as a tomb sitting next to me, but I knew that could change at any moment now. "Only as he was explaining how you arrived at his apartment, pathetic and desperate to get back together," I said cheekily.

This time, her lip curled, and she looked ugly and jealous. "And I supposed you've convinced yourself to believe I wasn't there at his request? You believe I wasn't naked in his apartment for a reason?"

If I hadn't believed Nixon before, I'd believe him now. Dina's hate, jealousy, and ugliness were palpable with every word she spoke. "I know you weren't there at his request," I stated, firmly and confidently. "And the reason you were there was exactly as Nixon explained. It was a pathetic attempt to lure him back into a relationship with you." I cocked my head to the side. "But then, was it really a relationship or did you guys just fuck?"

"You bitch!" she shrieked, not caring about our audience.

I smiled. "Perhaps," I conceded. "But at least I'm not a desperate, pathetic one."

Rena laughed beside me. "You tell her, Lyr." Dina's face turned towards Rena and did the one thing she shouldn't have.

This dumb bitch got crazy with Rena Salinger.

"Why don't you mind your own goddamn business, you stupid cow!"

Wow.

Pointing out her desperation must have really hit a sore spot.

Rena hopped off her barstool, causing me to hop off mine. Rena narrowed her eyes at Dina. "Bitch, just because we're not out in the street doesn't mean I won't kick your motherfucking ass."

Dina scoffed. "You think I'm scared of you?"

Rena planted her hands on her hips. "You should be," she countered, and it was then that I realized I couldn't let my friend get in trouble over my drama with Nixon. She didn't deserve the bullshit that would come with popping Dina in the face.

Now Stop!

This is the part where you might want to just pop Dina one, but you don't. You don't because you know deep down that you've won. Nixon doesn't want her. He wants you. So, you become the bigger person because fighting is for the uncouth.

But then, that was my best friend she was fucking with.

I turned towards my best friend and said, "Rena, I got this."

She looked over at me and gave me one short nod. "Then go get it."

I smiled, turned towards Dina, and announced loud enough for everyone near us to hear, "No one talks to my best friend like that." I led with my left because everyone is always expecting the right. I felt the cartilage in her nose crunch under the power of my punch and it was an all-out girl-on-girl cat fight after that.

Dina wasn't a pussy, I'll give her that. She fought, but too bad for her, she fought like a girl. Years of backyard defense sessions with my dad had taught me how to actually fight. I swung punches while Dina scratched and pulled hair.

Not sure how long we fought, but it was long enough for the police to show up.

Handcuffs and all.
Chapter 24

_Nixon~_

It was almost midnight, but I was still wide-ass fucking awake. I was still drowning in regret at what I'd done to Lyric earlier. And the longer I thought about it, the more I realized I wouldn't blame her if she really meant what she said about never wanting to see me again.

The fourth tumbler of whiskey went down smoother than the first three and I wondered if I was drinking to get drunk or just to take the edge off. Tomorrow was a workday, but since I was the boss, I could call in with a hangover, no problem.

I set the glass down on the coffee table and ran my hands up and down my face. Maybe I should just go back to her apartment and beg for forgiveness. Maybe I should just get it over with and tell her I was pretty sure that I was in love with her.

I mean, it had to be love. No man in his right mind would tie himself to a woman who was certifiably crazy if it wasn't love. And, more than anything, I wanted to tie myself to Lyrical, no matter her level of insanity.

I also didn't care about her insecurities. Sure, I hoped one day she'd be able to see herself the way I saw her, and know that she was beautiful and loved for exactly the person she was, but if I had to spend the rest of my life buying her flowers every week and telling her she was beautiful every night, then I'd do it.

I'd do it because nothing and no one has ever made me feel the way Lyrical does. I've constructed the most amazing structures in this city. I've designed the most elegant buildings in this town. I've felt the highs of deadlines and the pure elation standing before a finished masterpiece that had my name on it.

I've bedded women with perfect bodies and flawless faces. I've fucked women who had absolutely no limits in bed because they thought my wallet would buy them respectability. I've been surrounded by models, heiresses, and escorts who embodied perfection.

And nothing...not any of my buildings, not any of those women, not the best champagne in the world, not the most expensive meal on the planet...none of it made me feel a fraction of what I felt when I was with Lyrical. Whether it was being buried deep inside her or trying to figure out her crazy, being with her made me feel...alive. Like every color would dim and nothing would shine if she wasn't waiting for me at home at the end of the day.

Fuck, I was in goddamn love.

No question about it.

And now armed with that certainty, there was only one thing left to do.

I had to go beg.

It was almost midnight, so I contemplated just going over to her place dressed as is, in lounge pants and nothing else...well, maybe some shoes. But as I stood up seriously nixing the idea of decent clothing, I heard the sounds of my front door unlocking. There were only four people on the planet who had keys to my place, and they were my parents, Jackson, and Lincoln.

I remained where I stood and watched as Linc pushed open the door and walked inside. I could feel the beginning tingles of adrenaline start mingling in my blood. If Lincoln was here this late, something was definitely wrong.

His steps faltered the second he noticed me standing in the middle of my living room. "Oh, hey, Nix," he greeted. "I just came by to let you know that you owe me twenty-grand."

My brows shot up in surprise. Not what I was expecting, but my mind couldn't possibly conjure up what I owed Linc twenty Gs for. "Oh, really?"

He chuckled, sarcasm in that small act. "Yeah. Really." He shut the door behind him and walked into my place until he was standing only a few feet away from me.

Okay. I'll bite. I placed my hands on my hips and asked, "And why do I owe you twenty-thousand dollars, Linc?"

His smirk should have tipped me off, but my mind was so consumed with thoughts of how I was going to beg Lyrical to forgive me, I was a little slow on the uptake. "I just came from the jailhouse where I bailed out your girl and that firecracker friend of hers," he announced as if that little bit of information hadn't just made my entire world shift.

"I'm sorry, what?" I had to have heard him wrong, right? He meant to say he bailed Rena out as a favor to Lyrical, which was like a favor to me since Lyric was my girl, right? There's no fucking way he said he just bailed Lyrical and Rena out of jail.

No. Fucking. Way.

Lincoln flashed me a full-on grin. "Little brother, I fear I must apologize," he said.

Jesus Christ, why did everything have to be a goddamn show with him? "For what?"

"For thinking that you sucked in the sack," he replied, laughing. "If you sucked in bed, then there wouldn't have been a full-blown melee of females fighting over you at Class."

The bottom of my stomach fell out. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Linc's smile remained plastered on his idiotic face when he started explaining. "I got a call around nine, or so, and it was Lyric using her one phone call to call me." He shrugged a shoulder. "I recognized the number as one of the extensions from the county jail, so I answered. And I bet you can imagine my surprised when it was your girl on the other end."

The fuck? "What happened? And how in the fuck did she even get your number?"

Linc leaned his ass against the back of the couch and folded his arms across his chest. "She found my number in the list of attorneys the jail provides for arrests. Her call had gone straight to the answering service, but when they answered she told them she was my sister-in-law and she needed them to patch me through immediately or give her my number outright." I closed my eyes at the thought of how that conversation went because she obviously had gotten Lincoln's direct number. "Anyway, after she proved she knew enough to appear as if she really was really my sister-in-law, they gave her my number when she told them her phone was confiscated and she didn't have my number memorized."

"Jesus Christ," I breathed out. This was real. Lincoln wasn't bullshitting.

"She called me, and I gotta say, Nix, it was the strangest conversation I think I've ever had with somebody in all my life," he chuckled. I was absolutely positive it was. "She went on to say it's only assault with the intent to commit bodily harm if a weapon was used and a weapon wasn't used. And then, she went on to further explain that if she could just explain to the judge that it was Dina's fault for letting her evil run loose and unchecked, he'd understand. Had Dina never approached her, she would never have popped her one." Lincoln laughed. "She actually said that, Nixon."

"And Rena?" I had to ask. I wanted to know what all I'd be dealing with.

"That one is a little more tricky," he winced, finally getting serious. "She wasn't involved with the fight, but she was definitely involved with the resisting arrest when she was trying to defend Lyrical."

I ran my hand through my hair. "Goddamn it." I looked at my brother. "Where is she now? Is she at home or at Rena's?"

"I don't know, Nix," he replied. "I walked her to her door, but she could have gone to Rena's after I left. She might feel like they need to get their stories straight to avoid the death penalty."

"Not funny, Lincoln," I muttered, glaring at the prick.

"Oh, I disagree," he chortled. "It's very funny."

"So, what are they looking at, Linc?" I didn't think their transgressions were going to warrant them the death penalty, but assault when I had no idea what kind of criminal record they had-and let's face it, they probably both had criminal records-was kind of worrisome.

Lincoln shrugged his shoulder. "I don't think it's that serious, Nix. However, she is being charged with assault, public disturbance, and I wouldn't be surprised if they do a psych-hold on her."

"Ha. Ha," I deadpanned.

Linc smiled. "The problem is she hit first, Nixon," he said, getting serious. "If Dina wants to make a big stink out of this, it could get ugly."

I narrowed my eyes at my brother. "Then you find something on Dina to make sure it doesn't get ugly, Linc," I demanded. "As a matter of fact, find something that makes this go away entirely."

The asshole winked at me. "I'm already on it, little brother."

I ran both my hands through my hair and back down my face. "Jesus Christ," I mumbled.

"Is she crazy, Nixon?" Linc asked, needing to know what kind of mental mind he might have to defend.

"Nuttier than a fruitcake, Linc," I answered honestly. "Like, if it's hereditary, my children are going to be fucked."

Linc's lip twitched and I could tell he was trying not to laugh. "You love her?"

"Every crazy inch of her," I admitted.

Lincoln clasped a hand on my shoulder. "It's going to be okay, Nixon," he assured me. "I'll make my soon-to-be-sister-in-law my priority, along with her nutjob friend."

I let out a deep breath, but it didn't help. "Thanks, Linc."
Chapter 25

_Lyric~_

I should be sleeping, but I was too amped up to go to bed. I've spent years trying to keep my big mouth shut and my impulses curbed to avoid the very thing that just happened.

I got arrested and ended up in goddamn jail.

And I owe Lincoln St. James twenty-thousand dollars. Like I have twenty-thousand dollars!! I was sure he'd take payments, but it'd take around eighty-three years to pay that shit off at twenty-dollars a month, and that's about what my budget would allow right now.

Maybe if Rena and I agreed to weekly blowjobs, he'd lower the debt. But, God, I didn't want to blow Lincoln. I wanted to blow Nixon, and I was pretty sure Nixon wasn't into sharing, much less sharing with his brother.

The knock on my door wasn't enough to distract me from the impossible math in my head, so I just hollered, "Come in," certain it was Rena and she needed to do math with me. Her budget was no wealthier than mine.

I mean, what's the price range on blowjobs? Would we have to visit a street corner and get a price listing? My mind started giving me a headache with all the logistics popping up all over the place. I mean, there's a blowjob, but then there's deepthroating. And then, there's swallowing, spitting it out, or letting it fly all over the place.

And then, what if the man wants a deepthroat, but you're not capable? Does he get a discount? I dropped down on the couch, closed my eyes, and began to rub my temples.

What a disaster.

"So, I'm thinking, I can afford to pay back Lincoln like twenty-dollars a month, but it'll take eighty years to pay it all off. And, Rena, hear me out," I implored. "Since half of the bill belongs to you, and you're hot and single, I say we can take turns blowing him to cut down the bill. But you're going to have to actually do him, if he requires it, because...I just don't think I can, Ree."

"What the fuck?"

I yelped and jumped up off the couch to find a very pissed off looking Nixon St. James staring at me. "Uh...Nixon, what are you doing here?" Could this night get any worse?

"Listening to how you plan on blowing my brother for a bail discount, apparently," he growled.

"Well, I don't have twenty-thousand-dollars, Nixon!" I yelled. God, didn't the man have any compassion? "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

He bore down on me. "Not blow my fucking brother!" he thundered. "Who, by the way, doesn't take blowjobs as payment, or any other sexual favors!"

"Well, it's not like I want to blow him, Nixon," I explained. "But I don't want to go to prison more."

"Holy Mary, Mother of God," he grumbled, clearly pissed and at his wit's end. "You are not going to prison for a fight unless you are parole or something like that, Lyric. Are you on parole?"

"Well, no," I admitted.

"Is Rena?"

"No," I mumbled, finally realizing that I may be overreacting a bit. But in my defense, it's been a hell of a night.

"I'll handle Linc's bill, Lyric," he stated, still giving me the stink-eye. "You don't have to worry about it."

My eyes widened. Even if we were dating, I wouldn't put that kind of commitment on his shoulders. "Nixon, you can't pa-"

"Lyric, so help me God, if you say you'd rather blow my brother than let me pay the bail, I think I will finally succumb to strangling the fuck out of you," he growled.

I took a deep breath, and because he sounded unreasonably serious, I decided to drop the topic of Lincoln's bill. "What are you doing here, Nixon?"

His face relaxed a bit, but I could tell he was still on edge. "I came to see if you were okay," he replied.

I knew what I was about to say sounded extremely juvenile, but I couldn't help it. I smiled and said, "Not a scratch on me."

Nixon finally moved past me blowing his brother and chuckled. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

I dropped back down on the couch and let out a long breath. "Sure. Take a seat."

Nixon sat down next to me, but before I could recount tonight's festivities, he placed his hand on my knee and said, "I'm actually here for two reasons, and I'll tell you the second after you've finished telling me what the hell happened tonight, okay?"

I nodded, and then went on to explain how I came to be at Class and all the way to how I came to be sitting in the county jail. "It was all her fault," I mumbled at the end of my story.

Nixon squeezed my knee and said, "No, baby. It's actually all my fault."

My shocked gaze latched onto his sincere hazel one. "How do you figure?"

"Everything I told you about Dina being in my apartment is true, Lyric. However, the fault lies in the fact that I never should have let her in my place to begin with. When I think of how I would feel if I showed up at your place and someone you used to mess with was there, with or without his clothes, on...fuck, Lyric, Lincoln would be bailing me out of jail, too." Nixon shook his head in remorse and regret. "I never should have let her in my apartment for politeness sake. Being a gentleman, when I've never really cared if I was one or not, shouldn't have taken precedence over having another woman in my apartment and how that could look."

My eyes started to water at his apology and his need to take responsibility for my insecurities and mental unstableness. "Nixon, you don't ha-"

"No, Lyrical, I do have to," he said, cutting me off. "I have to because I love you. I know it's only been a matter of weeks, and way too soon to profess our love for one another, but it's the truth. What I feel for you is love. Pure, unconditional, irrevocable love."

Not Stop!

This is the part where you might start to panic because the man you're pretty sure you're in love with said it first. That panic might set off a chain of events where your uncontrollable emotions might get you committed into the local psychiatric ward, where they do serve pudding on Fridays, but that still won't make up for the fact that you're in a mental institution.

So, instead of acting like the completely unbalanced, emotional, neurotic nerd that you are, you throw yourself at the man of your dreams until you're straddling his lap and looking into those perfect hazel eyes of his.

Nixon loved me.

I started playing with the strands of his hair that brushed his neck and I realized this is what I wanted. I wanted love with Nixon, but I wanted comfortable, too. I wanted to be comfortable enough to be myself around him and not feel like I was being judged for being a crazy pear.

"I'm crazy, so that's my excuse for falling in love in two weeks. What's your excuse?" I teased.

Nixon laughed, and the sound settled something in my heart. His hands rested on my hips and they felt like they belonged there. "I don't need an excuse to fall in love with you, Lyric. I just did and I just am," he stated simply.

"Okay," I whispered. "But I have to ask, Nixon. How much crazy can you take?"

His hands left my hips and reached up to cradle my face. Nixon leaned up and placed a sweet, soft kiss on my lips before saying, "Lyrical, when it comes to you, my crazy threshold is unlimited."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "I mean, don't speak that of which you don't know, Nixon. Things can get pretty crazy around me in case you haven't noticed."

Nixon chuckled. "Oh, I've noticed, baby. Believe me, I've noticed." I smiled as Nixon searched my eyes. "Lyrical, I need you to tell me you believe me about Dina. I swear to you, you're the only woman I want. You're the only woman I'll ever want."

I voiced my fears. "How can you be so sure?"

"I'm thirty-three-years-old, Lyric," he said. "I'm not a green boy who's just lost his virginity. I've experienced a lot of things in my life, and nothing and no one I've ever come across has ever made me feel the way you do. I'm in love for the first time in my life, and it's going to be the last, Lyrical."

I let the tears fall because Nixon has seen my crazy and he loves me, regardless. I didn't need to hide my feelings from him. "I love you, Nixon."

His right hand brushed my face, and he smirked. God, he was gorgeous. "Enough to risk going to prison since there's no way in hell I'm letting you blow my brother?" he teased.

The answer was easy.

"Enough to let you pay off your brother, so I don't have to blow him to stay out of prison," I teased back.

Nixon laughed. "Good to know, baby. Good to know."
Epilogue

_Lyric~_

"Jesus Christ, I can't believe you were going to make me wait for his," Nixon panted out.

"We're at your goddamn parents' house, Nixon," I voiced, doing my best not to scream out loud.

His hands tightened on my hips as he rammed into me from behind. We were locked in the guest bathroom while everyone else was outside enjoying the barbeque put together by the St. James family. "Believe me, nothing would please my parents more than knowing their soon-to-be-daughter-in-law was being fucked without protection in their bathroom."

My hands gripped the counter edge in a white-knuckle hold. "What are you...oh, God. Oh, God, Nixon. Right there." I pushed my ass back helping him reach that spot. "I'm on birth control, you know."

"Oh, fuck, baby," he groaned. "Your pussy's so fucking hot and tight."

"Harder, Nixon," I begged. "Fuck me harder."

And, boy, did he ever.

Nixon started pounding into me so hard, I knew if anyone entered the house, they'd know what we were doing. Never mind that I've already met his parents, and they seemed to like me, it still seemed...uh, inappropriate to let their son fuck me like a cheap whore in their bathroom.

"I'm going to cum, Nixon," I announced as if he didn't know my body as well as his own.

"Fuck, yeah, Lyric," he grunted. "Cum on my cock, baby. Squeeze my cock and make me cum."

I exploded all over him and I screamed while I was doing it. If his family came running to see what the panic was, then so be it. And a few pumps later, Nixon was emptying himself deep inside of me.

"Christ, I never get tired of fucking you," he breathed against the back of my neck. Such a sweet talker, he was.

"Your parents are going to think I'm a hussy corrupting their baby boy," I predicted as I tried to regain control of my body and senses.

"My parents already know I'm corrupt, Lyric," he retorted. "You'll be fine."

I laughed. "Get out while I try to make myself presentable." Nixon kissed the side of my head, tucked himself back inside his pants, and let me get to it.

This past month had been a whirlwind of moving too fast. Nixon had moved me into his apartment the very weekend we had made up. He had brought me to meet his parents, and to officially meet his brothers, and soon, I'll be at their monthly family dinner. I had fallen in love with the entire St. James clan immediately.

It was the week after that when Lincoln stopped by to announce that Dina wouldn't be pressing any charges and Class didn't want to bother with court appearances when nothing was broken or damaged. When I had expressed my shock at Dina not pressing charges, Lincoln had admitted to finding some incriminating information on her that would make her ex-husband clear to close his alimony wallet to her, therefore making her have to actually work for a living. At any rate, I'm glad it was over.

As for Rena's charges, Lincoln managed to convince the D.A. that Rena had flipped out because she had been accidentally touched inappropriately and that's why she was refusing to go with the officer. As soon as he made that magical statement, the D.A. was quick to let it drop. Rena didn't have a criminal history and Lincoln promised him it wouldn't happen again.

I finished making myself presentable and headed back outside. When I stepped off the deck, I saw everyone was already gathered around the table, making their plates.

I made my way over and sat in the empty spot next to Nixon. The second I sat down, he handed me the plate he already made for me. I smiled and couldn't stop myself from leaning my head on his shoulder. It's only been a couple of months, but this man is just so constantly good to me. "Thanks, Nixon."

Before Nixon could comment, Felicia St. James asked, "So, Lyric, I don't want to pressure you or anything, but Jackson Sr. and I really need a grandchild to fill our days. So, why don't you guys get to it already?"

"Uh..." What?

"I understand if you want to be married first, but luckily for you, Jackson may be a retired judge, but he still has the authority to marry couples," she gushed. "Isn't that marvelous?"

"Mom, I thin-"

Mr. St. James stood up and rubbed his hands together like an evil villain. "I'll go get my things now."

Nixon looked over at me as his father raced towards the house. Ignoring my bewildered expression, he asked, "So, Lyrical...will you marry me?" What a story to tell our grandchildren, because I said yes.

The End.
About the Author

M.E. Clayton works full-time and writes as a hobby. She is an avid reader and, with much self-doubt, but more positive feedback and encouragement from her friends and family, she took a chance at writing, and the Seven Deadly Sins Series was born. Writing is a hobby she is now very passionate about. When she's not working, writing, or reading, she is spending time with her family or friends. If you care to learn more, you can read about her by visiting the following:

Smashwords Interview at:

https://www.smashwords.com/interview/MonClayton

Bookbub Author Page at:

https://www.bookbub.com/profile/m-e-clayton

Goodreads Author Page:

https://www.goodreads.com/MEClayton
Other Books

Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to discover other books by M.E. Clayton:

The Seven Deadly Sins Series (In Order)

Catching Avery (Avery & Nicholas)

Chasing Quinn (Quinn & Chase)

Claiming Isabella (Isabella & Julian)

Conquering Kam (Kamala & Kane)

Capturing Happiness

The Buchanan Brothers Series (In Order)

If You Could Only See (Mason & Shane)

If You Could Only Imagine (Aiden & Denise)

If You Could Only Feel (Gabriel & Justice)

If You Could Only Believe (Michael & Sophia)

If You Could Only Dream

The How To: Modern Day Woman's Guide Series (In Order)

How to Stay Out of Prison; A Modern-Day Woman's Guide (Lyrical & Nixon)

How to Keep Your Job; A Modern-Day Woman's Guide (Alice & Lincoln)

How to Maintain Your Sanity; A Modern-Day Woman's Guide (Rena & Jackson)

The Enemy Series (In Order)

Facing the Enemy (Ramsey & Emerson)

Engaging the Enemy (Roselyn & Liam)

Battling the Enemy (Deke & Delaney)

Provoking the Enemy (Ava & Ace)

Loving the Enemy

The Enemy Duet (In Order)

In Enemy Territory (Fiona & Damien)

On Enemy Ground (Victoria & William)

The Holy Trinity Series (In Order)

The Holy Ghost (Phoenix & Francesca)

The Son (Ciro & Roberta)

The Father (Luca & Remy)

The Redemption (Nico & Mia)

The Vatican (Francisco Phoenix Benetti & Luca Saveria Fiore)

The Eastwood Series (In Order)

Samson (Samson & Mackenzie)

Ford (Ford & Amelia)

Raiden (Raiden & Charlie)

Duke (Duke & Willow)

Alistair (Alistair & Rory)

The Pieces Series (In Order)

Our Broken Pieces (Mystic & Gage)

Our Cracked Pieces (Rowan & Lorcan)

Our Shattered Pieces (Molly & Grayson)

Standalone

Unintentional

Purgatory, Inc.

My Big, Huge Mistake

An Unexpected Life

The Heavier The Chains...

Real Shadows

You Again
Contact Me

I really appreciate you reading my book and I would love to hear from you! Now, unfortunately, because I do have a full-time job, and a family I love spending time with, at this time, I'm afraid it would be very hard for me to maintain a multitude of social media sites. However, for the sites I do participate in, here are my social media coordinates:

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