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Big Stick
by R.C. Stephens

Copyright © 2018 by R.C. Stephens. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

Flynn

I should be home in bed, crying into a pillow, and not in a bar across the street from my brother’s apartment, but the truth is I really don’t have a home here in Chicago anymore. Not since my asshole of a boyfriend decided to stick his penis in the receptionist. We lived together in our posh Lincoln Park condo, we worked at the same law firm in different divisions, and we shared a life. Now the only thing I’m left with is humiliation and a visual of him balls-deep, pounding into that bimbo.

My bestie, Sloane, lovingly runs her hand through my honey-colored hair. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting, but honestly that ass crack isn’t worth one of your tears. I always thought you could do better than him.”

I give her a quizzical look. “Why would you say that? We attended an Ivy League law school together, we have a promising future ahead of us… We made sense, and now two years of my life feels wasted.”

A lone tear rolls down my cheek as I lift the shot in front of me. I’ve never been much of a drinker, so when I lick the salt from my wrist and tip the tequila down my throat, the burn makes my cheeks scrunch up. A shiver runs through my body, and I try to shake it off before biting into a lime. A chill rolls down my back. I want to say I’m a hopeless romantic. I’m anything but. I’m as practical as my life has taught me to be, and dammit, Matt and I made sense.

“Stop with that crap,” my best friend chides me. “I spent enough time with you two to know he wasn’t the air you breathed. He may have made sense on paper, but you can’t build a life based on what’s supposed to work out or what statistics tell you. Life is hard, and clearly that lame excuse for a man didn’t have the balls to see it through.”

I groan. “You’re right.” I lean my head on the bar. “I’m not like you, Sloane. It’s not in my DNA to be all gooey-eyed over a guy. You know me. I need stability, control. I thrive on it.” I frown.

Since I left New York City, which had been home for the last seven years, my life has been anything but stable. I moved to Chicago to be closer to my twin brother, who is a professional hockey player with the Blackhawks, and my best friend Sloane, who’s been my person since our freshman year at Columbia. The move to Chicago made sense. I’d had family, a job, a great place to live, and a supportive boyfriend. Everything was perfect until Matt decided to ruin all my plans.

“Matt was a dick. Now that you aren’t together, I can say it freely. You know I love you, but it’s the truth.” Her lip quirks at the corner, and she gives me an I-told-you-so look.

Her words stun me.

My head falls between my hands. “I just don’t know. How much crazy can I take? I’m losing it. Hearing Matt having sex…those dirty words he used just for her. He was never like that with me.” I choke on a sob.

Sloane rubs my back. “You can’t see through the hurt right now. Take some time to mourn the relationship and learn from it. You two had no chemistry. His personality was dry, and clearly, he has no loyalty. You want someone loyal because that’s what you deserve…and that’s what I deserve.” She nods her head, agreeing with herself.

A female bartender comes up to us and smiles. I feel a little disappointed that the cute male one is helping someone else. A little eye candy is good for the soul. “Any refills here?” She looks between me and Sloane.

“I’ll have another shot,” I mutter, knowing full well I’m on my way to being drunk. Heck, maybe I am drunk.

“Is that a good idea?” Sloane cuts in.

I tilt my head and stare at her. I know she’s trying to be a good friend, but I want to feel numb. “Please just let me be.”

She rolls her eyes. The bartender places the shot in front of me, and I ask her to double up. Sloane mutters, “This should be interesting.” She picks up the margarita she’s been nursing all night while I throw back the next two shots. They don’t burn going down.

“Whoa!” I palm my cheeks. They’re burning hot. It’s a new sensation. I burst into a fit of giggles as I scan the bar, which has filled up since our arrival. I like this place. It’s cozy and welcoming. Before I finish my scan of the room, my fitted leather jacket starts to irritate me. It sticks to my damp skin. I get up and struggle to peel it off. In the process, I lose my balance and trip over my own feet. Hah! Funny.

The hot male bartender from before walks up to me. “Easy there. I think you might have had enough to drink.” He grins widely, and I take the time to really look at him. Sea-green eyes, bulging biceps, nice smile.

“Nah, I’m good,” I slur, waving him off, and then trip over the barstool. “Shit! Someone should’ve warned me about drinking in stilettos.” I burst out laughing. I’m laughing so hard I almost topple over again. If it weren’t for the song playing on the speakers, pulling me from my fit of giggles, I probably would fall over. “Man, I love this song.” I start to move my hips. It’s “Mr. Jones” by the Counting Crows. “We all want something beautiful,” I belt out, not caring that I can’t hit a tune if my life depended on it.

Sloane looks at me, shaking her head. The smile on her face tells me she’s enjoying my little show. She leans forward and lowers her voice. “This isn’t karaoke night, babe.”

I shrug and continue to sing, waving my hands in the air. “I will never be lonely.” The note I hit is a little too high. Sloane is laughing her head off while the cute bartender doesn’t look too pleased. Always-in-control Flynn is losing her shit tonight. I think this is my first time being drunk. Why haven’t I done this before? I flop down on a barstool.

My quick spurt of energy dies fast, and I’m left feeling worn out and tired. So tired. I place my arm on the bar and put my head down. Sloane looks at me with her lips turned down.

“What’s wrong with me?” I ask her.

She shakes her head, and I know it’s Matt she’s irritated with. “There’s nothing wrong with you. He was an ass crack. I told you.”

She pulls her attention away from me to the bartender. “I know this is an odd thing to ask…” she begins, and I wonder what she’s going to say. “My friend’s brother lives across the street in the apartment building. Can you help me get her there safely?”

He smiles down at her. “I can do that.”

Sloane’s cheeks flush. He walks around the bar, and their conversation registers in my head.

“I don’t need help,” I snap, and the room spins as I try to stand up but fall over. “Shit.”

He slips his shoulder under my arm. I swat him away. “Hey, don’t touch me.”

He lifts his hands and looks to Sloane, maybe for some assistance as I use the bar to pick myself up. “Sorry, I guess she gets feisty when inebriated.” She shrugs. “I’ve known her since freshman year, and I’ve never seen her drunk.”

“I get it. We all have our moments,” the bartender responds quietly, but I hear the comment.

“Oh, I’m feisty all right,” I say with a challenge in my voice that I don’t quite understand. I look up, squinting to focus on his handsome face.

“Sorry,” Sloane chimes in again. I wish she’d stop apologizing for me. “What’s your name?” she asks him.

“Cale. And you are?” he asks.

“I’m Sloane, and this is Flynn.”

I place my head on the bar as sleep beckons.

“Let him help us across the street,” she says with a motherly tone. “Sorry, she’s never like this. She’s a big control freak.” She tells him, and he smiles.

Whatever.

“It’s always the Type As that lose it big time.” He winks at her.

“You know I’m listening,” I cut in. “And I’m always like this.” I give Cale a look that says I think Sloane is a nut. When I turn back to Sloane, she’s glaring at me. Too damn funny.

A wave of tiredness washes over me, and my legs are too heavy to carry my weight. I lean my head on Cale’s shoulder. Closing my eyes, I think of Henry Cavill. Yes, we are on his yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea… My dream comes to an abrupt halt when I hear Sloane calling my name.

“You can’t sleep on Cale’s shoulder.” She sounds irritated.

I hear Sloane, but sleep beckons me. A moment later, her mouth is close to my ear. “FLYNN! Wake the fuck up!” Holy crap, bells are ringing in my head, and I jerk it off his shoulder.

“What is wrong with you?” I hiss, narrowing my eyes.

Cale turns his head to the other bartender. “Maria, you got things covered here?” he asks. I hear a “yeah” off in the distance somewhere. As the evening air brushes my face, sleep continues its siren song.

Someone sweeps me off my feet.

“I can’t have you getting hurt crossing the street. People drive like fucking maniacs.” It’s Cale’s voice again.

Sloane huffs. “I really am so sorry about this.”

My eyes close, and I’m back on Henry’s yacht. I’m wearing a yellow bikini. Yes, he’s rubbing sunscreen on my shoulders with his big, strong, manly hands, massaging the tension from my shoulders. I’m not sure if I begin to moan in satisfaction.

“Jesus! I’d like to know what she’s thinking about.” Cale’s voice pulls me from my dream as my feet touch the ground.

“What the…” I murmur, unsteadily gauging my surroundings, Cale’s hand securely around my waist prevents me from falling.

“Flynn, we need the keys… Please tell me Oli gave you keys, because we’ve been knocking for the past five minutes, and he isn’t home,” Sloane begs.

Cale is still holding on to me when I begin to search for keys in my messenger bag. Problem is I have my entire life in here, and while I’m feeling around inside, nothing feels even remotely like a cool set of keys.

“Damn it, Oliver Russell, where are you at two a.m. on a Tuesday night?” I murmur to myself.

Cale’s eyes go wide. “Did you just say Oliver Russell? The one who plays forward for the Chicago Blackhawks?”

I manage to focus on him long enough to say, “No, my fucking twin brother who isn’t home at two in the morning.”

Sloane shrugs, trying to brush off my rude remark. “I know I keep saying this, but I’m sorry. Apparently, she gets nasty when she’s drunk.” Sloane laughs as the words leave her mouth.

Hmm. Maybe I do get nasty when I’m piss-drunk and I’ve been cheated on, especially when I’m dreaming of sleeping in a bed and I can’t.

The neighbor’s door whips open. Myles Sanders, my brother’s best friend and my ex-best-friend, walks out.

Ugh.

Of course, when my brother got traded to Chicago last year, he would get a place living next to Myles. He had been our next-door neighbor when we were kids.

The air is sucked right out of me as Myles scratches the scruff on his chin, his searing blue eyes half-closed. My gaze instantly drops to his chest. Damn, he’s filled out since I saw him last. I feel wobbly on my feet and lean into the wall for support as my gaze drifts lower to his chiseled abs. He’s wearing a pair of boxer shorts that sit low on his waist.

Succulent…sexy… I take a big gulp. I haven’t really seen Myles since the night he and Oli were drafted. Seven years is a damn long time.

His eyes widen as he asks, “Tink?”

I burst into a fit of laughter. Something in the back of my mind tells me that I wouldn’t be finding this so funny if I weren’t completely inebriated. With my head hanging forward facing my thighs, I laugh so hard I almost topple over. Again.

“Uh, excuse me, sorry… Please excuse my friend. She’s having a rough night.” It’s Sloane’s apologetic voice that causes me to straighten up. “You seem to know Flynn. Would you know how we can get into Oliver’s apartment?” Sloane’s voice sounds uneasy.

“Sloane, this is Myles, Oli’s best friend.” I wave him over. I’m sloppy and messy, but I don’t care. It’s fucking great. This drinking thing really works at shutting off emotions.

Myles’s gaze flicks to me, his lips pursed, eyes narrowed. He shakes his head. “This is not how I expected seeing you again,” he mumbles and then mutters, “I’ll go get the keys.” He turns back into his apartment. I take the chance to check out his fine ass as he goes. I snicker, holding my stomach because this is too damn funny; he’s even hotter than he was back in high school. Who would’ve thought?

Myles returns.

“I’m so sorry for disturbing you, sir,” Sloane begins, and I notice her looking at his ass, too. I cackle some more.

He turns his head to look at her and catches her checking out his ass. Sloane’s cheeks turn crimson. He seems unfazed by the fact that he’s only wearing a pair of boxer shorts in the hallway. Myles is the epitome of male virility, and he has the confidence to back it up. I guess that hasn’t changed.

“It’s not a problem. I’m assuming it will only be Flynn staying here?” he finally says as his gaze flicks to Cale, and he gives him a cold stare.

Cale lifts his hands. “Man, I just helped them get home safely. I own Malone’s across the street. Your friend here was having a bad night.”

“Yeah, I asked for his help. I’m Sloane. Flynn’s best friend.” She extends her hand.

Myles looks me over before he shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you.” His voice is monotone, and he doesn’t crack a smile, which is good because when he smiles his half dimple pops out. Despite my drunken state, I know I’d be unhappy if Sloane turned into a puddle on the floor from his panty-melting grin. If my memory serves me right, it was just that hot.

Sloane shakes his hand with a contemplative look.

“Myles… Myles… Myles…Sanders? Oh shit, you’re the one!” Sloane screams out.

“Sorry?” Myles squints at her.

“Oh, nothing. I remember Flynn mentioning you before. You were her next-door neighbor, right? Three musketeers… Yeah… Flynn told me all about her tomboy days.”

Myles pulls his stare from Sloane and eyes me curiously. He doesn’t answer Sloane and instead turns to unlock the door.

“Hallelujah,” I scream out. Sloane walks toward me since I’m unsteady on my feet.

“He isn’t home. We won tonight, so he’s out celebrating. For your sake, I hope he’s alone when he comes back since I’m guessing he wasn’t expecting you,” Myles says curtly, but he doesn’t walk away.

The door to the apartment is wide open, and no one is moving.

Cale rubs his hands together. “You’re safe, and I should head back to the bar.” He shakes hands with Myles. “I’m a huge Blackhawks fan. Honor to meet you.”

Sloane looks between me and Myles. “You know what?” Her gaze follows Cale walking to the elevator. “I should probably walk him back to the bar.” She pauses and looks to Myles, nodding as she steps away from me. “You got our girl here?” she asks.

It takes Myles a long moment to respond. He wraps his arm around my waist to support me.

Sloane takes off quickly to the elevator. “Hey, wait up,” she screams then turns back to me. “Love you, babe. Drink lots of water. We’ll talk in the morning.”

She disappears into the elevator. I mouth “traitor” to myself.

“What?” Myles asks.

Shit! I lose my balance.

“Hey, easy there.” Myles steadies me. His cologne smells so good. I look into his blue eyes for what feels like a millisecond, and my breath catches. I hope he doesn’t notice, but then his eyes drop to my lips, and I swallow hard. Even in my drunken haze, I know kissing Myles is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“I’m fine,” I snap, pulling away from him. Nothing about me is graceful right now, and I smash into something hard. Before I have a chance to catch myself, I’m on the floor. “Fuck,” I yell.

“Jesus!” Myles walks over to me and crouches down. “You’re okay, huh?” He lifts me off the floor and throws me over his shoulder.

“Put me down,” I protest, trying to squiggle out of his arms.

“Heck no.” His deep, gravelly voice is stern. “How much did you drink tonight?”

“Lots.” I giggle, then I swat him—hard. My giggles turn into a fit of laughter.

“I can’t believe you just slapped my ass.”

“It’s a damn fine one. Why the heck not?”

“Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Tink? Unless this is how the twenty-five-year-old version of her behaves.” He flips me onto the bed, hard.

“Ow! Shit!” I complain as I gaze up at him. As he crosses his arms, his biceps bulge. His right eyebrow is cocked and clearly waiting for a response.

Asshole. Or better yet, damn fine and good-looking asshole.

“Ouch! Jerk.”

His grin is intoxicating. Like a light going off in his head, his eyes brighten. “Uh-huh. Oli mentioned a boyfriend. Did he do something wrong, Tink? Is that what this is about?”

“Damn it. Would you stop calling me Tink?” I snap.

“Why?” he asks, almost flabbergasted.

“’Cause I’m not ten years old, and you aren’t Peter Pan,” I mumble, aching to just close my eyes.

He continues to stand at the foot of the bed in the same burly position. Seven years does a lot to a man’s body. Myles is all hard-lined muscle. As I think the word hard, I try my best not to sneak a peek at his junk. I can’t help myself. In my defense, it was a millisecond-quick glance.

“You loved going into that forest and playing the Lost Boys with me and Oli. And be honest, you liked it best when you played Tinker Bell and we beat Captain Hook together. Now, talk to me, and tell me what caused you to get so stinking drunk? I’m not leaving.” He continues to stand beside the bed, towering over me as if he has a right to be here. As if he wants to take care of me.

I let out a groan. “Myles, please just let me sleep,” I mutter as I push my body up to the pillow and close my eyes. Sleep feels good.