Summary:
I have one rule to live by: Don't Date a DILF.
I've seen the consequences of blurring the boundaries between teaching life and dating life, and I'm not about to take that kind of risk.
But I didn't count on Hunter Rhodes walking into my school. Never expected that the broad-shouldered, stubble-jawed, absolute glory of a man would be such a sweet and caring father. Or that as a seemingly straight man, he might decide he wants me.
If my Nana has her way...I'll be in love with someone by the end of the school year, but there's only one man who tempts me.
With her matchmaking in overdrive and half the single women in Granville setting their sights on Hunter, faking a relationship could give us both a reprieve, but at what cost?
It might be fun and games for Hunter, but separating pretend feelings from real won't be so simple for me. And then there's that rule...
Can I date a DILF without disaster--or will all my fears come true?
Don't Date a DILF is Book 1 of Rules We Break, a spin-off series from Games We Play, set in the small, quirky town of Granville, where nosy residents meddle in one another's lives, great friendships are made, and silly innuendos are a way of life.
Summary:
For years, I've lived by one simple rule: Don't Mess With The Ex.
It was an easy rule to follow when Laurence Kensington III was on the other side of the country.
Now that he's shown up out of the blue to tell me we're still married? Not so much.
I followed my heart into a whirlwind romance with him once, and it ended in a heart-breaking annulment. Or at least, I thought it did. I don't know what to think of the news we're still hitched.
I've vowed to never be so impulsive or reckless again. But when he brings me a proposal that will help me achieve my dreams for Granville *and* refuse his entitled family something they want, I'm once more put to the test.
Laurie is as handsome as I remember, and so damn tempting. His sweet gestures, generous spirit, and open heart make it a challenge to stick to my rule.
But then, maybe messing with the ex wouldn't be all bad. Maybe it's time to write new rules.
Is it really so wrong to follow my heart if my heart was right all along?
Don't Mess With The Ex is Book 2 of Rules We Break, a spin-off series from Games We Play, set in the small, quirky town of Granville, where nosy residents meddle in one another's lives, great friendships are made, and silly innuendos are a way of life.
I'm not one for rules, but Don't Bang Your Stepbro is kind of a no-brainer.
Until I wake up naked in a Vegas hotel room with my stepbrother, Beckett, each of us with a hell of a hangover and a matching wedding ring.
We've already made a huge mistake, so what's the point in denying what's been simmering between us for ages?
Might as well enjoy the honeymoon, right?
But what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Or at least, it's supposed to.
With a hometown of family and friends who see us as brothers, not lovers, we have to find a way back to who we were before this snafu. But some boundaries can't be uncrossed.
You don’t bang your stepbro, but maybe…maybe when he’s your husband…you do.
Don't Bang Your Stepbro is Book 3 of the Rules We Break series about a group of friends in a quirky small town. There will be gossip, innuendo, and nosy neighbors who will put these stepbros and their secrets to the test!
Don't Date A DILF #1
CHAPTER 1
CLARK
Hunter Rhodes was a walkingwet dream.
His chiseled jawline had just the right amount of stubble to look sexy without sliding into scruffy. His sandy hair glinted with gold highlights under the overhead lighting. Even the crow’s feet around his eyes added to his attractiveness as he smiled down at his son.
So. Hot.
I should have let the man move on about his business without ogling him—I didn’t doubt he got more than enough attention wherever he went—but I was a gay man in the midst of a very long dry spell. My gaze slipped lower to broad shoulders, corded forearms, and big, strong hands. The idea of them touching my skin sent a shiver through me despite the furnace working overtime to heat the high school gym.
The crowd meandering through the community book fair I’d helped organize in the wake of losing our only bookstore in town faded away as I drank him in wistfully. There wasn’t a universe in which I’d be in Hunter’s league, even if he did swing my way. Which, by all accounts—and his marriage history—he did not.
Probably. I mean, there were always a few closet cases…
Snap.
I blinked and jerked back as Augustus’s fingers nearly clipped my nose.
His boyfriend, Joe—who was my friend first but seemed to have forgotten that fact during his honeymoon period—chuckled. “Someone’s got a crush.”
“Pfft, no,” I denied as heat rushed to my cheeks.
“Well, that’s odd, because there’s drool dripping down your face,” Augustus teased.
I glared. “Well, that’s nothing compared to the fuck-me eyes you had for Joe last month.”
“Just last month?” Joe asked with an exaggerated pout.
“Babe, I’ll always have fuck-me eyes for you.”
Ugh.New couples. They were the worst, waving around their happiness like it was a cupcake that the rest of us could go to the bakery to order. My last attempt had been less sweet frosting and more sour grapes by the time we parted. But I counted myself lucky. After watching my friend Alexa chase love into a life-shattering bad decision, I’d sworn off the whole thing.
I was married to my work anyway. Take this book fair, for example. It was doing a whole lot more good than sleeping with Devon Trager in college ever had—especially since he’d messed around with my roommate behind my back.
I returned my attention to the display of high-school level books I was arranging, intermingling classics like 1984 by George Orwell and The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath with contemporary novels by Cassandra Clare, John Green, and Maggie Stiefvater. Front and center I placed one of my favorite books: Flowers for Algernon.
It was a fitting metaphor for my life. The idea that once you know some things, you can never unknow them and they can color your perception of the world and everyone in it in irreversible ways.
A year and a half after returning to Granville, I was still wishing I could forget my brief attempt at city life. Omaha wasn’t all that far from home, and yet it felt as if a whole other lifetime had passed there.
For the next few minutes, I was saved from Augustus and Joe’s displays of affection as customers began to browse through the books at my table. A few of my students stopped by to say hello, including Malcolm Kraft, who stammered and blushed his way through telling me how much he loved the book fair and how amazing I was for organizing it.
Of course, two friends from my bar trivia team, Beckett Monroe and Wes Potter, were right behind him.
“Dude, I know you’re hard up,” Wes said once Malcolm had moved on, “but I don’t think you’re supposed to date students.”
I cringed, even though he was kidding. “I would never do that.”
“Does the kid know that?” Beckett asked with a snort.
Joe frowned. “Don’t even joke, guys. That shit can get teachers in a world of trouble.”
“I have three cardinal rules when it comes to teaching,” I said. “1. Don’t date a student. 2. Don’t date a parent.”
“And three?”
“Never invite you two to a school event.”
Wes chuckled. “Sounds legit, although I don’t know, man, a MILF should never be off-limits.”
Beckett whacked the back of his head. “A DILF, you mean. He’s gay.”
“Right. Well, that sounds less fun to me, but hey, you do you, man.”
“I won’t be doing anything,” I said. “Work keeps me plenty busy.”
“That’s depressing,” Beckett said.
“Hey, I love my work—”
“Me too, but it doesn’t get me blowjobs and cuddles.”
Augustus grinned. “Good to know you’ve got your priorities straight.”
“Aw, I thought I gave you enough cuddles, bro,” Wes said, grabbing Beckett in a bear hug.
“You two are so weird,” I muttered.
But Joe’s eyes were gleaming as he looked at me. “Beckett isn’t wrong, you know. There’s more to life than work.”
I rolled my eyes. “You sound like Nana.”
My grandmother had urged me to date last year, but she’d hoped that Joe might eventually become more than a friend. Once he’d started dating Augustus over Christmas, she’d decided she would just find me a man. I’d been dodging her setup attempts, but it was getting tougher and tougher to evade a woman with the kind of determination my nana had.
“Maybe Nana’s right,” Augustus teased. “You were the one who persuaded me to give Joe a chance. Maybe you need to get out there too. Let Nana find you some men.”
I groaned. “You’re making me sound like a contestant on The Bachelor.”
“The Gay Bachelor,” Beckett said. “Sounds like a Top Ten Netflix hit.”
One of the shows where the contestants find instalove then break up a month after broadcasting? That sounded about right.
My friends could have all the romance they wanted. I’d stick with shaping young minds. My job was more than enough fulfillment for me.
* * *
HUNTER
“So when areyou going to start dating again?”
“So when areyou going to start dating again?”
My mother cornered me in the laundry room while I was holding my underwear and therefore vulnerable to attack. Laughter spilled out from the dining room, where her friends had congregated to play canasta and get hopped up on sugar and gossip, blocking my only route of escape.
I tossed my briefs into the washer, trying not to blush like a twelve-year-old. Mom had been doing my laundry only a couple of months ago. Thankfully, I’d broken her of that habit—but only by moving into my own place. A fact my son had not yet forgiven me for. He didn’t like much about Granville, but he’d loved staying with grandparents eager to spoil him.
Still, after five months, even they were ready for their houseguests to leave.
“Mom, please. Can we not do this today?”
She carried on as if she hadn’t heard me. “Tessa Weaver got divorced last year too, and she’s a lovely woman. You went to school together, remember?”
I nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
“She was the valedictorian when you graduated. Such a smart young woman.”
“I remember.”
“And Marsha at the Happy Bean—”
“Stop.” I closed the washer door with a clang and hit the button to start the wash cycle. “I have heard about every single woman in town at this point, but Toby is my priority. How do you think he’d handle it if I started dating?”
“Well, I don’t know. And neither do you unless you try. It could be good for you both.”
I hummed noncommittally. Maybe running the gauntlet of the women in the living room—and their inevitable questions about my private life and parenting missteps—would be better than my mother’s targeted attack?
“Just think about it,” she continued. “It’s been a year since your divorce. I want to see you happy again. Toby, too. He’s the sweetest boy, Hunter, but he hasn’t fully accepted that you and Holly won’t be reconciling.”
I dragged a hand down my face. “I know.”
Toby was always sweet as pie for his grandmother. But he’d been outright hostile toward me, and he was acting out at school. Things were not good. Adding dating to that mix would only be feeding the flame of his discontent. I couldn’t imagine he’d take it well. Maybe it would help him move on, but at what cost?
Iola Fletcher popped into the doorway. “JoAnn, it’s your turn to play.”
My mother patted her hair. “Oh, well, okay. Will you please tell Hunter he needs to get out and live a little? All he does is worry about Toby and that old house of his. It’s not healthy.”
Iola grinned like the Cheshire cat. “You’re quite the hot commodity these days, huh?”
“Unfortunately,” I muttered as I turned to lean back against the washer. “But my mother has already listed off every single woman in town, so—”
“What about single men?”
“Uh…” I wasn’t into dudes, but it seemed rude to say so. My brother was gay—and a drag queen—so it wasn’t as if the idea weirded me out. I settled on a diplomatic response. “I’m not interested in dating anyone right now.”
“Sure, sure,” she said. “I bet the women in this town have been salivating over an attractive single father, hm?”
She scanned me head to toe, giving me the kind of once-over I preferred in a bar hookup rather than my mother’s laundry room. But I was getting used to being ogled since returning to Granville. In the year since I’d moved back, I had been reminded of just how overbearing small-town people could be. Well-meaning, yes, but so damn meddlesome.
“I’ve gotten my share of attention,” I said, wary of a trap.
She tsked sympathetically. “I bet it’s been overwhelming.”
“A little, yeah.”
Only last week, Thelma Walker had offered to hold my meat at the deli counter of the grocery store, and I got the feeling she didn’t mean the sliced turkey I was putting in my cart.
“My grandson is quite the catch though,” Iola said.
And there was the trap, so neatly laid.
“Have you met Clark since you came back? He’s about yay-high.” She held her hand a foot above her head, but that wasn’t saying much, because Iola was tiny. “Curly blond hair. Just an angel. He teaches at the high school.”
“Right, yeah, Clark,” I bluffed.
It wasn’t that I didn’t know of him. It was a small town, and I’d seen him at The Stag Pub quite a few times. Last summer, I’d spent way too many nights trying to drown my sorrows, and I still stopped in to pick up dinner now and then because it was marginally healthier than fast food. But we’d never spoken.
“He’s only been back in Granville a smidge longer than you,” Iola said. “You two might have a lot in common.”
“Well, I appreciate you thinking of me,” I said awkwardly. “But I’m not dating right now.”
She pulled a sour face. “Yeah, that’s one of the things you have in common. I’ve tried to set him up with some lovely men, but he always finds a way to worm out of the date!”
“Well, uh, I’m sure he’ll date when he’s ready,” I said. “These things can’t be forced.”
“We’ll see about that. I’m going to find him such a good man he can’t possibly resist,” she said with a defiant tilt to her chin. “So get with the program, Hunter, or you might miss out!”
She stormed off, leaving me bemused but impressed by how passionate some of the women in this town got about matchmaking. I hid until the laundry was nearly done, but eventually I was lured out by the sound of my son asking for yet another cookie.
“You’re going to spoil his dinner,” I warned my mother as I emerged from the hallway. “We’re leaving soon.”
She ignored me and handed my son a snickerdoodle, even as Toby pouted. “Can’t we stay for dinner? Grandma makes the best food.”
“Nope. It’s a school night and you’ve got some makeup work to do from when you were sick.”
Toby groaned, but my mother patted his head. “Maybe next time, sweetie. I’ll make you some Chicken Yum-Yum next weekend!”
I appreciated the gesture, though I wished my mother would not offer to cook for him. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy home-cooked meals too. It was very tempting each time she invited us to stay. But I couldn’t continue to use my parents as a crutch. For months, I’d lived in their house and eaten their food and, frankly, exhausted their energy.
I’d been grieving for my marriage, and they’d been very patient with me. But after all the years I’d been away and all the ways I’d failed to support them, they owed me less than nothing. I had to learn to be the kind of parent Toby deserved, and the only way to do that was to figure it out on my own.
Easier said than done in a small town.
“I’ve got some recipes I can give you to try at home, Hunter,” another of my mother’s friends, Marilyn Lattimer, offered. “I make a nice chicken pot pie that Duke just loves.”
“Oh, Tom can’t get enough of my bourbon ham balls,” Lula added.
“Bourbon recipes might not be the best choice for a child, Lula.”
“Hogwash. The alcohol evaporates. It’s not going to get anyone drunk!”
“Well, it still doesn’t seem proper—”
The women fell into an all-out brawl over home cooking, and I motioned Toby to follow me to the laundry room to gather our clothes. He looked sort of shell-shocked. “Are they really mad?”
“Nah. They just feel very strongly about casseroles.” I ruffled his hair. “It’s why Grandma makes such good ones.”
“And why you don’t?” he asked glumly.
“Hey.” I crouched down to look him in the eye. “I know things aren’t perfect, but we’re rebuilding a life, right? We’ve got a house that’s going to be amazing when the repairs are done.”
“If you say so,” he said.
“I do,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. “And one day soon, I’m gonna make you the best dang casserole you’ve ever tasted. Grandma and her friends will give us all the recipes we could want, and then we’ll eat until our stomachs explode!”
I launched a tickle attack on Toby, making him laugh too hard to question me. When he was giggling, I could see the kid I’d raised with Holly, the easygoing one who’d enjoyed school and still believed his parents had the answers.
If only I knew how to bring him back for more than a few minutes at a time.
Don't Mess With The Ex #2
CHAPTER 1
LAURIE
I stared at my long-lost husband, heart stuttering. I couldn’t believe I was finally here, mere yards away, breathing the same air as Tucker Ellis after nearly twenty years apart. It’d only taken six hours of travel, a threat from the horrid family I’d escaped, and some botched paperwork to bring me to this moment.
I drank in the view greedily, cataloging the familiar lines of Tucker’s face—the strong jaw, the broad planes of his cheekbones, the arch of his brows—as well as the few new ones that had emerged over the years. He’d taken on a distinguished air he didn’t possess in his twenties, but it suited him.
He looked happy, I thought, or happy-ish, at least, as he spoke to a small crowd in front of a two-story Victorian in an older section of Granville, Nebraska, that, truth be told, had seen better days.
The home behind him was a gorgeous piece of architecture, complete with turret and dramatic circular side porch, all framed by flowering shrubs that sweetly perfumed the air. But the one across the street was shabbier, and the one two houses down looked ready to collapse.
Tucker was a gorgeous piece of man, standing out every bit as much as the house behind him with the broad shoulders and confident stature—not to mention head of thick, glossy brown hair—that had first attracted me to him.
I broke out in a sweat when I wondered what I would say to him. How could I adequately explain that after I’d broken both our hearts and given him an annulment to sign, our marriage had never ended?
Not on paper, anyway.
I hung on Tucker’s words, though they meant little to me beyond the fact his voice soothed me, so familiar after all this time.
“…Granville has won the small-town innovation grant we’ve been working toward,” Tucker was saying. “This gives us some of the funds we need to make real change for the better. We’ll be searching for more resources, investors, and matching funds going forward, but this is a great start. I want to thank Hunter…”
I didn’t hear the rest as I pushed through the crowd, my pulse rushing in my ears. I’d traveled all day—even stopped at a hotel in Omaha to shower and dress in a fresh suit—and in all that time, I’d had no idea how my reunion with Tucker would go. Or even when or where it would happen.
I didn’t have his phone number or his address, and the man was a ghost on social media. Only the memory of his hometown and its online presence had allowed me to keep tabs on him. That’s how I’d known Granville was celebrating its 150th birthday today, and that Tucker would be part of the festivities in his role as city manager.
I’d been so focused on getting here and finding him that I’d given little thought to how I’d approach or what I’d say when I did. But Tucker had just given me the perfect opening—and something to offer him.
“If you’re looking for investors, I have a proposal for you,” I said as I stepped out of the crowd, trying to project a confidence I didn’t feel.
Inside, I was shaking like a schoolboy speaking the first words to his crush.
Tucker’s expression went from pleasant curiosity to shock as recognition dawned. “Laurie?”
“Ah, so you do remember your husband,” I teased before I could think better of it.
I ascended the porch stairs, crowd forgotten, all my attention zeroed in on one man. Tucker was speaking to me. The urge to get closer, to touch, was irresistible.
Tucker stuttered out a nonsensical reply. “But-but… No, I— How? How did— Actually why?”
I grasped his hand, wanting to calm him, and kissed his knuckles. Softly, I murmured, “Honey, I’m home.”
I didn’t know why I said the words. I’d never been to Granville before. But they resonated through me. I was home.
Tucker was my home. It had always felt that way. And just now I was realizing that I’d been aimless, missing that sense of belonging, since the day he’d packed his bags and left me in my pretentious New York penthouse.
Judging by the look on his face, he didn’t feel the same. His shock shifted to confusion then irritation.
“That’s not funny,” he muttered, gaze darting to the crowd behind us. The one I’d managed to forget even existed while my heart beat only for Tucker.
“I’m not laughing,” I said, keeping my voice soft as I became more aware of the whispers breaking out.
Who is that?
Did he say he was Tucker’s husband?
Our Tucker would never…
I met his eyes, bracing myself for his reaction. “We’re still married, Tuck.”
He shook his head in denial, eyes wide. I wanted to kiss more than his knuckles. I wanted to kiss that incredulous look off his face.
I’d been shocked, too, when I discovered the annulment had never been filed all those years ago. But now? It felt a little like fate.
Like Tucker and I were meant to be together.
It was a fanciful thought. Too fanciful after nearly twenty years apart. I had no idea what Tucker thought of me, but I couldn’t imagine it was good. In his mind, I’d chosen my money and status over him. There was more to the story, though I doubted that would make much difference to him. The result had been the same after all—Tucker and I living separate lives instead of the single one we’d vowed to build together.
“Come with me,” he growled, making goose bumps erupt along my skin. He grabbed my wrist and tugged me toward the edge of the porch. “We’ve made enough of a scene.”
I glanced toward the crowd guiltily. I’d never intended to be so dramatic when I sought Tucker out. Patience had never been my strong suit. I was a man of action. It worked in my favor in many situations. By trusting my gut, I could be bold and decisive in my business dealings.
But it also made me impulsive at times.
Which, Tucker would say, was how we ended up here in the first place.
But falling for him hadn’t been reckless or misguided. We might have had a whirlwind romance, but nothing had ever felt so right.
Marrying Tucker was one of the most sensible things I’d ever done.
And I had no regrets…other than failing to hold on to him.
TUCKER
I’d done exactly one impulsive, rash, foolish thing in my life—and now he was staring me in the face.
My husband.
Not ex-husband, because no, that would be too easy.
Laurence Whitaker Kensington III was still gorgeous, his face one of interesting angles—almost too sharp at times—and yet when he smiled, the picture shifted, his mouth wide and generous, his eyes full of that old mischievous sparkle. He could charm anyone with that smile. He’d certainly charmed me.
I remembered every detail, from the cleft in his chin to the freckle just under his right eye, but I’d never thought I’d see them again.
Beyond him, half the dang town was watching us where we stood on Hunter Rhodes’ front porch. I’d been talking about the city’s goal to find investors to move forward with our five-year plan when like an angel—or demon?—Laurie emerged from the masses to offer his assistance.
Then he called himself my husband. In front of everyone.
I dragged Laurie off the porch and around the far side of the house, farthest from the crowd of curious onlookers. I loved my neighbors, but they were nosy even without someone tossing them a surprise husband to salivate over.
I could hear the gossip rippling through the crowd already.
Do you think it’s true?
Surely not!
Oh dear, what will Beverly say?
My mother would have a lot to say when she found out I’d kept my foolish marriage a secret all this time. But I couldn’t think about that now.
“Just so I know what’s happening here,” Laurie said in that smoky-smooth voice I hadn’t heard outside my dreams in nearly two decades, “are you pulling me into the bushes to have your way with me or to dispose of my body?”
I released the sleeve of his pricey suit—the type that was perfectly tailored to his trim form and so expensive it probably equaled two months’ pay for a lot of folks around here—and stepped back with a huff of annoyance.
“What the fuck was that all about?” I said, waving a hand wildly back toward the porch, where he’d caught me by surprise. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
Laurie shook his head. “Do you really think I flew across the country and interrupted what looks to be a stimulating night out to play a prank on you?”
“Sorry if this doesn’t measure up to your high-society parties,” I said testily. “This isn’t New York. This is my town. These are my people. They might seem like country bumpkins to you, but—”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I hate that high society crap. You know that about me.”
Did I? After so long apart, I wasn’t sure I could trust what I thought I knew. The Laurie of our twenties had wanted nothing to do with that life. His family had other ideas though. And in the end, he always caved to them. So for all I knew, he spent his weekends at galas. He certainly looked the part.
As my gaze dipped to take in the fine fabric of his double-breasted suit, Laurie seemed to track my gaze. He plucked at his lapel.
“Not the best choice, wearing this, huh?” He chuckled awkwardly. “You probably think I’m a rich snob. I just wanted to look good for… Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. It was poor judgment.”
We were getting off-track. There was only one thing I wanted to understand, and it wasn’t Laurie’s wardrobe decisions.
“Are we really still married?”
He looked me in the eye, serious now. “We are.”
“How?”
He cleared his throat and shifted. “Do you really want to have this entire conversation in the shrubbery with dozens of potential eavesdroppers?”
“Nice of you to consider that now,” I grumbled as I turned, catching sight of a few faces peeking around the corner.
Laurie winced. “Sorry. I didn’t think about the crowd. I just saw you…”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“It’s not flattery. Just the truth.”
Before I could respond, Iola Fletcher craned her neck around the corner of the house, looking strangely birdlike as she peered down her nose.
“Are you all right back there, Tucker?” she called. “If that man’s bothering you, you tell me, and we’ll put a stop to it!”
As if Iola’s five-foot-nothing, 70-years-plus self could really protect me.
Then again, I was sure she’d try.
“I’m fine,” I called back quickly before we had to test that theory. “We’re just talking…” When she didn’t leave, I added, “Privately.”
Iola harrumphed, but she withdrew. Still, that didn’t mean she or any number of people wouldn’t be listening in.
I’d never told anyone in Granville about my ill-fated union with the rich playboy I’d met while at an urban planning conference during grad school. No one knew that I’d indulged in the most romantic weekend of my life with him, then unable to let go, had stayed in contact long-distance for the four months until my graduation, at which point he’d flown me to New York like he was some kind of goddamned prince charming. When he’d taken me for a romantic getaway in Massachusetts—a state that had legalized same-sex unions—and dropped to one knee, I’d agreed to marry him.
It had all been a beautiful dream—the kind of romance you only found in books and movies—and it was embarrassing to admit that I’d been swept off my feet every bit as much as any Disney princess. Hell, maybe more.
But every dream comes to an end. My naive heart hadn’t realized that yet. It had felt too good to be true because it was.
Laurie’s family had been horrified when they discovered what we’d done. They’d given him an ultimatum: send me packing or give up everything: his future with the family company, his trust fund, his home, his family ties.
There had been only one reasonable answer, but it had still shattered me.
It’d hurt him too. I’d seen it on his face. There’d been a horrible bleakness to his eyes when he ended things. He was always such a vibrant, lively person. But that day he’d seemed empty, as if someone had hollowed out everything I loved about him and left only a husk.
He’d produced the annulment papers, and I’d signed them with a shaking hand. Part of me had known he couldn’t make any other choice in the end, no matter how he’d vowed to fight for me.
I’d packed my bags and despite my big plans to work as an urban planner in a metropolis, I’d lost my taste for big-city adventure. I’d gone home to the people I loved and trusted. The people who’d never make me choose between my happiness and the appearances they wanted to uphold.
Even if Laurie hadn’t ended things, our worlds didn’t mesh. I was a small-town boy with little care for money and society, and he was born into wealth and prestige. Marrying him had been impulsive and spontaneous—and a terrible decision.
I’d been lost in the flush of first love, excited by the notion that we could get married at all, and misguided in my belief that infatuation could last forever.
But I was older and wiser now. I wouldn’t be that young, impulsive kid ever again.
I’d promised myself I’d keep my head on straight and make reasoned, logical choices after the disaster with Laurie. And so far, I’d managed to do that.
I didn’t want to feed the gossip already spreading about my youthful indiscretion.
“We can go to my place to talk this out,” I said reluctantly.
He stepped closer, lips turning up at the corners. “I’ve missed you, Tuck. Maybe this isn’t so bad. If you’re single, we could even enjoy this little detour down memory lane.”
I put up a hand to hold him back when he got too close. The warmth of his body bled through the fine cotton of his shirt. Beneath my palm, his heart thumped, quicker than I would have expected it to be, considering his calm demeanor.
Laurie always had known how to put on a good face. Was he nervous? Or simply excited by the idea of a night with me?
I shouldn’t want it to be the latter, but hell, he was a handsome man and a great lover. Electricity had always hummed between us, pure lightning when we indulged in each other. That couldn’t happen now, though it was tempting.
In some ways, it’d be easier if I hated Laurie. If I thought he’d dumped me out of greed or callousness. With hate between us, I could keep up a comfortable barrier. But knowing that he was a victim of his family as much as or more than I was? That would make it much more difficult to maintain my perspective.
But regardless of why he was here, nothing had changed. Laurie was still a Kensington.
He was still part of a world I’d never belong in, and standing in the bushes, dressed in fine Armani tailoring, it was clear he didn’t fit into mine.
“Don’t,” I said firmly. “It doesn’t matter that I’m single. Nothing’s happening except you explaining what happened and producing the paperwork so we can fix it.”
“Well, that’s the thing…”
My guard instantly went up. “What’s the thing?”
“I don’t want to fix it.”
Don't Bang Your Stepbro #3
CHAPTER 1
WES
I woke slowlywith a smile on my face. Crisp sheets laid cool against my skin, and a warm body rested under my right arm.
Hell, yeah. I must have hooked up last night.
I scooted a little closer, still only half awake, but my cock fully engaged as it rubbed up against the hard ass in front of me. I skated my right hand over firm abs. Damn, I must have picked up an athlete. For half a second, my mind flickered with a confused reel of images. Bars that were decidedly not located in my hometown of Granville. Colorful shots. Flashing lights. Poker chips…
That’s right. We’re in Vegas, baby!
I thrust my hips a bit more enthusiastically at the thought of a smoking hot pickup in the city of sin and slid my hand up to find…hard, muscled chest?
Huh?
A low groan echoed through the hotel room. In a voice I recognized.
Oh, shit. Beckett!
I scrambled back so fast I nearly fell out of the bed. The one I was sharing with my stepbrother, instead of the female hookup I’d expected.
Beckett turned in time to see me mid-flail, eyes squinted against the light pouring through the gap in the blackout curtains. “Were you just feeling me up?”
“Oops?”
“Oops?” Beckett echoed, sounding incredulous.
“I thought you were a hookup.” I glanced across the room to the second unmade bed. My bed. “Why am I sleeping here?”
“Probably because you spilled most of the bottle of champagne you insisted on bringing back here last night.”
“Champagne?” I grimaced. “Why the hell would I…”
I trailed off as memory flickered. It was a bit fragmented, but the pieces were all there.
Gambling with Beck. Winning a couple of hundred dollars and celebrating hard. Coming across a gay bar by accident and laughing about it before deciding to dance together because, what the hell, we weren’t homophobes who were afraid to let their swords bump and grind.
At some point, Laurie texted, telling us not to do anything he and Tucker wouldn’t do. About twenty years ago, they’d gotten married secretly, and to my drunk-ass brain, it had sounded like the greatest idea ever. The prank of all pranks.
After a quick break to puke in the bar bathroom—which was probably the only thing that kept me functional enough to make it anywhere else—Beck and I had grabbed an Uber. There were some stops we made I didn’t remember, the last one…it was a doozy. We ended up at a twenty-four-hour chapel.
My prank was supposed to stop with some pics and a joke to freak out our friends, but…
“Ohhh fuck!” Beckett exclaimed beside me in the bed we never should have shared. “Why is there cum dried to my abs?” I looked up just in time to see his eyes widen in horror. “And a ring on my finger! What the fuck? What. The. FUCK!”
“Don’t panic.”
“Too fucking late, Wes! Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”
“Uh…I don’t know what you think it is,” I hedged.
“Well, I think I’m wearing cum and a wedding ring, and the only one here with me is you.” He grabbed my hand and lifted it to eye level. “And you’re wearing a ring too.”
“Surprise?” I said with a weak grin. “I guess we got a little wild last night.”
He laughed, sounding slightly unhinged. “A wild night is partying with strippers, Wes! It’s not…not…this! You’re not supposed to bang your stepbro, man!”
“Well, hey, at least we got married first?”
Beckett grasped his hair. “Ah, Christ, we’re dead. Dad is gonna kill us. Well, no, he’ll kill me. You’ll be fine, but I’ll be out of the family, out of a job. We’re supposed to be brothers, not—not—”
His breathing went haywire, his body was shaking, and it was clear that Beckett was losing his shit.
“Hey,” I said softly. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”
I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against me. He resisted for thirty seconds, tense and vibrating, before he collapsed against my chest with a shuddering breath. “We’re fucked,” he murmured, his breath brushing over my right nipple.
My cock hadn’t gone down, despite the fucked-up news I’d married my stepbro. Not to mention whatever else had happened. I squirmed, trying to will it away, and Beckett looked up at me, face pale, eyes big and vulnerable. “What are we gonna do?”
I don’t know what possessed me just then. My desire to comfort Beckett? The knowledge that we might have already messed around last night? My hard dick, which despite a hetero appetite for most of my life, didn’t really care that it was my stepbrother in my arms?
Whatever the reason, I dipped down and kissed him.
Beckett’s lips parted with a gasp as I brushed my lips softly over his, more of a request than a demand. He leaned into the kiss with a small noise that sounded almost like a question. I answered by running my tongue along his bottom lip, then taking it one step further, giving in to the urge to taste him.
In an instant, we caught fire. Beckett climbed into my lap, still kissing me, mouth eager and wet. So hot I thought I’d incinerate. When he settled his weight on my aching cock, both of us naked under the sheet, I groaned and kissed him even harder.
Beckett’s hands were all over me: in my hair, scratching along my flanks, squeezing my pecs. I responded by grabbing his bare ass and squeezing. Then parting his cheeks, my cock skimming through the cleft of his ass and prodding his hole.
We both snapped back to reality at the same time.
Beckett jerked back so fast he fell off my lap, then flung himself to the side to grab a pillow and slam it over his lap. I’d already seen his cock, as hard as mine, long and slim and flushed a dark pink.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked, eyes wide and dark.
“Well, it is our honeymoon,” I joked weakly, not knowing what else to say.
Beckett’s eyes turned murderous, and he gave up on modesty to whack me with the pillow. Right in the face. Then again, knocking me from the bed. He followed to the edge of the bed, continuing to whack me. “This.” Whack. “Is.” Whack. “Not.” Whack. “A joke!”
I caught the pillow and flung it away. When he continued to come after me, lunging forward, I grabbed his shoulders and wrestled him back onto the bed. Beckett struggled, which only brought every part of our bodies into contact, rubbing and grinding until I was panting with more than just exertion.
“Calm down,” I ordered. “I know it’s not a joke, okay? I know!”
His chest heaved, but he stopped straining against my hold. “W-why did you…”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that question without exposing a part of myself I’d been trying to shut down the past few months. Beckett was my stepbrother and a man. He was everything I wasn’t supposed to want.
But being so close to him, naked, married. That was an adrenaline hit.
It was standing on the edge of a cliff with only a cord between me and death. It was standing in the open doorway of a plane, ready to jump.
It was betting everything on one hand in a game of poker, the gamble of a lifetime.
So I answered truthfully and hoped it didn’t ruin everything.
“We already made the fuckup of all fuckups, so I just figured…why not enjoy the honeymoon? I mean, we probably messed around last night, and I don’t know about you, but I want to at least remember how it feels.”
It seemed inevitable, really, after all the months of wishing away the urge to get closer to him. From the moment I’d witnessed our first set of male friends kiss, I’d wondered: What would it be like to kiss Beck like that?
It’d be wrong, I’d told myself. I liked women. So did he. And we were brothers, not lovers.
And yet…the thoughts hadn’t gone away. The curiosity had shifted to desire. A craving that just wouldn’t quit.
I hadn’t thought it would lead to us getting married.
But here we were.
Beck stared at me, lips parted, shock written across his face. “I didn’t think you were into guys.”
“Neither are you, but…”
“You’re different,” he whispered.
“You’re different too.”
Beck moved suddenly, as if to escape me, and I released his wrists, not wanting to restrain him. His hips bucked, he shoved my shoulder, and suddenly he was the one on top, pinning me. He shifted his hips, dragging his cock along mine, and a ragged moan escaped me.
He stilled for a moment, and I thought he’d end the heat beginning to boil over between us, but then his mouth slammed down on mine, filthy wet and desperate.
“Yes, fuck,” I gasped between kisses, bucking my hips up to meet his, the sweat between us deliciously slippery. “Give it to me, Beck. I want it.”
“Y-you r-really want me?” he stuttered, sounding stunned. He was breathing hard, body writhing deliciously on top of my dick. My brain was all but melted in my head, but his eyes seemed so desperate for an answer, I wanted to give him a good one.
“Hell yeah, I want you,” I gasped out. “Want you to bust all over me, man. Fall apart for me. Give me everything you’ve got because you’re mine.”
“Damn,” he whispered, shuddering.
Beckett still held my wrists, but he wasn’t holding me in place so much as just holding me. I broke loose and grabbed his ass, rocking him against me more forcefully, chasing the climax that was just out of reach.
He moaned into the crook of my neck, heat blooming between our bellies, and the knowledge that he’d come all over my body was enough to catapult me into orgasm.
As I came back to my senses, Beckett’s gaze met mine again. There was so much love in his eyes that it stole my breath away. But it didn’t last. Between one blink and the next, Beckett’s light went out.
“We can’t do this, Wes. The family…”
“I think we just did.”
“I’m serious,” he said, peeling himself off my body so quickly that the cold swept in and made me shiver. “We have to undo this marriage and hope like hell that no one ever finds out we were so stupid.”
Each word was a small dagger to the heart, but I knew he was right. We were supposed to be brothers, not lovers.
Not husbands.
But for a minute there, it had almost felt possible.
* * *
BECKETT
I soapedup in the shower, mind spinning out with memories of Wes’s big, strong body under and over mine, his tongue in my mouth, his hands on my ass. Damn, but we’d been hot together.
And wrong.
We shouldn’t have crossed that boundary. Bad enough we’d gotten freaking married. At least that could be undone.
But this… There was no undoing this.
Guilt flickered. Wes thought we’d already had sex last night, but I remembered now why I’d woken with cum dried on me, and Wes hadn’t put it there.
It was embarrassing, really, but while Wes had puked his guts out in a club bathroom last night from drinking too much, I’d been one stall over, clumsily jerking off from getting so hot and bothered while dancing with him.
Wes had banged on the stall door right as I’d started to come, startling me enough that I’d managed to come all over my stomach. Luckily, I’d pulled up my shirt, or I’d have really been a mess. I’d hastily mopped up, though clearly not enough, to join him on our wild night of Vegas adventure.
Which is where everything had gone sideways, because I’d suggested we get married for real.
Yeah, me. I was the reason we were in this predicament.
I didn’t know how to tell Wes. He’d wanted to pull a prank on our friends for laughs. I was the one who’d suggested it would be a lot more convincing if we actually got married. This was my fault.
Wes might have wanted to fuck around this morning, figuring the damage was done, but my feelings were more complicated than that. I’d been fighting the itch under my skin, the craving to get closer, to touch him, to claim him, for at least two years.
I’d dated women, had a few relationships, but nothing ever stuck because I was closer to Wes than anyone else in my life. We worked together, lived together, hung out together. Thankfully, Wes had always been oblivious to my confused attraction. But now? After being able to touch him the way I’d wanted for so long? I didn’t know how I’d ever manage to go back to just being his brother.
And that’s exactly what I had to do.
“Fuck!” Wes cursed from the next room.
He’d let me shower first, telling me he’d charge our phones while I cleaned up. We’d let our batteries die last night, too drunk to remember to plug them in.
My stomach clenched.
There was only one reason for him to be swearing up a storm right now. People must know what we did.
Not all of it. Not the sex part, but…
I glanced down at the ring on my finger, such a simple little piece of metal with such big ramifications. Did everyone know I’d married my stepbrother? How would I ever live that down?
I pushed aside the shower curtain. “Wes? Everything okay?”
He didn’t answer me, and I couldn’t stand the suspense. I grabbed a towel and rushed out of the bathroom, still dripping.
“What’s wrong? Does everyone know?”
“I don’t want you to panic,” he said slowly, eyes still locked on his phone.
“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is. Come on, just rip off the Band-Aid and tell me so I can deal with it.”
Wes finally looked up. For a moment, his gaze caught on my body, making me aware of my nakedness in a way I hadn’t been around him before. We lived in a small trailer, so it wasn’t like we hadn’t seen each other half-naked before. I’d seen Wes walking around in nothing but form-fitting boxer briefs more times than I could count. The man hated clothes and shucked them the instant he was home.
It had stopped feeling brotherly a while ago for me, but I’d never seen blatant appreciation in his gaze before.
It was almost enough to distract me from the suspicion that the honeymoon was about to come to an end.
“They don’t know,” Wes said, surprising me. “Not for sure.”
I crossed the room and plucked the phone from his hand to look for myself. There was a video. Stomach churning, I hit the play button.
“Listen up, Laurie and Tuck!” I shouted from the screen, a huge drunken grin on my face.
“And all the rest of you Granville suckers who aren’t in Vegas, baby!” Wes added, then whooped for good measure.
“You said not to do anything you wouldn’t do…” The me on the screen panned the video to display a chapel in the background.
“Oh, no,” I muttered to myself as I watched.
Wes—the Wes with me in the hotel room—wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me in against his face in a hug that made my stomach flutter despite the train wreck I was watching online.
Video-Wes laughed like a loon. “You’re not the only ones who can get married in secret!”
Video-Beckett swatted his arm. “Shhhh! It’s not a secret if you tell everyone.”
“Oh. OH. Right!” Wes gave an exaggerated wink. “We totally aren’t getting married in Vegas.”
The video cut off.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
“See? It’s not so bad.”
I looked down at Wes, eyes wide. “Not so bad? We basically told everyone we were getting married!”
He grimaced. “Yeah, but we hadn’t done it yet, and we were drunk and silly. We can play it off as a prank. That’s what we told Laurie in his text, right? It’d be an epic prank. That’s all it has to be.”
I glanced back down at the video, biting my lower lip as I read the comments.
Are you guys for real?our friend Bobbi asked.
You two are hilarious, Darren Rafferty posted, with half a dozen laughing emoticons.
Congratulations, maybe?Clark Fletcher wrote.
But it was the last comment that made my heart twist. Nathan Potter, my stepfather and Wes’s dad. This isn’t funny.
“We’re so screwed,” I said.
“No. No way.” Wes pushed me back a step to look up at my face. “We’re still in Vegas and none of this exists.”
“But—”
“We have plausible deniability. We were drunk and stupid.”
“That’s not much of an excuse,” I mumbled.
“We joked around in front of a chapel,” he insisted. “No one can prove anything.”
“You really are determined to be optimistic, aren’t you?” I complained.
He smirked, eyes smoldering. “Well, if you’re determined to believe the sky will fall when we get home, I guess we should enjoy the time we have left here.”
My breath caught. “You mean…”
Wes answered by tugging my towel loose, then letting it fall to the ground.
He was finally looking at me with the same kind of desire I’d shamefully harbored for too long.
His heavy gaze on my dick worked its magic. I hardened as cool air brushed my balls, making me shiver with arousal.
Still, reason tried to prevail. “W-we should be coming up with a plan. Researching annulment. Anything but this.”
“We could do that,” he said, “or…”
“Or?”
“I could get you off again.”
“Fuck.” My hips bucked of their own accord, and Wes wrapped his hand around me, giving me a tight, squeezing stroke that felt perfect.
“On the other hand, we’ll have plenty of time to strategize on the flight home.”
His lips curled up. “Thought so.”
Wes leaned in, his face so close to my cock I nearly lost it right then. He nipped my thigh with his teeth, and I jerked with a groan, my cock hardening more in his fist. My skin felt too tight, my pulse throbbing in my shaft to the rhythm of the words in my head: want want want.
I gave in then, the last of my restraint crumbling. We could have this now, if only for the next twenty-four hours. Just until we left for Granville, and our friends and family and their expectations that we be brothers instead of lovers.
“Fuck it,” I said with a gusty exhale. “If this is wrong, I don’t want to be right.”
He chuckled, working my cock with a strong hand while he ran his tongue from hip to hip, teasing at my navel. I curled over, grabbing his shoulders to keep myself upright as he shattered my fantasies with something even better.
Something real.
The knowledge that it couldn’t last. That it was just a taste of an alternate reality where we weren’t stepbrothers and we could be together, one moment out of time, only made it more intense.
Wes took command of my body, cock included, so confidently you’d never know it was his first time with a man. But that was Wes. Always all in with everything he did. He found all my sensitive spots, using lips and teeth and strong fucking fingers to play me to his tune. I began to shake with so much pleasure I felt as if I’d self-immolate.
“Wes, fuck!” I broke into a million pieces as I came, scattering to the universe, part of me staying in that place where I could be his and he could be mine.
“Knew I’d make you scream for me,” he rasped, but his words were distant as I floated on waves of pleasure.
When I came back to myself, I wasn’t whole. Because I’d gotten a glimpse of that other life, what could be, and I knew…I could never have it.
Saturday's Series Spotlight
Games We Play
Rules We Break
DJ Jamison writes romances about everyday life and extraordinary love featuring a variety of queer characters, from gay to bisexual to asexual. DJ grew up in the Midwest in a working-class family, and those influences can be found in her writing through characters coping with real-life problems: money troubles, workplace drama, family conflicts and, of course, falling in love. DJ spent more than a decade in the newspaper industry before chasing her first dream to write fiction. She spent a lifetime reading before that and continues to avidly devour her fellow authors’ books each night. She lives in Kansas with her husband, two sons, one snake, and a sadistic cat named Birdie.
Don't Date a DILF #1
Don't Mess with the Ex #2
Don't Bang Your Stepbro #3
Rules We Break Series
AUDIBLE / AUDIOBOOKS / CHIRP
Games We Play Series
