Getting Played Read online

  GETTING PLAYED

  Getting Played

  A Jail Bait Novel

  Mia Storm

  Getting Played

  Copyright © 2015 by Mia Storm.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Cover Design: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  To Suzie

  for everything

  Chapter 1

  Marcus

  I stare Caiden Brenner down over my younger sister Blaire’s shoulder. The beating early September sun in the courtyard of Town Hall is roasting me alive in this monkey suit, but I hardly notice. I’m too busy trying to get into my soon-to-be brother-in-law’s head.

  “I do,” Blaire answers when the Justice of the Peace asks if she takes Caiden to be her husband.

  I’ve decided Caiden isn’t the devil incarnate—that would be my ex-best friend, Nate—but I’m still struggling with what Caiden did to my sister four years ago, when he was twenty-five and she was barely seventeen.

  But Blaire is shining in a way I’ve never seen her shine, and it’s more than the way she looks today—totally gorgeous in her bright blue sundress and black Converse, her long black hair tucked up in a bun on top of her head. It’s that each time her eyes connect with

  Caiden’s, I see the visible change in her. All her sharp edges dull and something peaceful softens her face. Not only does she love him, she trusts him. For Blaire, that’s huge.

  So maybe I need to trust him too.

  I glance at Mom and Dad, seated in the short row of chairs under the small gazebo next to Caiden’s mother. Blaire and Caiden insisted on immediate family only at their civil service. They’re having a barbeque later at Graffiti Park for a few close friends and extended family.

  I turn back in time to hear Caiden echo Blaire’s “I do,” then Blaire spins and look expectantly at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  Her expression turns decidedly more exasperated. “Jesus, Marcus.”

  My eyes widen when it hits me what she’s waiting for. I pat my pocket and feel the ring there. I fish it out and hesitate.

  Blaire’s glare could melt steel as she holds out her hand for it.

  I swallow the acid rising up my throat and slip it into her palm. She’s really going through with this. She’s marrying the man who went to prison for statutory rape.

  I’ve been hard on him. I know that. But all Blaire and I have ever had is each other. She’s always had my back, but I let her get hurt twice on my watch—once by Caiden, and then by Nate. It’s just been in the last few months that she’s seemed to find herself again after everything that happened. As much as I wish it was me who brought her back, I know it was Caiden. I need to cut him some slack.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath as they exchange rings, and when I open them, they’re kissing.

  When he finally lets her go, Blaire turns to me. She gives me a wary once over. “Just so you know, you suck as bro of honor.”

  I duck my head and rub the sweat off the back of my neck. “You should have picked Zoey.”

  Her eyes narrow. “I picked you, Marcus. I wanted you.”

  Fuck. I really need to get over myself.

  Just as I’m thinking this, Caiden slips to Blaire’s side and holds out his hand to me.

  “Thanks for your support, Marcus.”

  I split a glance between Caiden’s hand and my sister. Her gaze is unwavering, as usual, but under her hard exterior, I see a deep vulnerability in her eyes.

  The moment of truth. Either I accept my new brother-in-law into the family, or break my sister’s heart.

  I squeeze Caiden’s hand. Hard. “Welcome to the family. Just know this: You mess with Blaire, I will kill you.”

  My compromise.

  Blaire gives me her signature smirk, then tugs her groom closer and kisses him. “He messes with me, I’ll kill him.”

  Caiden beams as he looks at her. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

  “You two are on grill duty at the reception,” she says, poking me in the chest. “And I expect you both to come away un-charred.”

  I shake my head. “Can’t make any promises, sis.”

  “That was lovely, Blaire,” Mom says, joining our small circle.

  I glance around and find Dad already at the door. Social situations are his nightmare. This should be enough to drive him over the edge. But to his credit, he seems sober.

  There’s an awkward moment where Blaire and our mother negotiate their way around a brief hug, before Mom backs away. “You said Zoey’s getting everything ready at the park?”

  Blaire nods and pulls her phone out of her bra, glancing at the screen. “She says they’re ready anytime we are.”

  Mom looks warily toward where Dad is shifting on his feet. “I might need to drop your father off at the house on the way. He’s not feeling well.”

  Of course not. He’s already had to say hello to Caiden and his family. The thought of having to interact with more people at the reception is probably making him physically ill.

  There’s a glint of disappointment in Blaire’s eyes, but it passes quickly as she thinks about it and comes to the same conclusion I have. “We’ll see you over there,” she says, grasping Caiden’s hand and starting toward the parking lot.

  Despite the “no gifts” decree, a handful of people are waiting near a pile of wrapped presents on one of the picnic tables under the small shelter when we arrive at Graffiti Park. The shelter has silver and blue streamers twisted around the poles and looped from the eaves, and the five picnic tables underneath are covered in blue paper table-cloths with silver balloons tied to the benches. In the center of the middle table is a cake shaped like a penis in between two boobs. Blaire’s best friend Zoey’s con-tribution, no doubt.

  Blaire leaves Caiden and I in the dust, where we’re carrying the gas grill from the back of my pickup truck across the grass to the shelter, and makes a beeline for Zoey. Her face is something between a scowl and a grin as she surveys the cake. “You know I’ll never be able to show my future children pictures of my wedding reception now.”

  “But you’ll never forget it,” Zoey answers with a self-satisfied grin, wrapping Blaire in a hug. “Love you, girl.”

  Next to me, Caiden’s feet stall and I yank the grill out of his hands when I keep walking. When I look back at him, he’s giving Blaire a stunned stare. But then a grin slowly spreads across his face.

  “I guess this works,” I say, straightening out the grill next to the edge of the shelter.

  His eyes snap to me as if he’s just remembering I exist. “Oh…sorry.”

  I tug off my jacket. “So you guys are doing the whole kid thing?” I ask, tucking my tie inside the royal blue shirt I bought to match my sister’s wedding dress in a show of solidarity.

  He glances at Blaire again and bobs a nod. “It appears that way.”

  I crouch down to screw the gas line into the grill. “You haven’t talked about it?”

  He shrugs as he pulls open a box of frozen Costco burgers. “Not specifically.”

  “Kids makes it permanent,” I say in warning.

  “Our marriage vows made it permanent,” he counters with more than a little irritation in his tone.

  A hand brushes over my back. “Hey, good lookin’.”

  I turn at the Texas drawl and find my date, Deanna, standing there in a tiny green dress and killer heels. She’s pretty in the Barbie sense: blond and blue with a heart-shaped face, copper skin, and an amazing body—long and lean with curves in all the right places.

  I use t
he word “date” loosely. She’s the woman who stole my job at Oak Crest High. I know she was teaching in Texas for four years before coming here—the reason the school board cited for hiring her over me. Experience. Which means she’s at least three, maybe four years older than me. But what started as mindless frenemy sex a few weeks back has turned into a regular thing. When she invited herself to my sister’s wedding, it seemed a little heartless to tell her no.

  She wraps her arms around my neck and sort of hangs off me. “How was the ceremony?”

  I glance at Caiden, where he’s firing up the grill. “It was good.”

  Deanna smiles at Caiden and holds out her hand. “I’m sure it was ten yards of romantic. Congratulations.”

  He shakes her outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

  I watch her walk over to Blaire and introduce herself. Maybe that’s something I should have done, but I feel like this thing is already taking on a life of its own, and her getting all chummy with my sister makes me a little nervous. I busy myself getting everything ready, then take up my position next to my new brother-in-law when he starts throwing burgers on the grill.

  “Listen, Marcus,” he says, tearing open a package of hot dogs. “I get that I’ve never been your favorite person and I can respect your reasons for that, but I need you to understand that Blaire is my life. I’ve given up everything for her and I’d do it all again if it meant the same result.”

  “You can prove it by not fucking this up,” I say with a wave of the barbeque tongs between where Blaire is hugging some Berkeley friends who have just arrived and him.

  “I can’t predict the future better than anyone else,” he answers, his eyes raising from the grill to his new bride, “but I can swear to you I’m going to do everything in my power not to.”

  We cook and, at Zoey’s direction, people start filing past for burgers and dogs. Once most everyone is served, Caiden grabs a burger off the grill for Blaire and brings it to her. They sit across the picnic table from each other, and even though they’re talking to other people, their eyes keep straying to each other’s.

  Deanna and Zoey seem to hit it off and are deep in conversation about shoes when I slip away from the shelter. On autopilot, my legs start up the hill toward the playground where Blaire, Nate, and I used to spend all our time as kids.

  As I walk, I loosen my tie and flick open the top button of my shirt. Near the top of the hill is a bench nestled into the shade of some big oaks. Nate and I carved it up pretty good back in the day. Which makes me wonder about him.

  We haven’t spoken since I decked him after he cheated on Blaire. It’s been four years. He came back to town to live with his parents after we graduated college, and since it’s a small place, I saw him here and there, but it’s been a while. With any luck, he’s moved on.

  I start toward the bench, but then see it’s occupied. A woman is laying on her back, her knees bent and her head propped on a backpack with a book in her hand.

  I shove my hands in my pockets and look farther up the hill, toward the playground. The benches there are occupied by parents supervising their kids on the massive wooden play structure. The only free bench is facing into the afternoon sun, about twenty feet across the open, grassy area from the one the woman is occupying. I head over to it and plunk down on the end. I glare through the blinding sun at the woman on my bench before leaning onto my elbows and resting my face in my hands.

  If you’d asked me five years ago where I thought I’d be right now, it wouldn’t have been here, coaching girls’ water polo at my old high school and working at the local gym. This is so not where I saw my life going. After living large for four years of high school and four more at college, I guess I started to feel charmed. But there’s nothing charming about crashing on a friend’s couch for the last six months because it’s all I can afford. I’ve only been out of UCLA for a year and I feel like I’ve already hit a total dead end, but I’ve got no one but myself to blame for that.

  As the sun dips behind the tops of the trees surrounding the bench across the way, I sit up straight and look at the woman who stole it. There’s a second I wonder if she’s homeless, because her wardrobe has a definite secondhand vibe—a faded army-green tank with pale pink stripes under a baggy red cardigan, tattered jeans which are probably too short because they’re rolled halfway up her shins, and plaid Vans with no socks.

  She rolls her head my direction and catches me staring.

  I divert my eyes, but then blow out a disgusted laugh. I never would have done that back in college. She’s hot. I can see that from here. Used to be, a hot girl made eye contact, I would have held her gaze. I would have sent the message loud and clear with my eyes that I was interested.

  When I glance up, she’s gone back to her book. I shove up off the bench and cram my hands into my pockets as I amble slowly toward her.

  She lowers her book and sits up when she sees me, combing a hand through her thick strawberry blond corkscrew curls, and it strikes me that she looks vaguely familiar. Her face is thin and at the bottom of a smallish nose that turns up slightly at the end are a pair of full, pink lips that tend to curl down. There’s the faintest hint of freckles smattering her cheeks and nose, and it’s kind of a turn-on that she’s comfortable enough in her own skin not to hide them behind layers of makeup. But it’s her charcoal gray eyes that snag all my attention. They’re large and round, but not innocent.

  “Nice day,” I say, looking toward the shelter down the hill, wracking my brain trying to place how I know this woman. Maybe from the gym?

  She closes her book and nods.

  “Mind if I…?” I gesture at the now vacant end of the bench.

  She gives me another wary nod.

  I lower myself onto the spot her feet just were, and now I’ve got nothing else to say. I should have stayed on my own fucking bench. I give her a second to bail me out, and when she doesn’t, I gesture to the book. “Good book?”

  She lifts the book and shows me the cover. The Metamorphosis. “It’s okay.”

  I pull it from her hand and read the description on the back cover. “Pretty dark.”

  She almost shrugs, more with her face than her body. “I found a list of the twenty-five most controversial books of all time. Making my way through the ones that interest me.” In the corner of my eye, I see her wave her hand at the book I’m thumbing through. “That’s number ten.”

  I look up at her. “What are numbers one through nine?”

  “Lolita is number one. I’d already read that, though, as well as number two, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, number four, The Grapes of Wrath, and number nine, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.”

  “So, what new books have you picked up because of the list?” I lift The Metamorphosis. “Other than this?”

  She looks at the book in my hand rather than me as she ticks off on her fingers. “I skipped American Psycho, which is number three, but I’ve read the rest: And Tango Makes Three, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, The Tropic of Cancer, and The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie…which I have to say was pretty dry.”

  “That’s an impressive reading list.” I set the book down on the bench between us. “So, you’re not a Rushdie fan. What did you think of the others?”

  “And Tango Makes Three was cute. Uncle Tom’s Cabin was depressing, and The Tropic of Cancer was…” She trails off and gives me that face shrug again. But this time she’s blushing through her freckles.

  It’s been a while since I read it, but my recollection is that it’s full of graphic sex. She’s embarrassed to talk to me about it, and for some reason that sends a rush through my insides that settles in my groin. My gaze trails over the lines of her face, down her long neck, then trickles over her body. She’s on the tall side and athletic, with breasts that are a perfect handful, a flat stomach, and long, toned legs that I’d suddenly kill to have wrapped around my head.

  “And what’s the verdict on this one?” I ask, handing back The Metamorphosis.

&nbs
p; A shadow passes over her face as she looks at the cover. “It’s…thought provoking.”

  “What thoughts is it provoking?” I ask, laying the innuendo on thick and hoping I’m not the only one feeling the attraction.

  The thought passes through the back of my mind that hitting on another woman while my date is just down the hill is a pretty skanky thing to do, but there’s something compelling about this girl. The idea that I might never see her again tugs hard at my gut. I might only get one chance to find out who she is. I’m not going to let it slip by.

  “Have you read it?” she asks.

  I lean in and shake my head. “Should I?”

  “It’s a little out there,” she says with an unsure squint.

  “Why don’t you save me the trouble and give me the SparkNotes,” I say, looping my arm behind her and resting it on the back of the bench.

  She gives me a curious look, and I feel her body tense under my arm.

  I give her my best cocky smile and arch an eyebrow. I intentionally let my fingers brush her shoulder and am rewarded with a shudder. “Unless you’d prefer I leave?”

  A sly smile curves her pink lips as she lowers her lashes, and the rush in my groin intensifies.

  “The SparkNotes…,” she says, picking up the book between us. I take the opportunity to slide closer. “This guy Gregor wakes up one day to find he’s a giant bug…which I get is a little weird, and there’s no explanation as to why, but the upshot is that everyone is pretty grossed out by him and all his family seems to care about is that he can’t do his job anymore, so he can’t contribute to the finances. He can only speak bug, so because they can’t understand him, they assume he can’t understand them when they say they wish he’d just go away. But he can’t leave because he has nowhere to go, and also because his father threw an apple at him and injured him pretty badly, so he hides in his room and eventually just dies.”

  “Seriously?” When I take the book back and turn it over to read the jacket copy again, I notice it came from the county library.