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Four

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Hunter

“NO ONE LIKES A CREEPY stalker. Even if they are a famous singer,” Tucker said as he sexted his girlfriend.

And by girlfriend, I meant the woman who used my brother for money since he ran a tech firm. I wasn’t a fan of Chelsea Coulter. She was plastic—her boobs, parts of her face, and probably her ass, too. The only time she was nice to my brother was when she wanted something expensive.

Telling him what I thought of his girlfriend would cause him to do two things. One, he wouldn’t agree; in fact, he’d probably tell me that he doesn’t deserve her.

And the second thing he would do would never speak to me again—actually, most likely, he’d move out. I’d never let a woman, especially Chelsea, end my relationship with my brother.

What little family I had left was everything to me.

It broke my heart that the greatest guy to ever live thought he had to put up with a money-sucking bimbo because he didn’t care about himself or his life anymore.

He saw a nerd stuck in a wheelchair due to an IED blast while on deployment five years ago. He thought women wouldn’t be attracted to him, or worse, pity him. Then Chelsea came along a few months ago, taking full advantage of my brother’s low self-image.

She was eager to degrade him, only stopping when he bought her gifts. And he ate up all the nastiness she spewed.

“Says the guy one-way sexting his girlfriend.” I stood by the front door and grabbed the car keys off the antique cherry table.

I thought I had lost the keys over a week and a half ago when Tucker and I came back from our trip. I was worried I left them in Florida. But when Chelsea came to visit a week ago, they magically reappeared when she wanted to take Tucker shopping. Said she saw them just under the couch. She must have been hoping to find loose change but discovered our missing car keys instead.

He sighed and threw his phone on the round table in the middle of the entrance that held a large vase of colorful flowers. “You’re right . . . I don’t know why I bother.”

“I don’t, either,” I said low enough so he couldn’t hear.

“I think I’m going to break up with Chelsea.”

Instead of opening the door and leaving to hang out at the Hella Ella Café for the seventh time this week in search of a spicy redhead, I turned in shock. My mouth hung open and for a moment, I couldn’t move, completely stunned by what my brother said.

Once his words sunk in, I ran over to my brother and almost tackled him for a hug.

“Ugh, get off me.”

I noticed he waited a few seconds before he squirmed out of my hold.

“It’s about time. I didn’t want to say anything, but you can do so much better.”

“So you say,” he mumbled.

“I do say. Maybe tonight I can prove it to you and take you out. Like old times before you went into the army and I came out with the ‘Price of Love.’”

I sang that single into a crappy second-hand microphone and uploaded it onto Vidtube. By the next day, I had thousands of views and within the week, hundreds of thousands. Producers were calling me, and I got a record deal by the end of summer.

Four albums and three music tours later, I was here hoping to find inspiration. Most musicians don’t move to the suburbs to find their muse, but most don’t lose the two things they ever loved on the same day—the woman they wanted to marry and their love of music.

After months of feeling sorry for myself and being holed up in my swanky condo in New York City, my brother pulled me away. Surprised me by forcing me on a four-hour drive south and taking me to this suburban town. It looked like what all towns aspire to be—a little too perfect and cookie cutter.

I thought he was crazy but at the time, I was lost and did whatever he said.

On a whim, I bought this house and Tucker told me I was stuck with him until I stopped “being a depressing turd blossom.”

“I think the last thing I want right now is to hit on women or date women or be in the same room as women. Besides, I have a big project at work. Perhaps some alone time is what I need.” He wheeled himself around and made his way farther into the house.

“You could always start physical therapy back up again.”

He held up his middle finger right before he disappeared around the corner. Tucker hated physical therapy, thought it was depressing and no point as he only had one leg.

I hoped us living together wouldn’t just help me out of my funk, but him, too. I was feeling better but Tucker . . . he’s the same guy that I picked up at the airport when he first came home from overseas all those years ago. He didn’t just lose a leg over there; he lost his spirit.

My phone buzzed. It was the front gate of the community. The only time we were contacted by them was for Chelsea, if we ordered pizza, or from Jacket Bakery because they delivered the best pastries.

“Hello?”

“Sorry to bother you, sir, but we have someone at the front gate claiming to have an appointment with you.”

I heard a woman’s voice in the background.

“I don’t have an appointment with anyone. Tell her to go away.”

“Sir, I have . . . several times. I’ve explained she wasn’t on the list of approved visitors, but she refuses to leave. And she told me to tell you she has chalk and knows how to use it.”

A huge smile broke out on my face. My heart began to beat wildly in my chest, and I wondered how it suddenly got so hot in my house.

“Oh, yes. I forgot to add her to the list. Completely forgot. Sorry, Roger. Please, let her inside.”

I couldn’t believe she found me. If she could locate where I lived, then who else knew my location? Only three people knew where I lived—my brother, Chelsea, and my manager.

I bet Chelsea had already told the paps in order to get money. I wouldn’t be surprised if she took a few secret shots of me and sold those, too.

At least Willa asked before taking the picture. Ugh, the picture. My brother explained in detail how foolish it was for me to pose for that. And he was right, of course.

Maybe that’s why Willa was here—to bribe me. She did seem a little unhinged. I wish my body could be attracted to someone more in touch with their own reality and not so willing to extort money from me.

I suddenly understood how my brother could be with Chelsea for so long.

The doorbell rang, and I realized I had been standing there, arguing with myself about having the hots for a mad woman for several minutes.

Maybe I was the crazy person?

Just before I opened the door, I checked my teeth and made sure I didn’t have killer breath. Don’t want her fart breath theory to turn out to be true.

Not that I was about to get close enough to her that it would be a problem if I did. I wasn’t going to kiss her or fulfill the dream I had about her last night—the one where she kept begging me to tickle her until she orgasmed. In the dream, she loved having her elbows tickled.

It was weird but watching her come was anything but. That was hot. Raging, hard-on sexy.

It took a few seconds to get that thought out of my head and will my cock to simmer down before I opened the door. What stood in front of me was better than any dream. It was heaven.

Willa, with her long fiery hair hung softly over her shoulders, stood there in a fake fur jacket, partially open to a flesh-colored top, skin-tight black pants, and short animal print boots.

She looked like what Hollywood thought a sexy rock goddess should be. And I would totally agree with Hollywood on this one. Willa looked fan-freaking-tastic.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she released a sigh.

I realized she was still standing outside.

“Oh, uh . . . please, come in.” I stepped back and waved her through.

She walked past me and when she did, I sucked in that mouth-watering honeysuckle scent of hers like a creeper who gave zero fucks.

“Wow, I did not expect this.” She turned around and the corner of her mouth curled. The same expression she gave last week right before she played me, and I was eating it up just as easily as I did last Monday.

I was an idiot around her and yet, I didn’t seem to care.

“Is this your grandmother’s place?”

“What? No. I bought this house over a year ago.”

“Really?” She scrunched up her nose, and it was the cutest thing I ever saw. I had the strong urge to go and rub my nose against hers.

Yup, I was the crazy one here. I thought it was her, but it’s one hundred and ten percent me.

“I’m assuming you didn’t hire a decorator. Is this some new design trend? Yard Sale Chic.”

My dick was hard. Willa in that outfit, making fun of my design choices made me smile like a fool.

Perhaps it was because I was used to groupies saying anything they thought I wanted to hear, but it was refreshing to be around a woman who obviously didn’t want me for my money, my fame, or how I could help their career.

Or maybe it was because the last woman who didn’t hold back her opinions around me stole my heart only for it to shatter into too many pieces to count.

I shut the door and moved closer. “Why are you here?”

Willa was still looking around but said, “I already told you . . . I’m sorry.”

“About accusing me of trying to run someone over?”

Her head whirled around to meet mine and something fierce flashed behind her eyes, darkening them to a deep, sea green.

“You can’t even admit you almost ran my mother over? At least come clean. Your own brother admitted you were a terrible driver. Look what you did to him.”

“I did nothing to my brother. He likes to screw with me. It’s what brothers do. I mess with him and he messes with me. We’ve been doing it since I was three and he came home from the hospital. According to my mom, I slapped my brother in the face when we first met. It’s biology.” I moved my hands up but stepped closer.

It was her scent. I had to be near just so I could inhale. That stuff was addictive. She was addictive.

Willa folded her arms and leaned against the round table. “Of course, you’re going to lie when he’s not here to defend himself.”

“It’s true. Hunter didn’t cause me to lose my leg. I was halfway around the world when it happened. He was on tour in Seattle. Or was it Boise? I was never good with remembering where you played.” My brother came back into the room. Willa turned to face him. “Actually, I was the one who lied. Not exactly lied but played into your anger . . . That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, uh . . . it’s okay. I’m sorry about the chalk thing.” She turned back to me lifting her finger and a part of me wanted her to dig it into my chest like she did last week. “But that still doesn’t excuse you almost running over my mom.”

“Actually, I didn’t exactly explain the truth with that, either. Hunter was with me. We were in Florida visiting our grandmother. Got back on Saturday of the previous week.”

Willa’s brow wrinkled and I could see she was doing the calculations in her head. She accused me of running her mom over several days before we met last Monday. When my brother got back from Florida it was only two days before I encountered Willa for the first time. I wasn’t even in the state when her mother was almost hit.

Tucker waved at his wheelchair. “Fun fact about being in a wheelchair, I’m the first to board the plane and last to get off. Which, if you have to pee, makes it a terrible experience considering the plane bathrooms can’t accommodate me. Just wanted to put that out there.”

“That does suck. Next time bring a cup and pee in it, then threaten to dump it on the carpet if they don’t get you off first thing. I bet you they will get you out of there as soon as possible,” Willa said with a shrug.

Tucker stared at her and for the first time since last Monday when we first met her, he smiled. “That’s a great idea. I hadn’t thought of that.” He turned his attention to me. “Whatever you do, Hunter, don’t fuck this up.”

I folded my arms. “I thought you didn’t want to be in the same room as women?”

“She’s not a woman. She’s a goddess.” He looked up at Willa. “Let me know if he starts being a jerk. I have some military moves that he won’t see coming.”

Her sexy gaze slid to mine as her lips curled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tucker turned to leave, with the wheels making a sticky sound as they went. I sighed with the knowledge that the noise meant only one thing—he was doing wheelies in the mud out back. He called it his Zen time, but it didn’t stop him from tracking mud on the rug in the dining room.

“I believe someone owes someone else an apology,” I said with a smirk as she turned to me, her cheeks flush and biting that bottom lip I was desperate to suck.