Stirred (Twisted Fox Book 1) Read online

  “Thank you for letting me in his life,” I whisper. “I know it was hard for you.”

  His gaze darts to the other side of the kitchen.

  Whenever I bring up Noah, Cohen changes.

  Vulnerability flashes in his eyes.

  He’s unsure if me seeing Noah is the right thing to do.

  Please don’t doubt me.

  I’ll never hurt either of you.

  I swear it.

  I’m playing, and I will always play by your rules.

  He knocks his knuckles against the table before sliding out of his chair. “Sorry for taking you away from whatever you were doing by asking you at the last minute. I’m sure you were busy.”

  “Nope, just in bed.” I chew on the inside of my mouth.

  He tilts his head back. “Now, I feel like shit for dragging you out of bed.” His head lowers as if something quickly hit him. “Wait, why were you in bed that early?”

  A strangled laugh leaves me. “I was awake … just chilling.”

  A low chuckle from him eases me a bit. “Just chilling, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  His lips twitch into a relaxed smile. “What does one do while just chilling in bed?”

  “Eat ice cream.” I wrinkle my nose while rambling off my list, “Complain about insomnia.” I snap my fingers, and my voice hitches. “Oh! And eat Cheetos—the puffy kind, of course. Sometimes, if I’m feeling crazy, I throw Netflix into the mix. My shifts have been chaotic lately, and it’s been difficult to maintain a normal sleep schedule.”

  Last week, we were short a doctor and two nurses in the ER, so I picked up the slack.

  He scratches his chin. “What does Jamie watch in bed while chilling?”

  “The Office reruns usually or a serial killer documentary.”

  “You have no idea how much I’d pay to binge-watch a show that isn’t cartoons or even eat in bed. If Noah catches me snacking in bed, he’ll try to do the same. Kid’s a messy eater. In all seriousness, though, I’m proud of you for going for your dream.”

  Rising from the chair, I clap him on the shoulder. “You sound like a proud dad at graduation.”

  He clasps his hand over mine, squeezing it. “Hey now, I heard you babble on about wanting to be a doctor for years. I’m glad it worked out.”

  As happy as his words hit me, my attention is pinned to his hand over mine.

  To his touch.

  The way his large hand perfectly blankets mine.

  The warmth of his skin over mine.

  I shut my eyes, telling myself to pull away but not having the strength to.

  He blows out a long breath at the same time he releases my hand. “It’s late.”

  I retreat a few steps, maintaining distance, and groan when he pulls out his wallet.

  Not again.

  “Nope,” I say, pushing the wallet away. “If you even think of taking anything out of that, I’m kicking your ass.”

  He snags a bill and slides it between two fingers, holding it out to me. “For taking you away from your Cheetos and Netflix.”

  I narrow my eyes on him. “Put it away.”

  “Jamie—”

  “You can pay me back by allowing me to see Noah more. How’s that?”

  He stiffens at my response, and his face changes into a look I’ve only seen once—when we were in Noah’s bedroom. We lock eyes, and I feel my pulse in my throat.

  “I’ll give you that.” His voice is gentle when he reaches forward, wraps a strand of my hair around his thick finger, and clips it behind my ear. “Good night, Jamie. Get back to your Cheetos and Netflix.”

  I suck in a breath.

  Cheetos?

  From the way he’s looking at me, I’ll be getting back to my vibrator.

  His eyes are half-lidded and tired when I tell him good night, and he walks me to the door, standing on the porch until I drive away.

  When I get home, I pour a glass of wine to pair nicely with my Cheetos and go to bed.

  10

  Cohen

  “I understand you want to wear your Spider-Man light-up sandals, buddy, but it’s cold outside. Your toes will freeze off.”

  I’m crouched on one knee and having a standoff with my five-year-old son about fucking light-up sandals at the ass crack of dawn.

  Noah scowls at me. “I don’t care. I don’t need all my toes.” He holds up his tiny hand and separates his fingers, wiggling them. “I got ten of ’em.”

  I scrub a hand over my cheek. I’m functioning on three hours of sleep, and I still need to make breakfast and drop Noah off at school on time. “How about this? I’ll buy you Spider-Man boots if you put those boots on. Neither one of us is getting our way here, bud.”

  He tilts his head to the side, thinking. “If I listen, you are getting your way.”

  Schooled by a kindergartener.

  I stare at him, searching for my next move, but he sighs as if annoyed with me.

  “Fine,” he groans. “I’ll wear the boots if you put an extra pudding cup in my lunchbox.”

  “Sold!” I high-five him and stand. “Put on your boots, and let’s get moving.”

  Noah pulls the bright red boots up each foot and stomps into the bathroom. I spike his hair with gel and spritz cologne on his wrist, and we head into the kitchen, the smell of his cologne filling the hallway when he sprints down it. I bought him the cheap shit last month in hopes that he’d stop stealing mine.

  He dances in his seat at the kitchen table while I heat his oatmeal—the kind where the dinosaurs hatch from their eggs after it’s warm—and I make his lunch while he eats. Normally, I have everything ready the night before, but the fiasco with Polly and Mohawk fucked up my schedule. I was exhausted and crashed into bed as soon as Jamie left.

  After Noah scarfs down his oatmeal, he jumps from his chair, and we load into my Jeep. The drive to school isn’t a quiet one while he talks about how pretty his babysitter is and then complains that I’m not bumping Kidz Bop.

  After I drop him off, I head to the bar for another day of work.

  “Hey, big brother.”

  I glance up, drying off a glass, and set it to the side as Georgia skips over to me.

  She plops down on a stool, sets her salad container on the bar, and opens it. “How’d last night go?”

  I grab another glass. “You were with me last night. Remember?”

  “How’d your night go with Jamie?” She stabs a piece of lettuce and shoves it in her mouth.

  That’s where she was going with that.

  Not surprising.

  “I went home. She went home. That’s it,” I lie with a shrug.

  That’s it.

  That’s definitely not it.

  We talked. We laughed. We joked.

  We brought up secrets.

  Even though I had been tired as fuck, ready to collapse into my bed when I walked into the house, I could’ve sat at that table and talked to her all night.

  Then we started talking about our kiss.

  The kiss we’d shared years ago that was anything but hot.

  My chest expanded, and my dick stirred at the thought of kissing her again—better this time.

  Hotter this time.

  Me not pulling away this time.

  I prayed she didn’t notice me staring at her plump lips as I wondered how it’d feel to brush mine against them.

  “Lame,” Georgia groans, breaking me out of my thoughts before dropping her fork and staring at me, a shit-eating grin on her face. “I have a great idea.”

  “Keep that idea to yourself,” I grumble.

  “Ask her out.”

  Georgia liking Jamie surprises me. When Noah was a baby, Georgia sided with me about Heather’s family—including Jamie—not seeing Noah. Like me, she saw them as a threat.

  “Mind your business.”

  “She doesn’t know how to do that,” Archer says, strolling behind me to grab a cocktail shaker.

  “And just like that, my appetite is ruin
ed,” Georgia snaps, her cold glare pinned on Archer as she slams the lid back onto her salad.

  I gear up, ready to block it because her face suggests she’s about to throw it at him. As annoying as it is to hear them argue like fucking children, it at least takes the attention away from Jamie and me.

  I signal back and forth between them. “You two need to quit acting like you’re Noah’s age and get along.”

  Archer walks away without replying and helps a customer.

  Sadness crosses Georgia’s face as she scoops up her hardly eaten salad. “I’m out of here. I’ll finish my food somewhere that’s asshole-free.”

  “You don’t have to go.” I set down the glass and then scrub a hand over my forehead.

  She and Archer have been arguing for years, and no one knows why. Eventually, it has to end because it’s giving me a goddamn headache.

  Just as I’m about to lock them in a room to work on whatever the fuck their issue is, Silas’s voice rings through the bar. “Hey, yo! We have that new vodka everyone is talking about!”

  Silas comes into view with a heavy box in his hands. He groans as he drops it onto the bar next to Georgia.

  “You mean, the vodka Lola told you to buy?” I ask.

  “Obvi,” Georgia replies for him with a snort. “He’d pierce his dick if Lola told him to.”

  Lola is one of Georgia’s best friends who works for one of our liquor distributors. She tends to sucker Silas into purchasing whatever alcohol she’s promoting.

  “Bullshit,” Silas says, shooting Georgia a glare before plucking the box cutter sticking out of his pocket and slicing the box open. He pulls out a bottle with a label I don’t recognize and holds it up. “Now, who’s up for testing this bad boy?”

  “Hard pass. Lola already made me try it, and it’s potent,” Georgia says before wiggling her fingers in a wave, scooping up her things, and scurrying out of the bar.

  “Over here!” a customer yells, swinging his arms in the air. “I’m up for taste testing anything!”

  Silas hops over the bar and spins the bottle in his hand. “Any takers from someone who works here?”

  The taste tester won’t be Silas. He works in a bar yet doesn’t drink.

  Silas points at me with the bottle.

  “Nope.” I shake my head. “I’m about to head home.”

  He snags a shot glass and pours a shot. “Archer, my man! Looks like you’re the winner!”

  Archer grumbles curses under his breath, captures the glass, and swallows down the shot. “It’s okay. Nothing to orgasm about.” He hands the shot glass back to Silas with a shrug and walks away.

  “That dude needs to get laid,” Silas says, shaking his head.

  “Lack of pussy isn’t his problem,” I comment.

  Archer has his fair share of women. He comes from money, and even though he tries to hide it, women fawn over him as if it bleeds off him. The difference between Archer and other guys is that he doesn’t broadcast his hookups. He’s quiet and private, but given the shit that happened to his family, I don’t blame him. He’s rough around the edges, bulky, and broad-shouldered. He’s a better fit for a bouncer than Finn, but Archer laughed in our faces and threatened to kick our asses when we suggested it.

  Finn raises a brow.

  “It’s Archer being Archer,” is my only explanation.

  “Georgia probably put him in a bad mood. Anytime they’re around each other, it’s a negative-ass vibe. They need to bang and get it over with.”

  “Dude, what the fuck?” I seethe, shooting him a look of warning. “That’s my sister.”

  He holds his hands up, palms facing me. “Oh shit, forgot about that.”

  I flip him off and smack him upside the head.

  He jerks back. “Dude, what the fuck to you?”

  “Oh shit, forgot it’s painful when someone hits you.” I signal to everyone behind the bar. “All of you assholes know my sister is off-limits.”

  That’s been my rule since day one. Whenever a friend meets her, I make it clear he stays away from her. Georgia is grown and going to date, but I’ve worked with my friends long enough to know they’re not the guys for her. They hook up with women, women throw themselves at them, and none of them can hold a relationship without fucking it up.

  Not happening on my watch.

  They all know that, and they respect that.

  We’ve never had an issue.

  If that changes, that person will no longer be my friend.

  And I’ll kick the bastard’s ass.

  11

  Jamie

  “You still mad at me?” Ashley asks, sliding into the booth across from me at our favorite smoothie joint.

  I haven’t talked to her in weeks. She and Jared went on an off-the-grid-to-find-myself vacation with no phones, no WiFi, and no Netflix. Not a good time, in my opinion. Since she’s been gone, I haven’t had a chance to tell her about the Cohen situation.

  Ashley has been my best friend since third grade. We were the class nerds who spent our weekends doing homework and reading books while hanging out. We had a similar goal—to become doctors.

  We were roommates in college and med school. She met Jared and moved out of our apartment and into his condo last year.

  While I took a job in the ER, she took one as an OB/GYN. When she offered me a position at her practice, I declined. The ER holds my heart. It’s stressful, but I love the unknown. People come to us at their most vulnerable times. I wanted to be a doctor to help people, and the ER is what makes me happy.

  “Sure am,” I answer, sipping on my açaí smoothie.

  “Come on,” she groans. “How was I supposed to know he was a D-bag who liked gangsters?”

  “Jared knows what kind of guy he is.”

  She wrinkles her nose and rubs her bottom lip. “You see … Jared doesn’t exactly speak to him.”

  “What the hell?” I shriek, tossing my straw wrapper at her. “You set me up with a guy neither one of you speaks to?”

  Ashley takes a long drink before answering, “I know about him. Sometimes, I talk to his assistant when I visit Jared at the office. She said he was a winner, so I set you up.” She throws her arm out before placing her hand over her heart. “What if someone gave me the opportunity to set you up with a Hemsworth brother? I wouldn’t say no because I hadn’t personally met him.”

  “Big difference,” I mutter, shooting her a dirty look.

  “Look, my goal is to find you love, and I’m doing the best I can over here. Not all of them can be winners. It’s called a process of elimination.”

  “I’ll find my own love, thank you very much.” I sip on my drink. “No more blind dates from you.”

  “Where will you find dates then?” She pushes her fire-red hair away from her face and leans across the table. “Did you finally decide to take my advice and join Tinder?”

  “Tinder sounds better than Ashley Finds Me a Date, so possibly,” I lie.

  “Look, give me another chance.” She presses her hands together in a praying gesture. “I’ll check attorneys off the list. Jared has plenty of frat brothers.”

  “Absolutely not. Frat boys are the worst.”

  I stupidly lost my virginity to a frat boy I was tutoring my sophomore year of college. He invited me to a party, and one thing led to another. A week later, he hired a new tutor, who I then caught giving him a blow job.

  “Technically, they graduated and are no longer frat boys.”

  “Thank you, next,” I sing out.

  “No accountants, no former frat boys. Anyone else on your no-no list, you picky pain in the ass?”

  “No one you suggest.”

  She pouts, and her response comes out in a whine, “You’re no fun. Get married, so I can deliver an amazing maid of honor speech. I demand to take credit for you finding the love of your life.”

  I roll my eyes.

  She perks up in her seat. “How about this? You let me apologize with margaritas tomorrow. You have to f
orgive someone who offers margs—top-shelf margs.”

  “As great as that sounds, can I take a rain check?”

  “Why?” Amusement crosses her freckled face as her lips curl into a smile. “You find a boyfriend? Is that why you’re turning down my fabulous list of men?”

  “First off, it’s far from fabulous.” I squirm in the booth. “Don’t kill me for not telling you this, but you have been MIA.”

  She tips her drink toward me. “Don’t you dare say you got married, and I missed my maid of honor speech.”

  I prepare myself for her impending freak-out. “Cohen came to the ER with Noah.”

  “What?” she shrieks, catching the attention of the people around us. “Off the grid or not, I’m pissed you didn’t send a letter, a raven, a tele—whatever the fuck they did before phones were invented—to tell me this!”

  “He blew me off at first, but I gave him my card. A few days later, he called, asking for help because Noah was still sick, and it has kind of”—I search for the right explanation—“progressed from there.” I snatch my smoothie and suck it down.

  “You’re bailing on me to hang out with Noah and his daddy?” she squeals, shimmying her shoulders from side to side. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

  “Gross.” I scrunch up my nose. “Don’t say it like that.”

  “Fine, to hang out with Noah and the guy you’ve wanted for years.”

  “Guy I’ve wanted for years?” My cheeks burn. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “And?”

  “And he was a total ass to me. He’s not the guy who dated my sister. He’s different.”

  “Obviously. Your sister fucked him over. That kind of betrayal will change a man.”

  I nod in agreement.

  “Ask him out.”

  My eyes widen, and it’s my turn to shriek and gain people’s attention, “Are you nuts?”

  “What will it hurt?” There’s not a hint of sarcasm on her face.

  I flick my hand toward the door. “Go away and get back to giving Pap smears.”

  “What will it hurt?” she repeats. Placing her elbows on the table, she rests her chin in her hand and stares at me dreamily. “I think you two would be super hot.”