Filed To Story: Craving The Wrong Brother Book PDF Free by Elysian Sparrow
I snort. “I don’t know why you bothered getting married to someone you have to lie to.”
He shrugs. “I like her. I don’t want to scare her off.”
My Bunny
“Alright,” I say, leaning back. “So how does this concern me?”
“She’s forcing me to throw a barbecue this weekend. Family and friends. She’s insisting I bring some of my single artist friends along to set up her daughter.”
I stare at him.
Waiting for the point to drop.
“You’re the only one who looks remotely normal enough for me to bring home. I figured you’d pass inspection. You know. If you… hide the murdery vibes.”
I chuckle. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
“It’s just an hour. Tops. You owe me for ditching my wedding.”
I stare at him, deadpan.
Even if I didn’t already have a girl, there’s no fucking way I’m acknowledging an invitation like that.
Seduce some poor, unsuspecting daughter of his wife?
Probably a decent little thing too, if Sage has to lie this hard about what he does for a living.
And if the mother’s the kind of woman he has to tiptoe around, then the daughter’s either a clone of her or worse-some bright-eyed optimist who thinks every stranger is a good man deep down.
I’m not doing that.
Besides, crowds aren’t my thing.
The only gathering I can tolerate is the one at my club, where nobody’s pretending.
Where everyone’s already halfway naked and nobody’s asking polite questions about what you “do for work” while passing the potato salad.
No.
The real world?
The clean, sunny, barbecue-in-the-backyard world?
That place isn’t built for men like me.
“Sage, you’re my brother,” I say. “You know I value you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But there’s no way in hell I’m doing that.”
He sighs dramatically. “I knew you’d say that. I’ve already rounded up the other guys. Told them to look decent.”
I smirk and turn to the invoice on my desk.
“Tell me how it turns out. I’ll place bets on who succeeds in wooing your stepdaughter.”
“You’re not even a little bit curious to meet my family?” he says, mock-offended.
“Should I be?”
He leans against the edge of my desk. “Come on. I want my wife to meet my boss. Wow her with your big words. Convince her I’m not working for a mobster.”
“Answer’s still no.”
He groans. “You’re missing out. Her daughter’s not bad either. I’ve met her a couple of times. Sloane’s a wiseass. Kinda like you.”
Something in my chest goes tight.
“Your stepdaughter’s name is Sloane?” I ask.
“Uh, yeah. Why?”
“What’s her surname?”
He squints, trying to dig it out of whatever half-functioning part of his brain stores real information. “Uh… something with an M. Mercer, maybe? I dunno. My wife took my last name. I didn’t pay attention.”
“Show me a picture.”
Sage frowns, confused, but pulls out his phone anyway. Starts scrolling.
I can already feel it.
That slow, inevitable punch of fate winding up in the pit of my gut.
He finds what he’s looking for and thrusts the screen in front of me.
My Bunny
There she is.
Pressed awkwardly against an older woman’s side-hair shorter, glasses perched on her nose, mouth fighting a real smile. A girl who clearly didn’t want to be in the picture.
A girl who was clenching around my cock less than an hour ago.
Sloane Mercer,
My Bunny.
And apparently?
My club manager’s stepdaughter.
Meet Someone New
***
~SLOANE~
***
Today turned out to be more productive than I anticipated. I wish I could say this renewed vigor for work has anything to do with Knox screwing me against a closet earlier today.
No. As far as I know, thinking about Knox being inside me is my biggest source of distraction.
Not my proudest moment, but I spent half the day quietly plotting how I might steal Knox’s phone and hack into it. Funny, isn’t it?
How picturing yourself stealing your boyfriend’s phone-and actively contemplating breaking about a hundred cybersecurity ethics to hack into it-can light a fire under your ass.
Normal people would just ask their boyfriends about the things they wanted to know. Normal boyfriends would actually answer.
But no.
Knox Hartley is about as tight-lipped as a CIA agent under torture.
And the inquisitive part of me?
Yeah, she’s not resting until she cracks him open.
As I drive back toward my apartment, I run through the possibilities like I’m prepping a heist:
– Spend the night at his place. Steal his phone while he’s in the shower.
– Lure him to mine. Wait until he inevitably passes out after sex and scan his devices.
– Find a way to slip his keys off him and get into whatever fortress of secrets he calls home.