Scorched (The Frenemy Series Book 4) Read online

  I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong, though, and I couldn’t have been more wrong about those two. Not only had they survived the odds I’d been sure were set against them from the very beginning, they’ve become the poster children for one of the most rock solid couples I’ve ever seen in my life.

  I was sad they had to go but couldn’t be happier to see where they’ve ended up.

  Anyway, back to the bane.

  When she walked into the bar the first day, the hot sun pushing through her long, dark hair, I was pretty sure she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.

  I had no idea she was training to replace my best friend and would eventually become my new boss. She turned me down, which was frustrating, but not that big a deal. Even after she rejected me, I tried to get over it and be friendly with her even after she laughed in my face, but after the first week had come and gone, it was obvious that she and I were simply never going to be cool.

  She’s shrill, demanding, bossy and completely full of herself. She could probably say a few choice words about me in return – scratch that, she absolutely does and has on a regular basis – but the fact remains that we’ve fallen someplace far away from being friends.

  My sister, on the other hand, loves the lunatic. Based off her choice in men, I probably shouldn’t be all that surprised, but that doesn’t negate the fact that her being friends with my mortal enemy makes shit a little more than complicated – especially since Amy, our mutual friend, is the one who was supposed to be helping me haul all this shit up there to begin with.

  Thanks to a last-minute trip that’s going to keep her out of the state for at least the next three or four days, I’m stuck with this asshole.

  “Did you bring all your boxes?” I ask, gesturing for her to come inside as I push the door shut and make my way back toward my pile.

  “Yeah,” she nods, following me over.

  “And you got everything from Amy’s?”

  “I think so,” she nods again, blowing out a low whistle as she takes in the overwhelming amount of tulle and glittery crap that’s exploded in the middle of my house. She lifts a feathery type thing with spikes into her hand and gives it a quick inspection, her eyebrows crinkling together slightly for a moment. “What the hell is this thing?”

  “I don’t have a fuckin’ clue,” I admit with a shrug. “Alright, how much room do you have left in your car?”

  “The front seat.”

  “That’s it?” I ask incredulously, earning a shrug in response. “Evie said you could fit at least half of this in the trunk of your car.”

  “If I wasn’t taking anything else with me, then I probably could, but-”

  “What else do you need that takes up an entire trunk?” I cut her off.

  “Um… clothes, my purse, shit I’ve helped store for the wedding, not to mention clothes and things I need for the whole week,” she begins to tick shit off on her fingers, her expression telling me she’s convinced I’m the idiot in this conversation before her eyes give me a quick scan. “I realize you’re of the belief that you don’t have to look presentable and can survive off of one t-shirt, a shitty flannel and a pair of jeans, but the rest of us tend to mix shit up.”

  “Just help me grab whatever will fit in your car. I might be able to borrow a truck. I’ll call my friend and see if-” A huff of laugher slipping from her lips cuts me short. “What?”

  “You having a friend,” she replies dryly. “I knew you were an asshole, but I never took you for delusional.”

  “Yeah, because you’ve got so many people lining up to hang out with you,” I counter, rolling my eyes. “If you’re so fucking great, why don’t you call one of your minions and borrow a truck so we can get all this shit to Austin?” she stares back at me, nostrils flaring. I can see the insult cocked and loaded, but I cut her off before she can engage. “Otherwise, grab a box on your way out.”

  She shakes her head, pulling her sunglasses back on before she shoves her keys into her pocket.

  “I have no idea how you’ve managed to stay employed for this long,” she admits. “The fact that you think you can talk to your boss like this is-”

  “You come into my house and start giving me shit at eight o’clock in the morning, I’m going to talk to you any way I fuckin’ feel like it, sugar,” I cut her off, my eyebrow arching slightly. A moment later, I can’t stop the sly smirk from moving over my lips. “Besides, I’m on vacation. I’m not talking shit to my boss right now, I’m talking shit to my sister’s friend. Not pissing you off is pretty low on my list of priorities most days, but you can bet your ass I’m not going to worry about it this week.”

  “Would you shut up and get the door, please?” she asks, lifting the lightest of the boxes and moving toward the foyer. “Or do you need me to do that for you, too?”

  “Nah, I got it,” I shrug, completing the text to my friend before I slip my phone into my pocket and make my way back to the foyer. “Something tells me watching you leave my house might be the highlight of my morning.”

  “You’re welcome for the help.”

  “It’s been a real pleasure,” I reply, swinging the door shut behind her before I turn to face the still looming pile of boxes.

  I give the stack in front of me a quick onceover and begin some quick repacking in an effort to help our case. I hear a few faint noises coming from my front yard but chalk it up to Monday morning and try to focus on the task at hand. I’ve managed to knock the remaining twelve boxes down to ten when the front door swings open and a trail of profanity follows it back inside.

  “I hope you weren’t lying when you said you knew a guy with a truck,” she begins, the irritation and lowkey panic clear in her voice. When I glance up to find her blue eyes filled with concern, something about it makes me want to rush to her, but that doesn’t feel right in any universe. Instead, I twist to face her, finding her out of breath and filled with anxiety. “You might want to phone a friend.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “My car won’t start,” she admits, making both our faces fall. “I know,” she sighs, and I realize this might be the first thing we’ve ever agreed on. “We either need a truck or there’s no way we’re getting all this stuff to Austin.”

  chapter six

  alex

  “I’ve got to look and see what parts we have in stock back at the shop, but as soon as I have an idea of when I can get her back to ya, I’ll give you a ring. If you need to call us before that, here’s the number to the main office.”

  I take the card from his stubby fingers, the smell of motor oil offering me an odd sense of comfort as memories of my dad sift into my mind. Not much time has passed since I thought of him – it never does – but as I watch them lift his car onto the back of the tow truck, I can’t help the emotions that come with it.

  “Thank you,” I say, managing a small smile of appreciation toward the stranger. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

  “No problem, ma’am,” he tips his baseball cap, the old-fashioned gesture making my smile a little more genuine. “Any friend of Hunter is a friend of ours.”

  I wave at his reflection in the side mirror a moment later, grateful for the hookup Dash had been able to offer, and also for little moments of chivalry that still exist in the world. I’m reaching for my phone to shoot Evie another text of gratitude when my thoughts are invaded by an idiot.

  “I just told you I was calling her,” he says irritably from the other end of the driveway, pulling my death glare toward him. One hand is holding his cell phone to his ear, the free hand jutting out in irritation. “Why would you try to call her first?”

  “How do you know I was even calling her?” I counter, shifting my feet to face him more fully. “And mind your business.”

  “Yeah, you weren’t saying that when I was saving your ass, were you?” he replies, gesturing toward the tow truck disappearing around the corner.

  “You didn’t save my ass, Mason,” I argue as I make my way ba
ck toward him. “Dash did because Evie’s my friend.”

  “She’s my sister, asshole!” he juts back. “Get over yourself. If she was helping anyone, she was helping me, which is a nice change since all you’ve done since you showed up this morning is bitch.”

  “You’re the one throwing a fit in the middle of your front yard like a psychopath,” I snort. “But okay.”

  There’s a recognizable shout on the other end of the line that tells me she’s nearly as annoyed with him as I am, and I return my attention to my phone.

  “Yes, I’m here,” he says into the phone, his voice softer than it had been when he was talking to me a half-second earlier. “Sorry,” he offers. “When did you say he left?”

  Mason’s friend, the one he said had a truck, never returned his call. I still say he never existed in the first place, but the argument that ensued when I suggested as much was enough to prompt the start of a migraine. Thankfully, after one quick text to Dash, his best friend and the other half of mine, help was on the way.

  Disregarding his words, I type out a quick text to Evie with thanks for the assist, grateful beyond measure that in the midst of the busiest week of their lives, she and Dash had pulled strings to get my car to the garage he worked at here before they moved to Austin. I finish the quick but heartfelt message and press send, releasing another cleansing breath out into the universe. It isn’t long before that, too, is interrupted.

  “You couldn’t wait to send that text until I was off the phone with her?” Mason asks and I stifle a groan, my middle finger raising at the same time I adjust my sunglasses. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” I’m about to reply with something snarky, but his voice cuts me off again, this time directed toward his sister. “I don’t care if she’s your friend. Get better friends.”

  “Seems like you need to worry about finding your own friends before you worry about Evie’s,” I speculate, smirking inwardly at his cutting expression. “Besides, if you’re so worried about what I’m doing, why don’t you go inside? It’s your house.”

  He turns and moves toward the porch and the silence that follows is more than welcomed. I need some time alone with my thoughts, time I’d hoped to have on the drive back to the city I swore I’d never return to, but fate had other ideas.

  If I’m honest, Mason has nothing to do with my mood as I stretch out on the driveway and soak up the warmth of the sun. It’s got a lot more to do with where I’ll be spending the next week and the memories that are always going to be wrapped up there.

  I grew up in a loving home just outside of Austin, filled with self-care and support that most kids can only dream of. In fact, the only reason I ever left the city I’ve warily agreed to spend the next week in was the loss of a serious relationship following the even more heartbreaking loss of my loving parents.

  This town was supposed to be my fresh start, my new chapter, my turning page. In a lot of ways, it’s been exactly that, yet in so many others, I’ve never felt more completely alone in my life.

  I’d hoped that when I moved here, I’d become fast friends with at least a couple of people. That happened, too. Unfortunately, two of the three people I’d grown close to almost immediately were in the process of going to the place I’d just said goodbye to forever. The third is currently boarding a last-minute flight with her boyfriend and wouldn’t be back until Saturday morning.

  That leaves me stranded in the driveway with Dipshit McGee over here.

  I know I can get through this, I just need this minute to process what’s coming.

  A few minutes later, he returns to the sweltering heat of the driveway and my reprieve from his voice is taken just as swiftly as it had been given.

  We bicker back and forth for the remainder of the first hour before finally, we both fall into a beautiful silence that’s only interrupted by the sounds of gentle tapping on our phones. It’s hot, the Texas sun blazing over the concrete almost too much for even my stubbornness to withstand. I’ve been fighting the urge to suggest we go back inside the house when salvation comes around the corner in the form of a familiar, beat up truck blaring The Stones.

  I move to a stand, the glare from his mirrored aviators blinding me for a half second as he pulls up to the curb and leans over to glance out the passenger’s side window.

  “Get in, losers. We’re late.”

  mason

  I ignore the smirk on my best friends face and make my way down the driveway, tucking my phone into my back pocket as I approach his truck.

  “What the hell took you so long?” I call out, cutting my eyes toward Alex with silent contempt before I move them back to his. “We’ve been sitting out here for like four hours.”

  “First of all, bullshit. It barely took me two,” Dash argues as he comes around the hood and takes the box she’s holding and slides it into the front floorboard and turns back to face me. “Second, I’ve got three kids and a psychopath to deal with and driving down here to listen to you bitch and moan about bullshit wasn’t on my list of shit to do today, so you’re welcome.”

  He wraps his arm around her shoulder for a quick side-hug and smirks at my expression of contempt at both his words and the friendly exchange.

  Traitor.

  “Hey Dash,” she smiles, releasing him and moving toward the stack of bins that had come from her car. “Thanks for coming.”

  Kiss ass.

  “You’re welcome,” he replies, giving me a brotherly pat on the shoulder that I discreetly pull away from in my silent show of insubordination. I want him to feel the animosity radiating from my chest that he’d left me stranded with The Evil One for longer than necessary, but when his lips remain in their amused position, it’s obvious my plea for brotherhood has gone unnoticed. “It’s good to see you, too, Mase.”

  “Shut up,” I snarl under my breath, ignoring his laughter. I move to help load the rest of the bins into his truck, cringing when I see the front seat nearly full. “You want these in the back, right?”

  “No, it’s all got to go up front,” he says immediately, shaking his head when I begin to argue once more. “Dude, your sister has been blowing my phone up since I left Austin about these fucking bins not going in the back of the truck. If I pull up to that fucking apartment and she sees even the memory of this shit back there, I’m never going to hear the end of it.”He makes his way toward the front seat of my car, pulling out the two on top before he gestures for me to grab the others. “I can fit all of these in the front and there ought to be enough room in my floorboard for Alex’s bag. That okay?” he asks her.

  “Of course,” she nods, offering him a smile of thanks.

  What the fuck is happening right now?

  My eyes widen again, my Jedi bro-force strong as its ever been as I stare through him.

  “I love you to death, bro, but I’m not spending the next thirty years listening to Evie complain about her wedding day because you’ve got a stick up your ass for this girl,” he says low. “Figure it out.”

  chapter seven

  alex

  “For the love of all that is holy, can you please lay off the sunflower seeds?”

  We’re about forty-five minutes into the awkward drive toward Austin, and while I can admit we’ve done each other quite the service by limiting the conversation, I can’t say it’s been without its annoyances. He lowers the volume on the radio, putting a pause to the end of what I will only secretly admit had shaped up to be a surprisingly dead-on singalong to ‘Love Hurts’ by Lizzo, before his eyes shift to mine.

  “Why do you have the incessant need to boss me the fuck around?” he asks. “Seriously. Unclench your ass cheeks for ten minutes and take a fuckin’ day off.”

  “Well, could you have picked a more disgusting car snack?”

  “What’s disgusting about it?”

  “You’re spitting the seeds into a cup, Mason!” I cringe.

  “Where the hell am I supposed to spit them?” he shouts, staring at me like I’m the
asshole. “Would you rather I spit them on the floor?”

  “Why do you have to spit at all?” I demand, pulling a loud chuckle from his broad chest.

  “I can’t really argue with you there,” he laughs. “Spitters are quitters.”

  “Oh, my God,” I roll my eyes, stifling my amusement as quickly as possible. “You’re an idiot. That’s obviously not what I meant,” I shake my head, glancing back over at him. “Seriously, Mason. It’s disgusting.”

  “If I disgust you so much, then why are you staring at me?”

  “I wasn’t until you started being so repulsive.”

  “Would you prefer to walk?” he counters, brows raised. “Because I can pull over and let you out anytime you like. It would be an honor and a privilege.”

  “If I did decide to walk, I could probably get there faster than you’re driving right now,” I snark back, gesturing toward a bird resting on the concrete barrier to the left of us. “He’s passed us four times while you’ve been chewing on your nasty ass sunflower seeds, waiting on a vision from God to pass this freaking semi.”

  “Nobody’s stopping you!” he counters. “If I’m driving as slow as you say I am, you should have no problem getting out of the car.”

  “And deprive myself of your sparkle?”

  “Yeah?” he asks, popping another seed into his mouth, making me seethe. “Well, you’re not exactly a ray of fuckin’ sunshine yourself, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

  “It’s better than what I was going to call you,” he mumbles, ignoring my eye roll.

  “Shut up.”

  He mimics my words childishly, his voice raising into a distorted version of what he thinks is a clever rendition of mine. I can’t help but shake my head once more as I cross my arms over my stomach, silently seething.

  Why do I let him bother me so much? He’s clearly nothing more than a pretty idiot with zero social skills, so maybe he’s right. I’ll never admit it to him, but why do I care what he’s doing?

  I tell myself I don’t, even believe it halfway. There’s even a good fifteen minutes when I’m able to block him out and I resolve to be nicer, more relaxed. It isn’t anyone else’s fault I’m feeling so nervous about going back to Austin. And although I’ve been giving him hell about making a bad situation worse, I’m not doing much to help it, either. I take a long, low cleansing breath and make the decision, here and now, to get through the week as amicably as possible. After all, we’re going to a wedding – one I couldn’t be more excited is happening. I’m considering an apology, shaking the urge to slap him when he spits another seed, and cuts me off.