FOR THE MOST PART, I was generally a happy person.
I woke up each morning with a little extra pep in my step that fueled me throughout the day, whereas most people needed an iced coffee the size of their head before they could even consider being a functioning member of society.
Not only was I a happy person, but I liked to believe that I was a nice person too. Okay… so maybe that one was a bit of a stretch. At the very least, I was a decent person.
But when it came to being in the presence of October Calhoun? Yeah, that’s when my pleasant demeanor was shot to shit.
Primarily because I hated him—oh, so fucking hated him—and there wasn’t a damn thing in the universe or beyond that could change that.
Was my reasoning for detesting him asinine? Potentially.
Did I care? Not even slightly.
At this point, after years of feeling nothing but fire fueled ill will at the mere mention of his name, altering my opinion of October would be a blatant waste of eighty percent of my life. And frankly, my time on this silly, insignificant planet was too freaking short to make amends with someone who wasn’t worthy of having my unparalleled presence in their life.
The funny thing was, he had invariably decided for both of us that our feud of the past couple decades was “slow moving with no point of contention”—his words, not mine—but dimwitted, ignorant October couldn’t have been more wrong.
Then again, he was a man… so I really shouldn’t’ve been that surprised by him making conclusions on my behalf without so much as consulting me first.
Moving along…
You see, there was a pivotal moment that demolished all possibilities of acquaintanceship between October and I. And it all started with… Molly fucking Goldberg.
I didn’t have time to relive one of the most mortifying moments of my childhood right now, though. My life was being derailed six ways to Sunday, and there were more important things in life I could be pissed off about.
If we were getting into specifics, there was the grave reality that my company was one mishap away from collapsing to shambles. I could definitely be pissed about that.
Oh, and don’t even get me started on October barging into my backyard unannounced and uninvited—what if I had been tanning naked, huh?—while all but demanding that he move into my pool house.
Who in their right mind had the confidence to be so unabashedly senseless?
Him. That’s who.
Earlier this morning, when I woke to the sound of birds chirping harmoniously outside my window, I had an innate feeling that today was going to be a fantastic day. Then, much to my surprise, the last thing I ever expected to witness in this lifetime happened… my arch nemesis, standing in front of me, nanoseconds away from dropping to his knees to beg for my help.
It should’ve been enjoyable. Gratifying. Downright entertaining, even.
Yet somehow, my internal victory was trampled over the second I became cognizant of the fact that he was calling in a favor purely for his benefit, and his benefit only.
Of course, it would be just like him to ruin one of the most anticipated moments of my life by making it all about him. I was a fool for thinking otherwise.
The prevailing attribute I’d grown to loathe most about October was that he always—and I mean always—had a way of turning my proudest, most sought-after moments around onto himself. Like the one time in elementary school when I raised the most money for our school wide walkathon, yet because his mom bought popsicles for everyone afterward, he was the one who got treated like the savior of the damn world.
It was an abomination, truly.
“Scarlett!” I shouted while wandering through the front door of her new house, bypassing Abel on the couch. “You’ll never believe what that idiot…” Stopping in my tracks, my words dropped off as the six-foot-three tattooed beast of a human sitting at the kitchen island came into my line of sight. “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”
It had been half an hour after I left him high and dry on the back patio. And I finally felt calm enough to walk across the street for Friday night dinner after replaying our encounter in my head half a dozen times. Which was Scarlett’s latest ploy to create “long lasting family traditions,” although I was certain her words were secretly code for “I need guinea pigs to try out my latest recipes before posting them on the blog.”
I knew it… Abel knew it. But we loved her too much to admit we saw right through her. Her cookbook was coming out in a few months and she wanted to keep her blog views up in the meantime. So, Abel and I plastered on cheerful faces, showed up to her silly little dinners every week, and gave “unscripted” reviews of whatever her newest dish was at the end of the meal.
My mistake, however, was in thinking that she wouldn’t invite October to join us. Of course—of course—I should’ve known he’d go running to my sister’s side the second our little dispute ended. Just like he always did.
Even at his ripe age of twenty-six, he was still vying for the coveted spot of teacher’s pet.
How childish.
“I take it I’m the talk point of the hour?” He swiveled his head so the smug grin I so desperately wished I could slap off his stupid face was on full display.
“You’re a pest,” I snarled, sliding onto the barstool seat furthest from him and averting my attention to my sister. “Scarlett, why is he here?”
“I invited him,” she said matter-of-factly, casually immersed in pouring a glass of wine, as if she hadn’t just blatantly offended me.
“You invited him?” I echoed, pretending like “he” wasn’t observing our conversation from three feet away. “If you didn’t want me to come, you could’ve just sent me a text. Now I have to order dinner for myself.” I flailed my hands, pulling my phone from the back pocket of my shorts and opening up a food delivery app.
“Jesus Christ, Mae…” Scar whispered harshly, like I was the one being unreasonable. Which I clearly was not. No debate necessary. “You’re not leaving, and neither is he. The four of us are going to sit outside at the table and have a nice cordial dinner together. Got it?”
Scarlett bounced her gaze between October and me, though neither of us uttered a word in response. Rolling her eyes, she picked up the large serving tray and headed toward the back door with her famous lemon garlic marinated chicken skewers that smelled so good I could practically taste them.
“You need my help, Red?” Abel asked, coming up behind her to grab the food from her wobbly hands as she struggled to maneuver the door handle.
Before the door slammed behind him, Abel’s deep voice resounded through the kitchen. “Don’t kill each other inside our house.”
Great.
This was the second time in one afternoon that I’d been trapped into having an unbearable conversation with October. My blood warmed to the equivalent of molten lava, thinking back on our earlier interaction as I watched him slide off his barstool. I didn’t hide the disgust written on my face as I eyed him walking around the island, open a fresh bottle of white wine then pour himself a glass.
“First, you invite yourself to live at my house, and now, you’re here inviting yourself to my family dinner too. Am I right in assuming your audacity knows no bounds? Or has your infatuation with me become all-consuming?” I pressed, turning to face him with my arms crossed tightly over my pastel blue top.
“Lovely as always, March baby.”
“For the love of God, will you please stop calling me ‘March baby’,” I mocked his gravelly tone. “I don’t want to have a pet name like your little whores.”
“Ahh, so you’re telling me you don’t want to be one of my… ’little whores’?”
I scoffed. Was everyone in the business of offending me tonight? If so, where the hell was my memo?
“I’d rather be trapped at the bottom of the ocean without an oxygen tank.”
“Why suffocate down there when you could suffocate on my cock instead?” The smug grin he sported as he leaned against the countertop behind him and brought the glass to his lips was infuriatingly arrogant. “Speaking of which… I’m getting offended that you haven’t found a new pet name for me yet. I take it ‘Toby’ is no longer enticing to you?”
Comical. This man was absolutely comical.
“Oh, really? Please tell me your ideas, because I’m dying to hear what you have in mind.”
“Well, ‘master and commander’ has a nice ring to it.”
“Fuck off.” I shot him a disapproving glare. That movie was almost as horrible as his request for a nickname.
“Do you always have to act like this?” October snarled. “You should really learn to take a joke at some point.”
“Maybe I could take a joke if yours weren’t so obnoxious.”
In the handful of weeks since October had dropped back into my life, I’d been trying to implement a new mantra—I am calm. I am cool. I am collected—in order to stifle my ever-growing rage whenever he was around.
Yet, no matter how many times I chanted the mantra in my head, every time he was within ten feet of me all logic in my brain shut off, and a new phrase took over instead—I am angry. I am agitated. I am annoyed.
I wasn’t proud of it, but at least I was self-aware enough to recognize my flaws. We all have to start somewhere, am I right?
“Come on, Mae… can’t we go one night without trying to bite each other’s heads off?”
I huffed, contemplating how much it would pain me, both mentally and physically, to do so. The answer, by the way, was a lot. Scratch that—more than a lot. Not to mention, I was more so unmoved being that this came at his request.
Two substantial favors in one day. Who the hell did October think he was?
“I know what you’re thinking…” he rasped, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Don’t do this for me, do it for your sister. You know how much these kinds of things mean to her.”
Letting out a ragged breath, I reluctantly rolled the idea around in my brain.
God, did I hate it when he was right.
To make a long story short, my sister wasn’t actually my sister… confusing, I know.
See, my dads and Scarlett’s mom had been best friends all throughout college. When they mutually decided their impulsive glory days were over, they bought houses across the street from each other. Shortly after, my dads started the adoption process, and Scarlett’s mom picked sperm donor eleven thousand twenty-three from a donor database.
Our parents raised us together like siblings, though, and it never once felt like there was a divide between our families. And that was especially true after Scar’s mom passed from cervical cancer two and a half years ago.
It hit all four of us hard, but for her it was exceptionally harrowing.
Scarlett used to spend hours in the kitchen committing every one of her mom’s habits and techniques to memory. I almost forgot how effortlessly Miss Jill made everything seem back then.
What I missed most, though, was that no matter how big of a mess we made, she’d ignore it all and pull up a chair next to us to spend quality time with Scarlett and I while we devoured her latest recipe.
God, I missed her so much sometimes. And I knew that this—making dinner for people and spending time with them—was Scarlett’s silent way of showing all of us she loved us, too.
Who was I to deny my sister that?
Sighing, I pressed my lips together into a thin line. “One night. That’s it.”
Almost as if on cue, the back door burst open and Scarlett shouted to us, “Food’s ready!”
It was a humid August evening, and the sun was setting, leaving us a cotton candy colored sky to eat dinner under. The adorable twinkle lights Scarlett and I put up before last Friday’s dinner were already lit, giving us a Socialgram worthy scene for the evening.
I’d barely made it two feet outside before Scarlett’s hand wrapped loosely around my arm as she dragged me over to the side of the patio. “Mae, can I talk to you in private?” she questioned, waiting until October was out of earshot before speaking again. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“He didn’t tell you?” I raised my eyebrows at her. “He asked—no, demanded—that he move into the pool house.”
She stared at me blankly. “…and what’s so wrong with letting him?”
“Oh, my god… oh, my god. Of course, you’re on his side!” I gasped, bunching my fists at my sides. This betrayal felt worse than someone draining my bank account for everything I was worth. “He tricked you into convincing me to let him move in, didn’t he?”
“No, no, no. You know I am always on your side, but don’t you think you’ve held onto this grudge with him for a little too long?”
“I am not holding onto a grudge.”
“Okay… then tell me what he did that was so bad that you act like an enraged shrew every time he’s around?”
I stared at her, dumbfounded and wordless. Partly because she’d just called me an “enraged shrew” … how rude. But mostly because I was the one in our dynamic who called her out on her overly dramatic behavior.
If I remembered correctly, the two of us had a nearly identical conversation a few months ago when I challenged her to consider whether she was only seeing what she wanted to see when it came to Abel. Obviously, the answer was a resounding “yes”. Neither of us would be standing in his backyard right now if I wasn’t.
“I know there’s a reason…” I tried to cut her off, but she wouldn’t allow it. “Nope, don’t even bother with your usual ‘he’s rude’ or ‘he’s self-centered‘ bullshit. You and I both know those are just a big fat coverup for something else you won’t admit,” she whisper-yelled.
Releasing an exhale, I contemplated telling her the one sentence that spilled from Molly Goldberg’s lips and what October did after, which turned my seven-year-old heart to stone. To this day, I’d never told another soul of the words I’d overheard after our second grade Valentine’s Day party. But now, a couple weeks away from my twenty-fifth birthday, it seemed pathetic to admit that I’d been hung up over a few words and actions all this time.
Granted, October and I’s demise started years before that moment. This one event just so happened to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Even if there hadn’t been a defining moment in our not-so-friendship, I had no doubt we’d still be at sparring at each other’s throats.
“Fine… don’t tell me. All I’m saying is that a lot can be resolved with a hate fuck.” Scarlett raised her brows while nudging me on the side with an elbow.
She’d said that a few times over the last few weeks, and every time I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. It was my natural instinct. Not my fault, I couldn’t help it.
“I would rather never cum again than have him give me an orgasm,” I deadpanned.
Scarlett and I both drew our gaze across the backyard, giving October a once-over as he flaunted his newest forearm tattoo to Abel—who by the looks of it didn’t give half a shit.
“On second thought… it might just be another thing for him to brag about.” Scar concluded after a beat.
“My point exactly.”
The two of us ambled over to the table, taking seats next to each other, while the boys settled in across from us.
In the few weeks since Scarlett had started our new Friday night dinner tradition, there hadn’t been a moment of awkwardness the entire night.
Which was especially surprising, considering Abel was still a bit skeptical of me. I might have iced him out shortly after he and my sister got together, but it had all been in good fun. I promise. Yet, as the four of us settled into our seats, filling our plates to the brim, silence hung heavy in the air.
“So, Abel…” After fifteen minutes of excruciating silence, I had to put a stop to it. I’d pushed my food around the plate with my fork long enough while trying to mustered up the courage to ask for his help. “I, uh, heard your sister is going to be participating in that charity fashion show downtown later this month.”
He hummed while shoveling an enormous bite of chicken into his mouth.
“Well… if she happens to mention that she’s looking for models—like in passing or something—would you mind putting in a good word for me?”
I wasn’t normally one to ask for favors, but seeing as Abel’s half-sister, Aera Chase, was one of the biggest up-and-coming names in fashion, I had to put my foot in the door.
“Sure, I’ll call her right after this.”
My shoulders relaxed as a small sigh of ease washed over me.
“Struggling to keep the business afloat, March baby?”
“Stop talking before I make you regret it.” Scarlett came to my aid, pointing at October with a butter knife. She dragged her gaze over to me and I shot her a sheepish smile and mouthed my thanks while silently hoping he didn’t catch on.
Many moons ago, I had been one of—if not the most—successful high fashion models on the planet. And no, I wasn’t saying that to be cocky. It was simply a fact.
That was until I called out my former employer on a scandal involving some of the nefarious antics he got up to while on the job, thus ending my career and shunning me from the industry entirely. It was only when I started my modeling agency—where models could work without having to worry about their employer taking advantage of them—that I began to reclaim my power.
Yet, two years later, Gordon Sandoval still had a way of making me feel defenseless when I least expected it. Hell, earlier this week he was sending me anonymous emails threatening to blackmail me.
With what? No idea.
Aside from being one of the few people on earth who had the power to unnerve me, there wasn’t anything he had on me that could end my career. Trust me, I made sure of it.
While life might not have been going according to plan lately, with the business on the edge of failure and all, I was determined to forge ahead. I’d told Scarlett some of it—enough for her to know it was a sore subject—but she had no idea how much worse it had gotten.
The silence around the table had grown so tense it was palpable, yet none of us dared to speak a word as Scarlett broke out the dessert plates.
“So… how does everyone feel about the key lime pie?” She broke the painful silence after everyone had taken a bite, and I peeked over to see Abel’s shoulders visibly relax. “I tweaked a recipe from a friend.”
Moments later, the three of us chimed in with our praises as we shoved back-to-back, heaping spoonfuls into our mouths.
When I finally peered up to sneak a glance at October, I was surprised when I found his attention was already locked in on my face. There was the faintest drop of sorrow in his eyes, almost like he knew his earlier comment had upset me.
That alone made me swallow back the tears that pricked the back of my throat. Not because I was grateful for his remorse, but because there was nothing I hated more than people taking pity on me.
Least of all, October Calhoun.
