Too Hard: Hayes Brothers Book 5

THE BACHELOR PARTY GUEST LIST ends up being thirty-two men long. Thirty-two guys in the wild of Las Vegas for two days straight. I don’t know if I want to remember every minute or blackout and not know a thing because I just know I’ll make a shitload of bad decisions.

I’ve been on edge since Blair texted an hour ago with yet another not tonight. She’s avoiding me, but I can’t figure out why.

We were fine after she used the safe word. I stopped by her condo on Monday after work, and we spent three hours in bed, but on Tuesday, without explanation, she sent a text saying not tonight. She did the same yesterday—today, too.

Three days, no explanation. I’m crawling out of my skin, fighting my every instinct so I can give her space.

It’ll be easier once the bachelor party sets off in a rented luxury bus that’ll not only take us to Vegas, but chauffeur us around the city all night. My mind will be occupied, no time to think about Blair’s silent treatment.

But… we need to leave first, and with my brothers acting like a bunch of whipped pussies, it might be problematic. The messages in the Sausage Fest group chat come more frequently every hour. Colt and I, the last Hayes brothers left with unclouded judgment, have been putting fires out since five am.

Theo had his panties in a twist first because they’re all leaving their kids with Mom, and he wasn’t sure she could handle five boys.

Colt: She had seven of us, bro. Five is a piece of cake. Dad’s there, too, and Grandma is coming over to help. Relax.

Theo: She was thirty years younger, Colt. She only had four to deal with. We were self-sufficient before the three of you arrived. River’s not an easy kid.

Logan: Neither were you. And you’re even worse as an adult.

It took more than those messages to calm him down, but once Theo was under control, Nico asked Shawn to break the law and get Mia a gun permit. Since I’m not in the best mood, instead of being reasonable and helpful, I’m an annoying prick.

Me: Get her a bulletproof vest while you’re at it, Shawn. Two bodyguards with vicious dogs, a satellite phone for emergencies in case she’s out of range, and one of those panic buttons she can wear around her neck.

My brothers join the fun, quicker than lightning, when there’s a rare occasion to put Nico in his place.

Shawn: I don’t have a spare bulletproof vest, but I have proper body armor. Will that work?

Conor: Yeah, that’s good. Don’t forget a holster for the gun, a few knives, and maybe a smoke grenade just to veer on the side of caution.

Logan: She’ll need silver bullets for vampires too, bro. And a survival kit in case there’s an apocalypse. Flashlights, water, batteries, canned food. You know, the essentials.

Nico: Fuck you all.

There’s a pause in the incoming messages. Long enough that I’m starting to wonder if we took it too far, but then Nico is typing appears at the top of the chat.

Nico: Fine, assholes. Just a can of pepper spray if you can, Shawn. But make sure it’s light and the range is good. Damn, will you all be fucking sorry if zombies take over the world tonight.

Another hour goes by before the shit hits the fan again. Logan sends a picture of Noah’s t-rex. Eli’s grasping its tail in his small palm, and Noah stands beside the crib, crying.

Conor: I got you two of those last year. Where’s the spare?

Logan: No idea. Can’t find it.

Conor: Fine, I’m on it. I’ll finish up in the office and stop by the arcades on my way home.

It’s barely lunchtime, and I’ve done little more than stare at my phone most of the morning. It’s a good thing my team’s finishing off the construction site we’ve been working on since I started in May. They’re clearing the equipment before we hand over to the interior design team next week, so not much for me to do, or Logan would be busting my ass for wasting work time on personal matters.

We’re close to the city center, so I hit a café for a sandwich and a coffee, choosing a table by the window, my phone face up, the chat on because there’s another meltdown.

Theo: Come to think of it, pepper spray isn’t a bad idea. Plenty of crazy in this world. Get one for Thalia, Shawn.

Logan: Make it three.

Conor: Fuck. Fine, get one for Vee, too.

At this point, I’m done. What a bunch of absolute crybabies. Theo leads the pack on this one because Thalia’s the toughest, and she definitely doesn’t need pepper spray to keep herself safe. She’ll keep the girls safe, too, but—

The image of Blair all disheveled, makeup smeared, clothes torn flashes before my eyes and… shit.

I think I finally get why my brothers act the way they do. I’d feel so much better if B had a can on her.

I snatch the phone, sending her a short text.

Me: Care to tell me what’s going on? Why are you avoiding me?

My foot taps against the floor while I wait for the reply, ignoring the messages coming in to the Sausage Fest chat.

B: I’m not avoiding you.

My clenched fist slowly uncurls on the table and the muscles in my jaw relax, making me realize I’ve been mindlessly grinding my teeth while waiting for her message.

Cody: Fine, then come over tonight. No questions.

The reply comes back, so does the tension. It seizes my muscles so hard they cramp. The involuntary reflex also makes my fist clench, and since I’m holding the phone, the screen cracks. A hairline fracture in the bottom left corner, but it’s enough to skyrocket my temper.

B: I can’t. I’m sorry.

I look up to the ceiling, muttering under my breath. Kick me when I’m down, why don’t you?

Three days is a long time to think. Last night, to keep myself occupied, I worked out Blair and I have been sleeping around for eight weeks. Eight weeks. Two months of sex. I’ve not had a relationship this long with any other woman in my entire life. Not even Ana came close.

During those two months, she’s texted me variations of not tonight a dozen times, but I can’t hits differently. Given the situation, it feels like a gentler way of saying we’re done.

And knowing we’re done, that I won’t see her, touch her, kiss her drives me to the brink of a nervous breakdown.

Two months, but I’ve not had my fill yet. Not even close. If anything, I want more.

Boy, am I in trouble.

Without thinking, I let the hurt rippling through me take the stage. She should have the guts to tell me the deal is off the table.

Me: If we’re done, it’d be nice to know before I go to Vegas so I don’t keep my dick on a leash all weekend for nothing.

I regret it as soon as I press send. It sounds so fucking wrong… like she’s just a good lay. Like I don’t care about anything other than sex.

I shouldn’t care.

Jesus… what have I gotten myself into?

Or better yet, why?

It’s not like I didn’t know any better. I kept the attraction simmering beneath the surface, suppressed and denied, for a long time. Just desire, I told myself. But deep down, I knew the undeniable truth. I knew it when I carried Blair, wasted and unconscious in my arms, out of Brandon’s house after the graduation party.

I knew it when I held her close to my chest, wrapped in my hoodie, in the back seat of Colt’s car.

Fuck, I even knew it when I kissed her and stalked into her bedroom with one goal in mind: fuck her senseless.

I knew, but I ignored it. Belittled the intensity of the magnetic pull between us.

I thought I was safe. That I had it under control.

After all those years I saw Blair parading the school corridors in tight dresses, the rumors, and her reputation… I was certain I could keep it physical. I had to, considering everything she did to Mia.

Just sex. Great, intense, raw sex.

But now I’m absolutely fucking screwed. Trapped in a whirlwind of emotions, a damn hurricane tearing through my mind. The text I just sent her might be the lowest I’ve ever sunk, but shit can always get worse.

When her reply arrives, it’s definitely worse. Ten times worse.

B: I can’t because it’s THIS time of the month, but good to know where you stand. Feel free to use your dick whichever way you deem fit.

How about I accidentally catch it in my zipper as punishment? If I thought I felt bad for texting the idiotic line before, it’s got nothing on how I feel now.

***

Five hours later, with three boxes of takeout food stacked in my arms and a paper bag dangling from my wrist, I knock on Blair’s door, still in my work clothes.

Shower can wait.

I’ve got some serious apologizing to do. I never guilt-tripped a girl for being on her period. Had I known, I definitely wouldn’t have done it this time.

The door opens, Blair’s pretty face contorts into a scowl as she looks me over, one eyebrow raised. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, stepping closer, not close enough that she won’t be able to shut the door in my face though. “I’m having a shitty day and I took it out on you. I didn’t mean what I said.” I lift the takeout boxes higher. “Pizza, Chinese, and Italian. I didn’t know what you’d want.”

The two wrinkles on her forehead even out, vulnerability peeking through the cracks of her composure.

“No one has ever apologized to me,” she admits quietly. “Thank you, and I’m sorry, too. I should’ve told you I’m on my period instead of tiptoeing around the subject.” She glances at the bag hanging from my wrist. “What’s in there?”

“I’ll show you if you let me in.”

Her combative stance across the threshold wavers, and she opens the door further, stepping aside. “We’re not having sex tonight, Cody.”

“A true sailorman will cross the red sea, baby. Orgasms help with cramps, you know?”

“I’m the one with a vagina here, so yes, I do know. Do you know what also helps? Heat packs, pills, and candy bars. I don’t feel sexy right now so no orgasms. It’s gross.” She closes the door, staying in the same spot as I dump the takeout boxes on the kitchen island.

“It’s not gross. It’s normal. I’m not here for sex, B, but I could make you squirt in the shower so it’s less gross.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” she says, scrunching her nose, eyes glimmering softly. “So? What’s in the bag?”

“Take a look.”