The Boy Next Door Read online

  That meant—yup, you guessed it—therapy. Spilling my guts to a dude with glasses and a beard who eventually helped me realize that Candace’s decisions had everything to do with her. Not me. Alyssa has been there every step of the way—holding my hand when I needed it, taking a step back, and giving me space when I asked for room.

  Without question, she is my person.

  And to think I almost lost her.

  Thankfully, I pulled my shit together before that could happen.

  Every day I make a conscious decision to live in the present and only look back at the past when I think reflection can help. I’m sure that makes me sound all enlightened, but like everyone else, I’m just trying to figure out the baggage I’m stuck with and get through life the best I can. Alyssa likes to joke that I’m now Colton 2.0.

  She might be right about that.

  A seagull cries overhead as it glides on the early morning breeze, and I brush a kiss against the top of her blond head. “Love you, baby.”

  She lifts her face until our gazes can lock. “Love you, too. Did I thank you for planning this amazing vacay?”

  My lips hitch. “I thought that’s what you did last night in the shower. You mean there’s more?”

  Even as Alyssa rolls her eyes, a twinkling light fills them. That girl can pretend all she wants that she’s exasperated with me, but she enjoys our sex life just as much as I do.

  “You, my friend, have a one-track mind.”

  When it comes to Alyssa, you’re damn straight, I do.

  Always have, always will. That will never change.

  We’ve been going strong for three years. I’m in my final year of business school, and Alyssa is working at a local studio. She also choreographs routines for the Wesley Wildcats dance team. We have an apartment in town that is close to campus but far enough away for us not to feel like we’re still living the college lifestyle. If everything goes according to plan, I’ll propose once I have my MBA in hand, and we’ll return home so I can work with my father. I was supposed to move back after graduation but instead delved straight into business school. It was the right decision for both of us.

  “You wouldn’t have it any other way,” I growl.

  Before she can respond, my mouth crashes onto hers. As soon as my lips make contact, she opens. Alyssa is as needy for me as I am for her. She tilts her chin, angling her head in order to give me better access.

  There are days when I feel like I could devour her in one tasty gulp. As if I’ll never get enough of this sweet girl. Sometimes I can’t believe she almost slipped through my fingers. Had that happened, I would have missed out on the amazing life we’re creating together.

  Her arms tangle around my neck, dragging me closer. With a groan, I reposition her on my lap so that my cock is pressed against her core.

  Fuck me, that feels good. But then again, it always feels amazing.

  The need to be deep inside her pounds through me, and I thrust my hips until I’m surrounded by her tight sheath. For just a heartbeat, I pause, enjoying the heat of the sun as it strokes over our bare flesh. Is there anything better than this?

  Nothing I can think of.

  “One of the neighbors could peek outside and see us.” Her voice turns breathy. I can’t tell if the idea bothers her or turns her on.

  My guess is the latter.

  “Let them look,” I growl. Buried inside her like I am, there is no way I’m going to stop. This is happening. If I have my way, they’ll hear her way before they ever catch sight of us.

  I thrust my hips, pulling almost all the way out before surging forward again. By the third time, her head is falling back to expose the delicate column of her neck as her eyelids feather shut. A guttural moan escapes from her lips.

  Stupid as it sounds, my breath hitches as I watch her. I couldn’t rip my gaze away from the gorgeous picture she makes riding my cock. Her cheeks have pinkened, and the long line of her back is arched, thrusting her breasts forward.

  She’s so fucking beautiful.

  And mine.

  Five years ago, that thought would have sent a torrent of panic flooding through me. I would have pushed her away, needing to dismiss my feelings for her.

  But times have changed.

  And I’ve changed with them.

  After all, this is Colton 2.0 we’re talking about here.

  I’m a new man.

  A better man.

  For her.

  ~The End~

  Thank you for reading Colton and Alyssa’s story! I hope you enjoyed it!

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  The Girl Next Door

  Mia

  Summer before freshman year of college…

  “Get your butt over here,” my best friend squeals from the window where she’s taken up sentinel, “you need to see this!”

  That’s a negative, Ghost Rider. I’ll take a hard pass. I have zero interest in spying on a yard full of drunken classmates who are partying it up at my neighbor’s house. Reluctantly, I glance up from the toes I’m painting with a pale pink polish. Coney Island Cotton Candy, to be precise.

  When our gazes lock, Alyssa waves me over. She’s practically vibrating with excitement. Kind of like a schnauzer.

  “Everyone is over there!”

  “Not true,” I mutter, lacquering my baby toe with an impressively steady hand. “We’re right here.” And that’s exactly where I plan to stay.

  “Yeah, that’s kind of the problem.” She steeples her hands together before shaking them at me. “Please?” she begs. “Can’t we go over there for a little bit? Just a little? That’s all I’m asking.”

  That’s all she’s asking…ha!

  I’m calling bullshit.

  Alyssa knows I’d rather chew my arm off than crash one of Beck Hollingsworth’s parties. I didn’t mention it to her, but Beck shot me a text earlier this afternoon with all the details. If she even suspected an invitation had been issued, she would have dragged my ass across the lawn that separates our properties as soon as the first guest pulled into the drive.

  No, thank you.

  It’s obvious from all the commotion coming from next door that the entire senior class has shown up to celebrate our newly graduated status. If we didn’t live on a quiet cul-de-sac tucked away in a gated subdivision, I’d expect the police to make an unannounced visit and shut down the festivities.

  Then again, no one wants to mess with Beck’s father, Archibald Hollingsworth. He’s a high-priced attorney with a fleet of underlings working for him. He’s one of those overly tan guys with blindingly white veneers you see on television yapping about if you’ve been injured, you need to call them—they fight for the little guy! The dude is everywhere. Billboards. Commercials. Newspaper and magazine advertisements.

  The local police have tangled with Archibald several times over the years because his son is a magnet for trouble. Let’s see, there was the time (or five) when he was picked up for underage drinking. When Beck was fifteen years old, he borrowed his parent’s brand spanking new Range Rover and did a little off-roading. And the police were involved when he super glued the locks on the high school building doors for senior prank day.

  Instead of hauling Beck to the station every time he’s picked up, they drop him at his front door and don’t bother talking to Archibald about it. Beck is on a first-name basis with a number of guys on the force. A few showed up to his graduation party in June.

  It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Beck always figures out a way to circumvent the obstacles standing in his path. His parents. School. The law. It’s as irritating as it is impressive. Maybe one of these days, he’ll use his powers for good instead of evil.

  “Come on, Mia!” Alyssa whines, all the while flashing sad puppy-dog eyes at me.

  Double whammy.

  My bestie knows I have a difficult time resisting
puppy-dog eyes.

  I wiggle my toes from the bed and grumble, “I can’t go anywhere until my nails dry.” I’m doing my best to prolong being anywhere near Beckett Hollingsworth. The guy drives me batshit crazy.

  And that’s putting it mildly.

  “Great! So…five minutes?” She swings away before pressing her face against the screen as her voice turns dreamy. “I bet Colton is already there.”

  Ugh.

  Colton Montgomery is Beck’s right-hand man, so it’s not a wager I’m likely to win.

  Against my better advice, Alyssa has been crushing hard on Colton for more than a year. Not only is he popular, but he’s a football player. Heavy emphasis on the player part. If Alyssa were smart, she’d find a nice guy to fall in lust with, but she has tunnel vision when it comes to the blond-haired, blue-eyed heartbreaker.

  Colton has it all going on. Brains, brawn, and more than likely, a one-way ticket to the NFL after college.

  The only problem is that he’s aware of his own appeal.

  His ego is as massive as other parts of him.

  Or so I hear.

  And not from Alyssa since he refuses to sleep with her. I can’t decide if the situation is amusing or sad. The more Colton keeps Alyssa at a firm distance, the more determined she is to have him.

  Last football season, Alyssa dragged me to every game. Even the away ones. My greatest fear was that Beck would assume my ass was there to support him. His fan club is already legendary without adding me to the ranks.

  When it comes to the ladies, Beckett makes Colton look like an innocent babe. He goes through girls like most people go through underwear. Speaking of panties, the girls at our high school are always happy—hell, I’d go so far as to say thrilled—to drop theirs for him.

  It’s ridiculous.

  He’s a chronic user and abuser.

  There should be a warning label slapped across his forehead.

  Beware. Toxic to the female species.

  But you know what?

  That wouldn’t stop these bubble-headed chicks from spreading their legs wide for him. I’ve stopped trying to figure out the appeal. All right, I’m well aware of what the attraction is. As much as I’ve tried to pretend I’m immune to his charms, I’m not. I just do a damn good job of burying them deep down where they never see the light of day. If I didn’t, Beck would annihilate me in a heartbeat, and I have zero desire to end up a casualty on his hit list.

  Given the choice, I’d rather flip through Netflix and find a movie to watch rather than be dragged over to Beck’s bash.

  Doesn’t sitting around in pajamas and stuffing our faces with pizza sound way better than watching a bunch of our classmates get sloppy drunk, engage in way too much PDA, and puke all over the place before alcohol poisoning sets in?

  I won’t bother posing the question to Alyssa. There is no way she’ll willingly opt for sitting home instead of stalking her crush.

  Would you like to guess what Colton will be doing while I wipe the drool from Alyssa’s chin?

  You guessed it. He’ll be flirting with every vagina he thinks he has a chance of penetrating.

  Honestly, it’s one of the most masochistic things Alyssa could do. I have no idea why she insists on putting herself through this kind of agony. Apparently, my job as her best friend is to support her decision to inflict untold amounts of mental anguish on to herself. I’d slap her upside the head if I thought it would knock sense into her.

  My prediction for the evening goes a little something like this—Alyssa will have a few drinks, moon over Colton, before dissolving into a puddle of tears while that manwhore makes out with other girls in front of her face. Then I’ll drag her home, and she’ll end up knuckle-deep in a gallon of triple-chocolate ice cream.

  But that’s what friends are for, right?

  Don’t worry, I’ve already made my peace with it.

  “Fine,” I grumble with a scowl, hoping she understands the depth of my reluctance. “But let it be known that I won’t be staying for more than an hour. So, you better make good use of your time, girl.”

  She swings around to face me, bouncing on the tips of her toes as she claps her hands together with excitement. “Yay!” As soon as she gets the affirmative, she beelines for my closet, which is half the size of my room.

  I have the kind of closet most girls my age can only dream about. Shoes, purses, clothes, and jewelry. It’s all there and organized.

  “Cue the montage music while I find something schmexy to wear!” she squeals.

  “What you have on is fine.” I roll my eyes and yell, “It was good enough for me, wasn’t it?”

  From within the depths of my closet comes a snort.

  For the next ten minutes, I’m treated to an impromptu fashion show. At the rate Alyssa is going, we won’t make it to the party any time soon.

  Take your time, girlfriend. I’m totally good with that.

  A dozen outfit changes later, Alyssa settles on a black knit tank and white skirt that showcases her sun-kissed legs to their best advantage. Alyssa has been taking dance classes since she was three years old. She’s toned with long, lean muscles.

  “Damn girl, you look hot.” Not that her crush will appreciate the effort. Alyssa needs to move on. I’m thinking a twelve-step program would help kick the Colton Montgomery habit.

  “I would gladly live in your closet if you’d let me.” She grins before doing a little twirl. “It’s my happy place.”

  A reluctant smile quirks my lips.

  My mother is a card-carrying shopaholic and has the Amex Black Card bills to prove it. She buys clothes like our house burned to the ground and nothing could be salvaged. Even with racks of space, my wardrobe is bursting at the seams. Three-quarters of the stuff has never seen the light of day. Alyssa is lucky we’re roughly the same size so she can borrow whatever she wants.

  Now that she’s dressed and ready to mingle, her eyes narrow as she takes a hard look at me. Wordlessly, she spins around and races back inside the closet only to resurface a handful of minutes later.

  “Here you go,” she says, tossing two garments at the foot of my bed.

  I glance at the shimmery gold tank and dark-wash jean skirt that resembles a folded-up napkin. The skirt is cute as hell, but I would strongly advise against going commando while wearing it unless you’re looking to flash everyone your goodies.

  Since that’s not my usual style, the price tag is still dangling from the pocket. I have no idea what my mother was thinking when she picked it up.

  Unsure why she’s throwing clothes at me, I point to the small pile. “What’s that about?”

  “You need to change.” She gives me a look that says—duh before clapping her hands together. “Chop-chop.”

  Changing my clothes was not part of the plan. I’m fine with going in my pajamas. It’s not like I’m looking for a hookup. Or anything else, for that matter.

  I shake my head and fold my arms across my chest. “No, thank you.”

  Her gaze rakes over me as she points to my T-shirt. “Is that a coffee stain on your boob?”

  With a frown, I glance at my chest and inspect the dark spot marring the fabric of my right breast. My guess is that she’s right. Caramel Macchiato, to be specific. “Possibly.”

  Her lips flatten. “I refuse to go anywhere with you looking like that.”

  “Great!” I stretch out before stacking my hands behind my head. “What kind of movie night does it feel like to you? Romcom? Horror? Psychological thriller? Angsty tearjerker?” A benevolent smile curves my lips. “You can choose.”

  Alyssa stomps her foot on the carpeted floor. “Mia!” she wails at a decibel that could shatter eardrums. A few neighborhood dogs howl in response. “You promised!”

  Promised?

  No, I don’t think so.

  I scrunch my nose and tap a finger against my lips. “I don’t believe I ever promised to do anything. Reluctantly agreed? Yes. Browbeaten into capitulating? Definitely. But pr
omised? Not in this lifetime.”

  When she straightens to her full height, I groan, knowing exactly what’s about to happen. “Mia Evelyn Stanbury! Do I need to remind you who was there when—”

  Argh.

  This is the portion of the evening where Alyssa trots out every damn thing she’s ever done for me until I relent. And she’ll start with Harper Hastings. The girl who bullied me relentlessly in seventh grade because Xander Rossi asked me to the movies instead of her. After months of Harper’s mean-spirited attacks, Alyssa waited for the girl after school. My bestie let it be known that if Harper didn’t cease and desist, she’d spread the good word that the other girl was a known bra stuffer. It must have been true, since Harper immediately backed off, and I never heard a peep from her again.

  “Yes, yes, Harper Hastings,” I mutter, not appreciating the direction this conversation has swerved in.

  Alyssa folds her arms across her chest as a smug smile twists her lips upward. “Harper Hastings is only the beginning, my friend.” She arches a brow. “Need I continue?”

  Silently we glare before I fold like a cheap house of cards. “Fine, I’ll change.” I straighten before scooping up the skirt and top and shaking them at her. “It’s only because I love you and you’re my best friend that I’m even willing to step foot next door.”

  An angelic smile spreads across her pretty face before she blows me a kiss. “Love you, too. Now kindly move your assets.”

  “An hour,” I remind. “That’s all you get.”

  Looking unconcerned, she waves a hand. “No worries, that’s more than enough time to work my magic.”

  What she means to say is that it’s more than enough time for Colton to ignore her, all the while hooking up with another girl. Part of me almost wishes he would sleep with Alyssa. Maybe then the rose-colored glasses would come off, and she would realize what a douche the guy is.