#I WANNA BITE VITE VITE

[theblankest123]

giRL HELP IM FEELING HYPER AGAIN

[downinsomanyfandoms]

I wanna do fluffy and soft RyuTsu but best I can do is violence

But what else can you expect from me

[senselessviolets]

"don't wanna be alone."

Roman Roy x Original Character

Rated T (Angst/Feels, Drabble)

Word Count: 1.6k

AO3 Link

WARNINGS:

Cursing, canon typical humor, descriptions & themes involving PTSD/depression. Roman is kind of a dick.

Author's Notes:

Heavily inspired by "Calling U Back" by The Marías. I realized there was some unintentional overlap between this fic and the headcanons about being Rome's assistant that I made so shared universe I guess? /s

Set during Caroline's Wedding in Italy at the end of season 3.

Summary: After a business trip in Turkey ended with her and her boss being held hostage, personal assistant Maxine Lee has some big questions to ask herself; why has he now gone cold on her? Will they be able to work through these unresolved feelings? And most important of all---is the paycheck really worth it?

I could feel two hazel beams searing into my back as I stood across the party from him. There was nothing that stated in the e-vite he forwarded me that I was to be his armpiece for Italy. And yet, Roman’s unshakeable gaze nearly had me feeling guilty or at the very least—unresolved. I knew jetsetting was going to be a part of the job and my brief stint in PR for the luxury fashion label ALMEN had gotten me well acquainted with travel of the sort. Instead of preparing statements for reporters about the brand’s upcoming collection for the spring-summer season; I was having to be a pincushion for the World’s Wealthiest Brat/Fuckboy.

It was a rather impromptu thing in the beginning. My father had gone to Wharton with Waystar’s CFO Karl Mueller and according to him; they “go way back.” Funny how Karl’s name had never once come up until his youngest daughter needed a cushy job in the city. All because someone (me) had to bite off a little more than they could chew. 

“It’s, uh, nice that you stuck around even after the whole Turkey…thing,” Cousin Greg emphasizes, using his hands.

The briefest mention of Turkey had my stomach doing flips. I didn’t speak to Roman for weeks after. Beyond the now bi-weekly video calls with my therapist; I became something of a recluse. I didn’t dare to leave my apartment. The meals I did remember to have were left at my doorstep. I convinced myself this leave of absence was helping me cope and all it was doing was prolonging the inevitable. Sooner or later, I was going to have to face him even though the last time he would’ve seen me, my face was hot and wet with tears. Tears I’d done everything to keep from spilling over.

There was just so much uncertainty at that moment. Being the lone female companion on that trip left me more vulnerable. In ways that Roman, Karl, or Laird weren’t or would ever think about. Beyond that, I was the most objectively expendable member of the group. I wasn’t a big-name banker like Laird, much less a high-level exec like Karl. If I were them, I would without a doubt choose me first to get thrown overboard if it came down to it. 

I wouldn’t fucking think twice about it, in fact.

But Roman, as powerless as even he was at that moment, did everything he could to assure me that wouldn’t be the case no matter what. He was sweet. Why’d he have to be so fucking sweet? There were a couple of nights I’d spent awake in bed, eyes trained on the dark ceiling above me asking myself that same question over and over again until I either drifted off to sleep or the ache in my heart dissipated. Usually, it was the first one.

“It’ll…um…no, d-don’t…don’t cry. Please. You’re gonna be okay, w-we’re gonna be okay actually. Yeah. I mean, w-we got Laird. He’s like a fucking behemoth. And I know he sorta…got pulled away but we do have Dave. Dude is jacked. Y’know Colin? My dad’s security? Dave’s that but not as scary. We’d be covered. We a-are covered. We got you, Max. I got…,” he assured, almost rhythmically, “...I’m gonna…make sure you stay okay, okay?”

Was it incredibly verbose and clumsy? Yes. 

Did it make me feel any better in that moment? Somewhat. 

It was something to hold onto when there wasn’t anything else; it was something. I remember feeling weak and sick. All these powerful men occupying various corners of this decadent hotel lobby and here I am; a little girl dabbing snot into her sweater sleeve like I was eight years old again, legs criss-crossed in the church pews during my mom’s funeral service. Being utterly alone had been the bane of my existence for some time. Not just simply being by myself as I actually preferred that a lot of the time. Some mindless Netflix binge and takeout was enough most nights. “Utterly alone” to me meant being nothing in the eyes of the people around you. An organism, a space-filler—being interminably interchangeable. Roman had done what he could to assure me I was the opposite at my most terrified.

Though I didn’t owe him anything and I was on his payroll and a result, had received the fruits of my labor—I felt innately that I was indebted to him. An entire year later I had still yet to rid myself of this feeling. There was a heaviness to it. It usually occupied any prolonged gaps of silence in between our conversations. It was tangible to me but I often wondered if it was for him too. 

I figured it was; otherwise, he might not be as much of a hellish prick as he had been to me lately. He’d spontaneously request revised versions of the business plans he’d drafted. Late into the night, he’d call me, harshly demanding I send over the revisions. At a certain point, I realized he wasn’t even checking to see if I had sent them or not. Like he just needed somebody to bitch out for the hell of it. I remember when I shrewdly accused him of doing so during one of his random calls, this one occurring around 2 AM.

“Do you even read my fucking notes? I feel like you don’t otherwise I wouldn’t be fuckin’ calling you at odd hours of the night to remind you to do your fuckin’ job.” he chastises, in a voice that’s made gravelly due to the phone and fatigue. 

I was calling from my bed, propped upright by some pillows with my bedside lamp turned on. Likewise, I could tell Roman was sprawled out on his mattress due to the shifting of the bedsheets the mic picked up. The sound of sleep was always palpable in his voice. 

“Well, if you bothered checking if I’d sent them over before calling to bitch me out for not sending them at all; it could save us both the fucking headache, yeah?”

“...lookit you, being all big-bad-bitch out of nowhere. Was wondering when I was gonna bring that outta you. I’m legit so proud of you right now, Max. Keep killing it, Kween!” Roman taunts, “Makes you wonder where this Max was when we were living it up in Turkey way back. Okay, okay, if you can admit right now that the only reason you were putting on the waterworks then was that you were weeping over the possibility of losing your meal ticket…I’ll leave you alone. Promise.”

What kind of twisted ultimatum was that? 

Unfortunately, my throat becomes too dry all of a sudden and I’m unable to question what possessed him to ask such a fucked up thing this late at night. Instead, I’m only able to bid him a choked-up farewell and hang up. 

“...I-I’ll send you my next round of revisions soon. I appreciate the follow-up call. Thank you, Roman. Have a good night.”

It wasn’t exactly a secret that Roman could be incredibly cruel with his words when presented with the opportunity to be. I’d had a litany of expletives hurled at me over the most minor of mistakes. That’s not even including the constant sexual innuendo but even he had the common sense not to push things too far with that. For all of his kindness; there was always an edge. Gestures of appreciation were undercut with sarcastic comments and name-calling. “Thank you” was most commonly followed by a well-timed “fuck you” or “fuck off” if he wanted to evoke his father’s bitterness.

  This was by all means the norm.

But that’s why Turkey had been so different. That’s why it had been sitting in my craw so strangely these twelve-odd months. Sure, he had been trying to keep things light-hearted and get a smile, better yet a laugh, out of me since things were so dire. However, there was no “edge” to be found. No rug to be pulled out from under me and him to snicker at. 

Cliche sure, but I could just feel the difference. 

I could feel him trying to make a genuine connection which I’d come to surmise was typically quite difficult for him. Then again that seemed to be the case with most who shared his status; especially his siblings. His little-spoken-of partner Tabitha was evidence of this failure to connect. As were his handful of Raya dates that ‘never panned out’. 

He was my boss. I was his first-ever assistant; meant to ‘help him acclimate to the increased levels of responsibility he hoped to gradually take on.’ At least that was how Ms. Kellman further described the position in my follow-up interview. While having Waystar’s General Legal Counsel conduct my second job interview was beyond intimidating, I was under the impression she was attempting to mentor him. Clearly, the two had history and that was none of my concern. Though I’d be lying if I’d said I hadn’t thought about asking her what his deal was. If he’d ever been the way he was at the hotel in Turkey to her. Maybe he had. 

Or maybe she wouldn’t know a serious, genuine Roman if he was looking her dead in the eyes. 

He was a confounding person who contradicted himself all too often. It made him impossible to decipher sometimes and intolerable to be around other times. And yet, I was stuck making the same mistake I suspected many individuals that came before me had too made; trying to make sense of this person named Roman Roy while at my core hoping that maybe he’d break through and be better. 

If not for me or his would-be-girlfriend or his deeply flawed family—at the very least for himself. Because regardless of all he’d said or all he’d done, it’s what he deserved.

End.

{ Feedback is always welcome! Let me know if you want to see a follow-up to this! <3 }

[for-fvckssake]

he watches with heavy eyes as your cock springs free from the confines of your boxers, bouncing up and down before coming to a halt just a few inches away from his face. eren blows hot air against your tip, watching it twitch as a translucent pearl of pre cum threatens to drip out of your slit.

"so desperate already, honey." he chuckles between kisses, "be patient. we have all night, sweetheart. wanna take my time with you." his mouth continued it's assault on your inner thighs, biting and sucking on your skin until he was satisfied with the color of the hickies that now adorned your skin.

only then he decided to give your aching cock some much needed attention. eren sucks your balls into his mouth, his tongue lapping and slicking them up with his spit while your shaft rests against the bridge of his nose, staining his forehead with your shiny pre.

he lets go of your balls with a loud pop before licking your cock from base to tip. a groan escapes his throat when the salty taste of you takes over his senses, eyes rolling back before he looks back at you through his long lashes.

eren gives your cock one final lick, planting a kiss on your tip before finally taking you down his throat. he swallows around you, head bobbing up and down while he hums around you.

-Rennie <33333

i watch you, gaze not leaving your face as i vite my own lip, watching you trail kisses inside my thighs, making me squirm.

my hands move their way down to your hair, forcing out a gasp when you put me in your mouth. “jesus fuck ren-“ i groan out, my grip tightening in your hair while i squirm. sure, he’s blown me before, but never like this, never really blown me.

“christ, didn’t know it was my turn to get the full package.” i say, laughing breathlessly before it gets cut off by a loud groan.

[catboyfurina]

im literally so normal all the time except for right now speicifcially . my hands can not make the art my brain is wanting to make i think i should be allowed to kill

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Cathect - Regulus Black x Reader

Request: Girl. Forget me not murdered me. I’m dead. Can you pleaseeee write more regulus. Maybe like Regulus and the reader (hufflepuff) are dating in secret, but Sirius likes the reader and tries to ask her out ??? Ily Cathect: To invest emotion or feeling in a particular idea/object or another person. Warnings: My English, language. Gifs aren’t mine. Credits to their original owners. [With Douglas Booth as Regulus Black] Word Count~1.6k MASTERLIST Pending Requests

  He tasted of the bitter chocolate and refreshing mint; so easily addictive. He wasn’t his usual sweet and tender self. Things had escalated. You wanted him to grab your hair, pull it hard until your back arched and you let out a tiny, gasping moan.  His hands were roaming your body and yours were lost in his hair. You wanted to be thrown onto the bed and pinned down against the mattress. He kissed you, slowly, like there was no other place he would rather be; like he had forgotten any other mouth that he had ever touched; he made you breathe out the sound of his name.  “Arc, stop. Someone could see” you tried to reason him. You didn’t like it. At all. The whole secrecy and the ‘I am acting like we don’t know each other’ thing was driving you crazy but you did anyways because you loved him and being with you was something that would shock- to put it mildly- everyone. A sweet, little Hufflepuff girl and Regulus Black? Never.  He didn’t listen. He continued kissing you as he made his way to your neck and collarbone. His delicate and slender fingers pulled the shoulder of your sweater downward, exposing your soft skin. His touch was gentle but hungry and demanding as he started to plant small bites on your shoulder. “Reg, we are in the Library” you breathed out. He laughed into the kiss and you felt his lips softened against your skin, as your heartbeat settled back to normal. Once his eyes met yours, all the worries in the world didn’t matter. His hazel eyes were so brutally honest and so breathtaking; so broken yet so gentle. A Muggle song came into your mind and you couldn’t help but agree with it. Bonheurs enfantins/Trop vite oubliés effaces/Une lumière dorée brille sans fin/Tout au bout du chemin.  He was worth it.  You were together for more than two years and you had managed to keep a secret. It got a bit lonely from time to time, not being able to hold your boyfriend’s hand, or hug him or run and hide your face in his sweaters whenever you felt down. A few stolen glances were all you could hope for. Until you met again.  He caressed your cheek, thumb drawing circles as you leaned into his touch and kissed his knuckles.  But the moment passed and he had to move away from you and pretend that he didn’t care.  “Hello there, beautiful” the obnoxious voice of Sirius was greeting you. You wanted to facepalm. You could feel Regulus rolling his eyes even if you couldn’t see him. His brother was such a flirt. Lately, his whole flirting game had been focused on you and you didn’t really like it. Sirius was awfully good-looking and he knew it. But the only beautiful person you could see was his brother with his hazel eyes, his soft and full lips, his dimples, his sharp cheekbones, and jawline… You knew how much it annoyed him when Sirius was flirting with you and you hated the idea that this might turn into a brothers’ fight.  “Hello Sirius” you kindly greeted him back but you kept it neutral. Something that he obviously didn’t get. He sat next to you, completely ignoring his brother. You had to do something about that at some point. “So, wanna go out with me?” he asked you, throwing you off balance, almost making you fall off your chair. You expected Regulus to do something, to declare that you were in a relationship, that you were his girl but instead he stood up and left. And it hurt you worse than a slap. Maybe he didn’t like you all that much. Where were you even going with it, in the first place? There wasn’t a happy ending… Not for you, not for him, not for the two of you. You wanted to hold your tears because the realization hit you like a train. The relationship was doomed and maybe he had understood that and he didn’t want it anymore.  Before you broke down, you left Sirius with an inaudible excuse and ran towards your common room. You truly needed the warmth that the Hufflepuff dorms were providing.  Because something inside of you had gone cold. 

He knew he had messed up. He should have told his brother, not run away like a coward. You didn’t talk to him for the days that followed. He was losing his mind. You were heartbroken. And on top of that, Sirius was bugging you with his flirting. What you didn’t know was that he actually liked you. But you were about to find out. Just as Regulus was. You had gone to the Library again because McGonagall had assigned you an essay on a topic you didn’t know that much about. So, naturally, you had to do some research. You had spotted the book you needed but it was on the top shelf. Before you could come up with an idea, a large hand grabbed it and handed it to you.  “Hello” he kindly told you. He wasn’t cocky or trying to prove a point. Maybe because his brother wasn’t next to you. “Thank you, Sirius” you warmly replied. He could be nice. Sometimes. He seemed genuinely awkward like he was trying to find the words to tell you something.  Regulus walked in on you but he quickly hid behind the closest shelf.  He wanted to see how the scene would unfold before his eyes.  He had witnessed how Sirius’ eyes would linger on you, how he wouldn’t be able to avert his gaze, how smitten he was with you. Regulus never believed that his brother would fall in love with someone, simply because he thought that he didn’t know how to love. He clearly didn’t love his own brother enough to stick with him, Regulus thought bitterly.  But he was wrong. “Listen. I am not good when it comes to these type of words so… Here it goes. I like you. A lot. Please go out with me. Once. If you don’t like it, I promise I won’t bother you again. Please”. His voice was soft and worried, yet brutally honest. You didn’t know what to say or how to react. You felt awful. He had confessed that he liked you and you were with his brother. Well, wait?  Were you? You didn’t even know anymore. “Sirius, I-” you never got to finish your sentence because Regulus cut you off as he ditched his hide place and walked over to you. “She has a boyfriend” he stated as he wrapped an arm around your waist. You didn’t really like the way he was acting all possessive. Sirius had raised both of his eyebrows and his cheeks had been stained pink. “Which you would know if you hadn’t stopped being my brother. And my best friend” Regulus finished off. He was broken and it was painfully obvious. The boys locked their eyes. You could almost see the memories yourself.  Two little boys running around their house, against their mother’s wishes, playing with the pillows and breaking stuff as they both laughed like only kids knew. Two brothers that loved each other that much that they would try to take the blame themselves, not wanting the other one to hurt. Two brothers that had promised to stick with each other until the end.  And one of them had broken that promise and the other had broken his heart.  “I -I didn’t know, Reg. I am sorry” Sirius told him sincerely. The way he said he was sorry… You understood that he meant it, not just for you.  “I know, Sirius. I know” Regulus answered and you got the other meaning as well.  “I sorry Y/N. I didn’t mean to offend you” Sirius apologized again. You shook your head and smiled kindly. You decided to act, to do something. “Don’t be. It’s absolutely fine. You are a really nice person when you aren’t cocky. Can you do me a favor? Both of you?” you admitted and smiled encouragingly. They looked at each other confused but nodded slowly. You took a deep breath and rushed out your idea. “Talk. Please” you practically begged them. And surprisingly enough, they agreed almost immediately. You kissed your boyfriend and gave a warm hug to Sirius and left them, hoping that their brotherly love was still there because that bond never truly breaks. 

You never learned what they had talked about that night. You could have guessed; their past (the good and the bad times, their childish games and their awful parents) and their choices (or in this case, the choice that was made for Regulus and the choice that Sirius was forced to make), their different paths… but no one told you. They didn’t have to because when the morning came, they walked into the Great Hall together, laughing at something, looking exhausted-they hadn’t slept, you realized- but peacefully happy. You smiled at them and they returned it, both extremely thankful. Sirius sat down next to his friends and Regulus… he surprised you as he wrapped his hands around your waist and lifted you up in the air as he enveloped you in a hug and kissed you. It felt different. He felt different. Lighter in a way; like all the worries that kept him down had been lifted somehow. “I love you and I’m sorry” he whispered and you knew that every was going to be alright.  

Tag: @orionsirivsblack @kapolisradomthoughts @nadinissavage

[Bonheurs enfantins/Trop vite oubliés effaces/Une lumière dorée brille sans fin/Tout au bout du chemin=Childish happiness/Erased and forgotten too fast/ A golden light shines forever/And the end of the road]

[illbefinealonereads]

Today we’re talking about A Love Hate Thing by Whitney D. Grandison. Scroll down for more information about the book, my spoiler-free review and an excerpt.

A Love Hate Thing Whitney D. Grandison On Sale Date: January 7, 2020 Inkyard Press 9781335016041, 133501604X Hardcover $18.99 USD, $23.99 CAD Young Adult Fiction / Romance / Contemporary Ages 13 And Up 464 pages

Summary:

A fantastic enemies to lovers romance about an It girl whose world is upended when a boy from the past moves into her house after tragedy strikes. For fans of Ibi Zoboi's Pride, Mary H. K. Choi and Samira Ahmed. Wattpad author Whitney D. Grandison's traditional publishing debut.

When they're stuck under one roof, the house may not be big enough for their hate…or their love

When Tyson Trice finds himself tossed into the affluent coastal community of Pacific Hills, he’s ready for the questions, the stares, and the total feeling of not belonging in the posh suburb. Not that he cares. After recovering from being shot and surviving the mean streets of Lindenwood, he doesn’t care about anyone or anything. He doesn’t even care how the rest of his life will play out.

In Pacific Hills, image is everything. Something that, as the resident golden girl, Nandy Smith knows all too well. She’s spent most of her life building the pristine image that it takes to fit in. After learning that her parents are taking in a former childhood friend, Nandy fears her summer plans, as well as her reputation, will go up in flames. It’s the start of summer vacation and the last thing Nandy needs is some juvenile delinquent from the ’Wood crashing into her world.

Stuck together in close quarters, Trice and Nandy are in for some long summer nights. Only, with the ever-present pull back to the Lindenwood streets, it’ll be a wonder if Trice makes it through this summer at all.

Buy Links:

Harlequin Amazon Barnes & Noble Indie Bound Kobo Books-a-Million Google Play

About the Author:

Whitney D. Grandison was born and raised in Akron, Ohio, where she currently resides. A lover of stories since she first picked up a book, it’s no surprise she’s taken to writing her own. Some of her works can be found on Wattpad, one of the largest online story sharing platforms, where she has acquired over 30,000 followers and an audience of over fifteen million dedicated readers.

Instagram: @wheadee Twitter: @whitney_DG

Genre: Young Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Rating: 4/5 stars

Review: This was an exceptionally enjoyable read for me. I really liked the characters. Trice was so perfectly developed and brought to the page. Nandy seemed to be set as an opposite to Trice, and I really liked their interactions. A lot in this book was well executed. I really enjoyed the dynamics between the characters, as well as the writing. The plot was okay, but the connection I felt to the characters allowed me to keep reading. I have to note though that the pacing didn’t work for me, it felt a bit inconsistent. However, I liked the story, and I really wanted to see how it would turn out in the end.

Excerpt

 1 | TRICE

Getting shot isn’t the worst part. It’s the aftermath that re­ally fucks you up.

Six months ago, on a dark December night, I was lying in a pool of my own blood on the living room floor. Six months later, I was sitting in a car on the way to a new town to start fresh. In some ways, yeah, the wound had healed. In others, it never would. I didn’t care, though. The last thing I’d cared about got me where I was.

“You’ll like it there, Tyson. The Smiths have prepared a new home for you,” Misty from social services was saying as she drove the long stretch of highway toward Pacific Hills. It was only an hour away from where I used to live in Lindenwood, California.

I didn’t respond. Home was a meaningless word to me now.

Misty peeked at me. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“I can leave as soon as I turn eighteen, right?” That was all that mattered. Fuck the rest. Five months, aka one hun­dred and sixty days, to go. On November twelfth, I’d be free.

Misty sighed. “Look, I know what you’re going through—”

“Word? You’ve been shot too and all’at?” I glanced her way. This lady was going home to a million-thread-count sheet-and-pillowcase set, resting easy once I was off her hands.

Fuck outta here.

“Well, no, but—”

“Then shut up.” I faced the road ahead, done talking.

Misty let out a breath, her light tan skin no doubt holding a blush upon her cheeks. “Do you kiss your—” She caught herself, as if realizing where she was about to go. “I—I’m sorry. You just shouldn’t speak that way.”

I felt an ache in my chest, but I let it go.

I didn’t care.

Half a beat later Misty was rambling on about food. “Do you wanna stop and get something to eat, you must be starv­ing.”

“I told you I wasn’t hungry.”

“Oh, well, are you nervous?”

I hadn’t thought about being nervous or the fact that I would never return home again and lead a normal life. Not like I’d ever led one to begin with.

“No.”

“Well, good. Think of it as going to a sleepover at an old friend’s house.”

One thing was true, the Smiths were old friends, but this setup was for the next five months.

“It’s been ten years since I last saw them,” I spoke up. “This ain’t no damn sleepover, and it’s not about to be all kumbaya, neither.”

At least they were black. Moving into the uppity setting of Pacific Hills was sure to be hell, but at least I would be with a black family. Even if I wouldn’t exactly fit in.

I didn’t look the same. I didn’t act the same. I wasn’t the same. And I didn’t care.

“Tyson—”

“It’s Trice.” I had asked her to call me that from jump street. No one called me Tyson.

I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to think about anything. I didn’t care.

“Trice, please, try? I know it’s been rough these past few months, but you have a chance at something fresh. The Smiths are good people, and Pacific Hills is a lovely town. I’m sure soon you’ll be close to your old self.”

Misty had no clue what she was talking about. My old self? She obviously hadn’t paid attention to my file, or she would’ve been smart enough to leave it at fresh and not bring up my past.

Tyson Trice was dead.

He died on the floor in the living room that day, and he was never coming back.

When I didn’t respond, Misty let up, probably getting that I didn’t give a shit either way.

I didn’t care.

2 | Nandy

I told myself I didn’t care about the juvenile delinquent my parents were moving into our home. I told myself it was no big deal an ex-con would be sleeping right next door to me. I told myself that my parents hadn’t made the worst decision in everdom.

It was just an everyday occurrence in the Smith household.

Still, it wasn’t fair.

As I paced around the pool in my backyard and complained to my best friend, Erica Yee, over the phone, I expected her to be on my side and console me.

“This was supposed to be a great summer and they pull this?” I whined.

“You can still have a good summer,” Erica responded. “This doesn’t have to be the end.”

But it was the end. My parents hadn’t gone into detail about the boy’s situation, just that he was in a “rough spot” and would be living with us for now. And that he was from Lindenwood, otherwise known as the ghetto.

I’d never gone there, but I’d heard enough stories to know to be cautious. When my parents watched the news, there was always a segment on some tragedy that had happened in Lindenwood. Some high-speed chase, or little kids killed during a drive-by, or a robbery gone wrong among the usual clutter of crime that kept the LPD busy. Lindenwood was no­torious for its drugs, thefts, assaults, and murders.

I shivered.

It probably hadn’t been the best idea to stay up lurking on the local news feeds right before the delinquent moved in.

Everything would be ruined.

“It is the end,” I insisted. “I mean, they spent all this time whispering and having these hushed conversations behind closed doors, and they barely revealed last night that he��s from Lindenwood!”

Maybe I was acting childishly, but I felt like a kid with the way my parents had shut me out on the biggest detail of all when it came to the boy coming to stay with us out of no­where. For two weeks, they’d been scarce on the topic and evaded any and all questions. Now it felt like they’d dropped a bomb on me.

For all I knew, this kid was a total ex-gangbanger and my parents were intent on opening our home to wayward souls.

Dramatic? Sure.

Precautions? I was definitely taking them.

“Right now, you’re probably pacing around your pool ina Gucci bikini while your happily-in-love parents are inside preparing dinner together. God, Nan, your life is incredibly boring. You could use this delinquent to spice things up.”

Well, it was a Sunday evening, and the sun was beginning to set. My parents always made dinner together on Sundays, because they were both off work and able to do so.

I stopped pacing and glanced down at my white Gucci bikini. “Yee, you try new hobbies to spice things up, not in­vite ex-cons to move in with you. Look, whatever, let’s just get away for a few hours. The longer I put a halt on this, the better.”

“When is he supposed to show up?”

“Sometime today. I just wanna blow it off. Maybe you, me, and Chad could grab a bite at the club or something.”

My boyfriend’s family had a reserved table at the local country club. Anything would be better than dinner with the delinquent. I wasn’t 100 percent sure he was a criminal, but I wasn’t taking any chances. When it came to Lindenwood, you couldn’t be too sure.

“You in?” I asked.

“If we must.” Erica pretended to sound exasperated. “Call me with the details in twenty, okay?”

“Deal.” I hung up and sighed, tilting my head back to­ward the darkening sky and questioning what I had done to deserve this.

It was the first week of June, and school had ended last week. I intended to spend this summer before senior year going to beach bonfires and parties with my friends, lounging around, preparing for cotillion, and just staying as far away from home as possible.

With a plan in motion, I went around my pool and stepped into our family room through the patio doors.

“Shit!” I jumped back, dropping my phone and barely reg­istering the sound of its rough slap against the hardwood floor.

My parents were standing in the room with an Asian woman who was dressed in a violet-red pantsuit. But it was the boy beside her that startled me. He towered over my fa­ther, with broad shoulders and a wide chest, and arms that let me know he worked out, even though he seemed drenched in black with his long-sleeved shirt and matching pants. He had deep, dark brown skin with a clean complexion. But what really stood out was his hair. The boy had cornrows braided to the back of his head—well-aged cornrows.

Ugh, he looked so unpolished.

Suddenly I remembered my fallen phone and looked down to discover the screen was cracked. Because things aren’t messed up enough already.

“And you remember our daughter, Nandy.” My mother played it cool, gesturing toward where I’d frozen near the patio doors.

Everyone faced me, looking just as uncomfortable as I felt.

Great, I was making my first impression completely inap­propriate in a bikini.

Awkwardly, I waved and forced a smile onto my face, showing off the result of two years of braces.

“Nandy, this may be a little bit of a surprise, but you re­member Tyson Trice, don’t you?” my father asked, looking between the two of us.

At first, the name vaguely rang a bell, but then it hit me. Tyson, the boy I’d played with when I was younger. He used to come by in the summers when his grandfather would do lawn work around our subdivision. There’d been a few times during the school year when he’d come by too, but it was mostly a summer thing. Until he stopped coming altogether.

The revelation brought a sense of relief followed quickly by a foreign anger that I couldn’t explain.

That was then; this is now.

Now Tyson Trice had hit a mega growth spurt and stood before me nearly a man, appearing not at all like the seven­teen years young that we both were.

“Right.” I nodded my head. “Tyson, hey.”

Tyson didn’t shift focus to my body. He stared straight into my eyes and bore no friendly expression or a tell of what he was thinking. He was far across the room, but I didn’t need to be right up on him to know that he had the angriest eyes I’d ever seen. Dark, soulless abysses stared at me, making me shiver.

Right on, Dad. Thanks for inviting a possible murderer into our home.

“And this is our son, Jordy.” My mother didn’t miss a beat as she went on, downplaying how awkward everything was.

Jordy, my eleven-year-old little brother, was sitting against the ottoman, playing a video game on his handheld.

Tyson glanced at Jordy, and I felt protective, seeing curios­ity briefly cross his face as he laid eyes on my Thai brother.

Jordy looked up from his game. “Hey.”

Tyson lifted a brow and turned to face my parents in that familiar way most outsiders looked at my family once they realized a black family was raising a Thai son.

Jordy smirked, shaking his head. “They wish they could’ve spawned a kid as good‑looking as me.”

My father chuckled. “We spoke about adopting for years after having Nandy, and right around the time she was eight, we got approved and Jordy came into our lives.”

“He was just two years old,” my mother gushed. “He was so adorable, we fell in love with him instantly.”

I came more into the room, wanting to shield my brother from Tyson. Someone had to think of the kids.

“Nandy, why don’t you go put some clothes on.” It wasn’t a question. My mother was ordering me to cover up and look more presentable for our guests.

“I was actually on my way out to meet up with Erica, we’ve got this—”

“Right now?” she asked. “We’ve got company.”

I glanced at Tyson, hating him again for spoiling my summer. I’d seen him, and I’d spoken to him. What more did she want?

“Yeah, but Erica and I had plans to go to the country club and talk about cotillion.”

My mother pursed her lips. “Nandy—”

“You know what,” my father stepped in, “that’s a great idea. Nandy could take Tyson and the two could get reacquainted, and that’ll give us time to talk to Ms. Tran here.”

My eyes practically shot out of their sockets. There was no way in hell I’d share a car with Tyson.

After thinking it over, my mother seemed to agree. “That is a great idea. We can all sit down together later.”

My jaw hit the ground.

I shook my head. “You know, never mind, suddenly I’m not as hungry as I thought. In fact, I feel sick to my stomach. I think I’ll go lie down.”

By the way my mother narrowed her eyes, I knew she’d be giving me hell later about my behavior. I didn’t care. It wasn’t fair to me to force some scary-looking guy into my hands to be babysat.

With one final look at the newest arrival to the Smith household, I picked up my phone from the floor and made my way up to my room.

Long after Ms. Tran had left and my mother had scolded me in our family office, I sat in my room, maneuvering witha broken phone as I texted my boyfriend. Going on a hun­ger strike didn’t last long for me. After having refused to go down for dinner, I was starving.

My cell phone chirped as Chad texted me back.

Chad: Outside

Me: Thank God

My parents were probably still up, no doubt discussing ei­ther my punishment or how we were going to work Tyson into the family.

With their bedroom being in a different wing of our house, sneaking out was always an easy feat. Still, I made sure to keep extra quiet as I crept out of my room and slipped down the staircase.

Chad was waiting for me out front. He’d been pacing back and forth in front of our walk as he waited, and as I stepped outside I was elated to see him.

“I’m thinking sushi, you in?” I asked as I walked past him, heading for his car.

“Yeah, sure. What’s going on?” Chad asked as he caught up to me and fell into step.

I peered up into his blue eyes. “You don’t want to know.”

Chad ran a hand through his auburn hair, appearing con­fused but conceding. “O-kay, let’s go get some sushi.”

At the feeling of being watched, I glanced back at my house. On the second floor, through one of the large bay windows, I caught sight of a silhouetted figure.

It was him.

Creep.

I turned back to Chad and reached out and caught his hand. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

This was my summer, and no one was getting in the way of that.

Excerpted from A Love Hate Thing by Whitney D. Grandison. Copyright ©2020 by Whitney Grandison. Published by Inkyard Press.