near impossible to get that disturbing visual out of my head.
One thing’s for sure, whoever did it is a photoshop pro.
The only thing that’s off about the pic is the way Stone’s flexing his muscles in the mirror and smiling smugly, appearing mighty proud of his microscopic peen.
“Debbie’s his girlfriend,” Tommy supplies.
“Ex-girlfriend,” Stone corrects. “Any bitch who’d give Bianca a private photo of me so she can destroy my life can go fuck herself with a spiked dildo.”
I sit up in my seat. “Wait, Bianca Covington did this?”
Stone nods. “Yup.”
That seems…excessive. Even for her. “Why?”
Stone snorts. “Because I’m Tom—”
“You’re gonna be late for your job interview,” Tommy cuts in. He glances at Stone through the rearview mirror. “Relax. We’ll sort it out later.”
Stone shakes his head. “No. I told you, I’m done. There’s no way I’ll recover from this shit. Not unless I drop my pants, show her my real cock, and then shove it down her throat in front of everyone.”
Jesus. “Jace will literally kill you if you mess with his little sister.”
Just today he kicked the crap out of a senior she tricked into hooking up with her. I shudder to think what he’d do to a guy forcing his dick down her throat.
Stone’s eyes become tiny slits. “Funny, because last time I checked, it was the DaSilvas wh—”
“Shut up,” Tommy snaps. “Stop bringing up old bullshit.”
Stone rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You’re officially on your own when it comes to your old bullshit. When we get home, I’m telling Mom I want to go back to public school. If she says no, I’ll run away.”
Tommy steps on the gas. “Fine. Do you, bro.”
Given his little brother’s outburst, I can’t help but wonder. “Is there still bad blood between you and Jace?”
If there is, I’m almost positive whose photoshop skills were utilized for Stone’s picture.
Not many people know it, but Jace is a savant when it comes to computers.
Graphics, programming, and creating his own video games are just a few of his areas of expertise. He can spend days—sometimes hours—in front of a computer screen doing things that would take mere mortals years to perfect.
Tommy grips the steering wheel. “No. I mean, not really.” His expression turns solemn. “Truth be told, I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for how I used to treat his brother.”
“But you and Liam were friends before…”
My heart pangs and I can’t bring myself to finish that sentence.
Liam should be here.
“I know,” Tommy says softly. “You’re right, we were.” He shrugs. “You know how Jace is though. The Vatican can declare you a saint and he’d still hold a grudge against you for a mistake you made when you were a kid.”
He’s not wrong. Jace doesn’t just hold grudges, he embraces them and uses it to fuel his rage.
His own father is a perfect example.
And now he’s doing the same thing to me.
Freezing me out, but not before making my life a living hell.
For reasons I’ll never understand.
Tommy squeezes my shoulder. “You okay?”
Not really, but I’m not about to unload my issues with Jace onto Tommy.
“Yeah. It just sucks that he can’t let bygones be bygones.”
“Don’t stress. He does his thing and I do mine.” He smirks. “The only time I run into him is when we play against the Knights and my team whoops Cole’s butt on the field.”
His cockiness is almost endearing. “Guess I’ll have to check that out sometime.”
“We’re scheduled to play against them on Friday.” He winks. “It’s the first game of the season so it’s a pretty big deal. It would be awesome to see you there.”
I’m mulling over a polite way to decline when he pulls up to a charming little building with a neon green sign that reads, “Top of the Muffin.”
After checking my watch, I open the car door. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I can pick you up if you want.” He gestures to his little brother. “After I drop him off.”
“Are you sure? I don’t—”
“Sorry, can’t hear you,” he says with a wink as he backs out of the parking lot.
“We’re out of cookies,” a plump woman with fiery red hair and a hint of an Irish accent greets me as I walk up to the counter.
I muster a smile. “That’s okay, I—”
“And that includes macaroons.” She looks me up and down. “I know your type.”
I can’t believe this woman is judging me on my choice of baked goods.
She’s also wrong. I’m a chocolate cake kind of girl. A macaroon passed my lips once, and that was