Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends #2) - Sara Ney Page 0,6

True. She can take care of herself.”

Tripp grumbles. Crosses his arms in a huff because I’m disagreeing with him. Stares out the window. “Can you make sure you come to a full stop at all the intersections? You almost gave me a damn heart attack last time.”

We go to our parents’ place almost every week if we’re around and not playing ball. In fact, each of us just got done with work.

I play baseball, Tripp plays football, and we bought our parents’ house together. That fucker over there in the passenger seat tried paying for all of it, but I found out and wedged my way in—no way was I going to let him lord that shit over me the rest of my life. Oh, and I bought them each new cars. Then dipshit over there bought them a cute little lake cottage, but then I went and got them a Jeep for the cottage.

The list goes on and on—not that we’re competitive.

It’s just that I’m better. He simply won’t admit it.

I give my reflection a once-over in the rearview mirror and adjust it at the same time.

Approaching the intersection he’s suddenly sooo concerned about, I rev my engine, listening to it hum and purr—like my last date did when I made her come.

That thought makes me chuckle as I roll through the stop sign to piss my brother off, and it does, just as I knew it would.

“What the fuck did I tell you, man! One of these days you’re going to get pulled over, and your popularity isn’t going to get you off.”

“Ha!” I laugh. “You said ‘Get me off.’”

He glares, clutching the brace bar above the window. “You’re an idiot.”

“You are.”

“You are.”

“I just said that—you can’t say it.”

“Make me,” he mutters, glaring out the window, grasping the bar tighter.

Yeah, we argue like we’re twelve. So what?

I give him a sidelong glance, slowing my speed to appease him. “You’re not actually worried I’m going to get us killed, are you?” The truth is, I’ve never been pulled over for speeding, or breaking any laws. Have I broken them? Yes, but they were only minor infractions. Anyway, I would never do anything illegal. Not on purpose. And the truth is, I am a conscientious driver—just not when Tripp is in the car. He is way too easy to needle.

“Just watch where you’re going.” He doesn’t look over at me.

“How about not telling me how to drive if you’re not going to do it yourself.”

“I’m your guest,” he pops off, still staring out the window.

“You’re a pain in the ass, that’s what you are.”

In the reflection of the glass, I catch him rolling his eyes and do a brake check, causing Tripp to lurch forward.

I snicker.

Ha!

Too easy.

“Knock it off!” His irritation is palpable.

“Then quit ignoring me and I won’t have to beg for your attention.” My eyes are glued to the road in front of me, even though I like to pretend I’m hardly paying attention.

“You’re so annoying.”

I mean…he’s not wrong.

“Can I get you boys anything while I’m up?” Mom worries around the kitchen, hovering like a hummingbird, fussing over her babies.

Me. I’m the baby.

“Ma, sit—you don’t have to fetch us everything. Tripp will get it.” I kick my brother’s shin beneath the table and he flinches but doesn’t rat me out. She’d yell at us both, no matter who did the kicking. “Go help Mom.”

Tripp levels me with a hard stare then rises, retrieving the tray of glasses our mother has set out, and the pitcher of iced tea. Bashes me in the back of the skull with the platter and smirks. “Whoops, sorry bro.”

Sorry my ass.

I glare, jostling him with my elbow, digging it into his ribs when he leans to set the whole thing down. “Knock it off, asshole,” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth.

“Make me.”

“Boys.” Our mother shakes her head, still not ready to rest, or be idle—this is how she is whenever we come by, excited to have us home. Wanting to feel wanted by the two sons who want for nothing. Need for nothing.

Nothing but an orgasm with no strings attached and a beefy taco afterward.

Mmm-mmm delicious.

I lick my chops, mouth watering, reaching for a glass. Grab the pitcher away from my brother as he goes to reach for it. “Loser.”

“Boys!” Mom scolds again, a secret smile tipping her lips.

We might be monsters, but we’re hers and she loves having us home. Granted, we take up all the free space with