Dirty Sexy Secret (Green County Book 1) Read online

  That stirs need in my gut. Drunk Hazel seems like a really bad idea. But. I have Eli as a buffer. Everything will be fine.

  I swallow my concern and the desire punching up my throat and say hoarsely, “I’m going to make baked chicken and potatoes.”

  Like I know what I’m doing. Hell, I’m making it up as I go along.

  Hazel giggles in the backseat, “Can you make chicken?”

  “Eli, do you remember that time that Hazel burnt water?” I drawl and in the backseat she huffs in displeasure

  “I was twelve!” she protests.

  I grin at her in the rearview as she sulks.

  “I’m going to prove you wrong,” she says “I’m going to make a fucking cake and you’re going to love it.”

  Eli’s laughing at both of us but the girl is talking about baked goods.

  Of course, I’m going to love it.

  I ignore her claim and pull into the parking lot of the local grocery store parking my baby carefully and killing the engine.

  “Eli,” I say “you get some chicken for dinner. The girl doesn’t have anything in her fucking pantry, so I’m going to make sure she gets some groceries and then we’ll meet back at the register.”

  Hazel protests, “I don’t need you to take me shopping.”

  “You need someone to, Hazy. You’ve got nothing in the damn house. I could barely find peanut butter.”

  Eli gives me a quirked eyebrow. “Why were you looking for peanut butter?”

  “Because she skipped lunch and I didn’t want her to pass out.”

  “You bastard,” she hisses. “You told me that you’d keep that to yourself! Now he’s going to lecture me too!”

  I grin, “That might have been the point, baby girl.”

  Hazel stiffens at the pet name, and I bite the inside of my cheek. Dammit. It’s too easy when I’m with her to forget that we have these boundaries now. Fucking boundaries. I hate them.

  “Hazel, why the fuck are you skipping meals? You know you can’t do that shit.” Eli bitches, twisting to nail her with a frustrated stare.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake,” she snaps. “Give it a rest. I am an adult, remember—I grew up with you guys. We all grew up and I lived in Boston for four years without you there to manage my dietary habits. And look—I didn’t die. I’m just fine.”

  Eli and I both give her a long look, and then flick a look at each other, heavy with meaning. She hisses, “Fuck both of you.” She shoves out of the car and stomps away, and, like the bastards we are, we follow her laughing.

  Inside, I nod at Eli, and he grabs a basket, heading off to get the stuff for me to cook dinner. Then I grab Hazel ’s arm and tug her toward the carts. “Come on, Hazy. A girl can’t live on word alone.”

  She tugs against me and I pause, looking at her. The smile has fallen off her face, with Eli gone, and tension ripples between us. “What are we doing?” she asks, serious.

  “I’m taking you shopping. Because when you see your sister, and she’s got no food in her freaking house, you take her shopping.”

  Rage flits across her face. “I’m not your sister, Archer.”

  She snatches the cart from me and storms away, all furious lines and swaying ass and fuck.

  She’s whimpering, and her body is a perfect arch of sweet skin, and god, I’m going to hell—

  Shit. Nope. I’ve kept that box locked for four fucking years. I’m not opening the lid on it tonight, not when I’ve finally got her smiling at me and acting like we’re friends, and Eli is a warm, comfortable buffer between us.

  “No, Hazy, you aren’t. You never have been.”

  Her head twitches toward me, and I know she heard my softly spoken admission, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead she grabs some chips and I grumble under my breath. Crazy girl will happily eat junk for every meal.

  Not that I can judge too much—but Eli will if I don’t put something in her cart that looks vaguely healthy. So I grab some fruit and green shit and toss it in, ignoring her dirty look. That’s how we make our way through the store. She grabs junk, I counter with something that looks vaguely healthy, until we’ve got enough that I’m not worried she’s going to starve, and she has the basics to make simple meals, and Eli finds us eying ice cream. He stares at the cart for a minute, and then gives us an exasperated look.

  “Letting you two shop together is like letting a toddler loose in a toy store,” he grumbles, and Hazel pouts.

  “Archer wouldn’t stop grabbing snacks.”

  “Dirty liar,” I growl, snagging her around the waist and tickling her sides. And she giggles, like I’ve spent the past four years doing this, like we’re still kids, and me touching her, shopping with her, is normal and easy.

  “Behave, you two,” Eli says, absently, pushing our cart into a line and giving the cashier a smirk. She’s staring at us, that wide-eyed uncomfortable look that reminds me—everyone knows us.

  Of course, everyone knows us. It’s Green County and we’re the Airplane Orphans. Even now, sixteen years after the damn thing, it’s what people remember when they see us together.

  It eases the smile from my lips, but I don’t pull away from Hazel.

  “Hazel Campton?” the voice is low and male, and Hazel twists, leaning around me to stare.

  Michael McGrey is staring at Hazel like he hasn’t seen her in years, like she’s a ghost, but there’s something else to it. Something hungry and wanting and that disturbs me. My grip on her hips—when the fuck did I grip her hips—turns hard and she stops in the half-formed attempt to pull away from me and greet the other man.

  Michael’s twin comes up behind him, and I stiffen even more.

  Michael and John McGrey were younger than me and Eli. They graduated the same year as Hazel and we had never bothered to get to know them. But Gabriel didn’t like them, and that said a lot, because as much as the flamboyant baker annoyed me at times, he had killer instincts and he took Hazel’s safety almost as serious as Eli and I did.

  Hazel said we should relax because they were harmless. But they bothered me.

  “Michael, John, oh my god! How the hell are you?” She almost squeals.

  And I want to punch both of them because for fucks sake. She shouldn’t sound that damn excited to see anyone but me.

  Right. Because that’s a completely normal reaction. I release her slowly and Hazel gives me a quick, indecipherable look as I step away.

  I can’t hold her like I’ve got some kind of claim on her. I don’t. She didn’t want me to. She fucking ran and stayed away for four goddamn years. If that isn’t a clue that the girl doesn’t want me, nothing ever will be.

  So I turn away and ignore Eli’s curious stare as I help him unload the cart and ignore the conversation happening behind me.

  “No, I’ve been staying out of sight,” she’s saying. Like these clowns have any right to her explanation.

  “Archer,” Eli nudges me. “You ok?”

  I blink at my brother. “Why the fuck would I not be?”

  “You should call Gabe. He’s been bugging me to get out so he’d love someone to plan a welcome home thing with,” she says, but there’s something about her voice. I nudge Eli. Hazel isn’t being friendly now, she’s got that, fuck rescue me, voice going on that tells me we need to pull her out.

  And since I’m more likely to kiss her until they go the fuck away, and she doesn’t want that—I think I’ll let Eli handle it while I buy this shit and get us home.

  “It’s nice to see you three together,” the sales clerk says, her voice shy, and I blink at her. I know what she’s saying.

  It’s been four years since the Airplane Orphans were seen in public together.

  Green County likes to see us together, likes to see us happy.

  It’s why the girls at CinSations still tell me about Hazel in the mornings and why Nora’s face falls every time me and Eli show up at Mama’s without Hazel in tow.

  “Good to be together,” I say stiffly, and push th
e cart. “Yo!” I yell, “We’re leaving.”

  Distantly, I hear Eli making excuses to Michael and John, and pulling Hazel into motion behind me, but I ignore it as I push the cart out of the store, until she’s sandwiched between me and him, the place where she’s always belonged.

  At my side. With Eli to complete us.

  Fucking hell, I didn’t realize, until now, when she’s here, and we’re together again, how much I’ve missed this.

  Missed us.

  I’ve known since I woke up alone in her bed that I missed Hazel. That there was a hole the shape of her in my heart, that only she could fill.

  I just didn’t realize that it was more than that.

  And I’m not entirely sure what to do with that new knowledge.

  Archer kicks me out of the kitchen, and Eli—bastard—helps. He grabs a beer and tugs me from the kitchen and onto the deck that leads to my backyard. It’s cool but not cold, the winter chill giving way to spring, but I shiver as Eli lights a small fire in the fire pit.

  That was his idea. Eli has always had a weird fascination with fire.

  “You good, Hazel?” he asks, softly. I roll the bottle between my palms as the music from the kitchen drifts into the dark.

  “It’s weird, being home. That—at the grocery store. I didn’t think I’d ever have to do that again.”

  Face the world not as Hazel Campton, but as a third of the Airplane Orphans.

  There’s a heavy pause, and then, “Is that why you ran to Boston?”

  Yes. And no.

  “I needed to go, Eli.”

  “Explain it to me, Hazy,” he whispers, and I flinch. Because even though it’s said softly, it’s a command, and I can hear the pain in my brother’s voice.

  How the fuck do I explain this, though? That Green County didn’t see me. That they only saw Hazel and Archer and Eli, the tragic orphans, Nora’s wayward children. And even then, it was easy to forget me.

  “I needed to see who I was when I wasn’t defined by what had happened to me,” I say, softly.

  There’s a beat of silence and then, behind me, Archer drawls, “And who are you, Hazy-Eyes?”

  I stare at him, and I shake my head. Helpless. Because I don’t know.

  Boston didn’t teach me who I was. It only showed me who I wasn’t. But that’s too much, too deep to share here, when it’s supposed to be all light and laughter so I swallow down the confession and let a plea that I’m ashamed of slip into my eyes.

  “Brutal Honest?” Archer murmurs, and I nod once, aware of Eli shifting behind me. “I did the same thing, when I joined the Corps.”

  Eli lets out a breath, and I know it’s not a new confession for him.

  It’s the unspoken thing that’s hung over us since Archer joined up. But to hear it spelled out.

  Stings a little.

  Even if I did the same damn thing, Archer running away hurts.

  “Eli?” He says, moving away from the door, and picking me up. I don’t protest as he sits and pulls me against him.

  It feels…good. Right. Being without those fucking boundaries that I pushed up after that one night.

  “I always knew who I was, when I was with you two.”

  My breath catches and I feel the tension ripple through Archer. Because fuck.

  “Lijah,” Archer starts, and my brother shakes his head. Swallows the rest of his beer.

  “Don’t, Archer. I get it. I never really resented you—either of you—for leaving. I just never needed to do the same thing. I was happy here, because I had a family.”

  “You still do,” I whisper, hating the past tense in his voice. Eli’s head comes up and he grins at me, but there are shadows there that I haven’t seen in my brother since that first year after the crash.

  “I hated who I was, in Boston,” I say, and it feels so. Fucking. Good. To say it. To admit that Boston, and everything that happened there was my version of hell.

  Archer’s hands, wrapped around my waist, tightens, tugging me against him for a heartbeat, and I want to stay there.

  Which has always been the problem.

  Both of them are silent, waiting for me to say something. Anything else. I don’t. I snuggle into Archer’s shoulder, and his head comes down, resting against my hair in the dark, and I soak up the bliss that is being around the men who have always held me together.

  I creep through the house silently, stepping over Eli, long limbs sprawled like a sleeping puppy on my rug and a nest of pillows. He snores softly, and I smile, leaning over to tug the empty beer bottle from his hand. Archer is stretched out on the couch, pressed against the cushions.

  I had been nestled against him.

  After the moment of Brutal Honest on the porch, Archer had decided we were all getting drunk. He fed us chicken and roasted potatoes and smirked when I was startled that he knew what the hell he was doing in the kitchen.

  Which, in hindsight, makes sense. He worked in the kitchens at Nora’s diner before he joined the Corps.

  But he hadn’t gloated. He’d grabbed some beers and tugged me against him, Eli sprawled on the floor next to us as we watched Monty Python, and I fell through time to those sun-soaked summers when this was our normal, and it wasn’t about sex or desire or control. Him holding me was only to ground me, in the moment, with my family.

  For one night, all our damage was gone, and I was Hazy and he was my Archer, and it was good.

  Until I woke up to a silent living room, and him, all around me, and I rolled into him, instinctive, my head tilting up to find bare skin with my lips and he groaned, a low hungry note that jolted me out of my dreams and back the fuck into reality.

  I almost fell on Eli in my haste to get the fuck away.

  The kitchen is spotless—Eli insisted on cleaning while Archer selected a movie for us.

  My brother is always going to be taking care of me. They both, will. In their ways.

  “Hazy-Eyes,” a low voice splits the dark and I almost drop the beer bottle.

  I do make a noise, a startled little squeak that I already hate myself for.

  Archer makes a noise that’s almost a laugh as he steps into the kitchen. His voice is sleep deep and rumbling, a rough caress against my skin and I want more.

  God fucking help me, I want more.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for bed,” I answer, turning away to dump the empties in the sink.

  “You were sleeping, sweetheart. And keeping me warm. I don’t like waking up to find you missing.”

  It’s said so simply, a bald statement of fact that brings me instantly to that moment.

  He’s stretched out in bed, tattooed skin sprawled against slate blue sheets, his hand fisted under one pillow, an arm stretched across the bed. Sleeping, he looks almost young.

  Almost carefree.

  Almost.

  I can still taste him.

  I whisper softly into the dark room, and then slip out. My suitcase is in the closet by the door, and I grab it silently, ignoring the tears burning in my eyes as I slip out and into my little car.

  “Hazel?” he asks, soft and serious, and I blink out of the memories. He’s watching me, with that curious, waiting patience that tells me he’ll wait forever.

  Wait for me to come back to him, or tell him to fuck off or god only knows what.

  “Archer, I—”

  He prowls closer to me and his hands find my waist, clenching there and rubbing tight little circles into my skin through the think cotton of my tank top.

  “Come back to sleep, Hazy-Eyes.”

  I want to. God. I want it so fucking bad. Almost as much as I want to go on my tiptoes and kiss him.

  I still can remember exactly how he tastes and the sweet burn of stubble on my neck when he nuzzles into me.

  “Why did you leave?”

  “Because you were going to push me off the couch,” I say, immediately and his eyes go dark and hungry.

  “Then get closer to me,” he murmu
rs, and it rubs against my skin, a sweet caress.

  “Can’t,” I whimper, and he huffs softly, and then he’s kissing me.

  And god. God.

  I thought I remembered. I’d spent so many nights, hand between my thighs, remembering. So many second dates, comparing some sweet stranger to what I wasn’t allowed to have.

  And I was wrong.

  God I was wrong. Because this is real, all sweet sugar and tart mint and Archer and even my memories, as good as they were, pale in comparison.

  To the flex of his fingers on my hips, digging in with this delicious pressure.

  To the heavy weight of him, pressing me into the counter, his hand braced against the small of my back, keeping it from digging in.

  To the sweeping pressure of his lips, rubbing against mine, until he nips at my lower lip, catches it between his own and tugs and I gasp.

  And it’s all over. Everything.

  Archer sweeps in, like he did when we were kids and I needed to be saved, like he did when we were teens and a boyfriend made me cry, like he’s done every fucking time in my life.

  His hands come up and frame my face, angles me just the way he wants, and he drinks me down.

  Fucking devours me, his lips a goddamn tsunami force above me, knocking me out to sea, drowning me, ripping me apart and then.

  Oh god, and then.

  His tongue, soft and gentle, stroking along like a whisper, like a promise, his thumbs smoothing over my cheekbones, sweeping down to press against my throat.

  Tethering me as I moan, soft and hungry, into him, putting me back together as I shudder in his grasp.

  Make a tiny noise in the back of my throat, and he growls, a low rumble that hits me like a fucking fist, and shifts, lifting me until I’m on the counter, my legs wrapped around him, and fuck.

  Jesus.

  Better. This is better. I nip at his lips and he groans, jerking away from me to trail kisses down my throat, a hot path that has my head falling back and a low keen working its way up my throat.

  “Shh, sweetheart,” he murmurs against my skin, and I can hear the smile in his voice, can feel it pressing against my skin, “Don’t wake up Elijah.”