Too Strong: Hayes Brothers Book 4

CONOR HAD ONE BEER, then switched to Coke when Cody gave me another bottle. Every minute, I’m easing into the new setting and people a bit more, invalidating my doubts.

Conor’s brothers aren’t the same as him, but despite their varying personalities, neither makes me feel uncomfortable. Neither makes me feel worse or like I don’t belong.

In fact, Cody’s been talking my ear off, making fun of Conor and how many times he barged into his room earlier today, showing off yet another t-shirt he wanted to wear for our date.

Colt’s less talkative. Stiffer than his brothers, surrounded by a broody aura, but his eyes are kind. Despite his quiet, simmering demeanor, I get a feeling he actually likes me.

I’m neither the best judge of character nor great at reading people, but how he watches Conor’s hand rest comfortably across my collarbones says a lot. He seems genuinely pleased.

Sitting on a high barstool beside Cody, my shoulders relax, and I cross my legs, leaning back on Conor’s chest while he talks with Brandon.

Goosebumps cover my arms whenever the pad of Conor’s thumb traces up and down my shoulder, soothing gently like he’s trying to keep me at ease.

It’s working.

“Conor said you work at The Well,” Colt says, stitching together the longest sentence I’ve heard him say since we walked in here half an hour ago. “I’ve never seen you. Been there long?”

I arch an eyebrow. “You go there?”

He nods, taking a large swig of his beer. Once the bottle’s empty, he sets it on a tray in the middle of the table, ready for the waitress to grab when she passes. It’s thoughtful. A small detail that shows he’s not a self-centered asshole.

A jab of shame has me feeling smaller and ruder than ever. I’ve made assumptions. Judged them before getting to know them, and I hate that I did. I usually give people a chance. Even Brian got one despite Abby’s warnings.

“Not long,” I add. “Since Rose started piano lessons with Mia.”

“She doesn’t need lessons,” Cody cuts in. “I’ve heard her play this week. She’s good. Not Mia good, but close.”

“She played an old keyboard for years. If you think she plays piano well, you should hear her play guitar.”

“Guitar? She didn’t tell me that.”

Conor leans over me, snatching me another Corona once a waitress exchanges the tray of empties for a full one.

“I shouldn’t,” I say, turning to face him. “I’m driving.”

“No, you’re not. I am.”

I hook my finger in the collar of his t-shirt, tugging until he leans in closer. “That’s sweet, but you can’t take me home. I’ve got a car outside the newsagents.”

I don’t. Uncle Hal’s working on it today, but Conor can’t take me home. I don’t know if my dad knows what the triplets look like or what they drive. Probably not.

Then again… better safe than sorry.

His lips form a lazy smirk. “Liar, liar. You told me Abby dropped you off, remember? I’m taking you home, Vee. It’s non-negotiable.”

My lips fall apart in protest that’s cut short by Conor’s lips, tongue, and a sweet, tender kiss. I’m momentarily speechless. Tingles scuttle up my spine, cracking the foundations of my resolve.

He’s kissing me at the table.

We’re surrounded by his friends and brothers. I’m sure most figured out I don’t belong with them from my clothes and the handmade friendship bracelets adorning my wrists, yet here he is, kissing me for everyone to see, like he doesn’t care what they think.

I’m starting to believe he really doesn’t…

He sees something in me. Something I don’t notice, and he keeps proving that my trailer home, Walmart dress, and old car mean nothing.

“You can’t do that,” I mutter, flinching back, gloriously dazed, my chest full and fluffy.

“Do what?”

“Kiss me to get your way.”

A smile splits his face. “I can, and I will. Now tell me I’m taking you home tonight. What time do you need to be back?”

“Curfew?” Anastasia asks over the table. “Sucks, doesn’t it? My mom’s a nutcase. I’m twenty-one but need to be home by midnight, or she hides my car keys.” She steps closer to Colt, her moves more conspicuous than she thinks as she nestles her butt between his legs and maneuvers his hand across her waist. “What time do you need to be home?”

“Midnight,” I admit, twirling my beer around. “It’s not a curfew, but Dad’s old fashioned. While I’m under his roof, I try not to overstep.”

“My dad was the same!” another girl cries, her speech slurred as she drinks the rest of her pink cocktail. “I was so glad when I finally moved out!”

Cody chuckles beside me. “And lived by yourself for how long, Kelly-Ann? A month?”

“Twenty-three days,” Anastasia corrects.

Kelly-Ann purses her lips, then flashes everyone a cute, drunken smile. “God hasn’t put me on this earth to do laundry or cook my own food.” She shrugs. “That’s something my husband will provide. Until I find one, I’m more comfortable with my parents.”

“Kelly-Ann here wants to be a trophy wife,” Conor says, loud enough that she can hear, but she doesn’t look one bit offended.

“Nothing wrong with knowing what you want, Conor. Some men want trophy wives.”

“Ditto.” Brandon clinks his beer bottle to her empty glass. “But you know trophy wives aren’t supposed to be as ambitious or smart as you, right?”

“Kelly-Ann just started pre-med,” Conor tells me. “She wants to be a neurosurgeon.”

“I will be a neurosurgeon,” she corrects in a stern tone. “You just wait and see.”

“No one doubts you, sweetheart.” Brandon waves a waitress over, ordering Kelly-Ann another drink.

I’m left a bit dumbstruck and a lot speechless. Once again, I realize I’ve been living a lie, making assumptions about the rich based on one guy who left me with a bruised heart back in high school and a few uptight people at the newsagents.

Now, I’m brought to question everything I thought I knew. My worldview fragments so fast I can’t keep up.

Sure, I’d gotten a dirty look from two girls who left a while ago, but everyone else has been pleasant despite their designer clothes and glaring diamond jewelry.

“I should go powder my nose,” Anastasia sing-songs, leaning back to kiss the underside of Colt’s tense, square jaw.

“Crossing lines, A,” he snarls. “Remember what happened last time you did that?”

She smiles sweetly, pulling an innocent face as she massages her right butt cheek. “The memory’s a little fuzzy.”

“That’s because you were drunk, babe,” Cody laughs. “Don’t go overboard tonight. I don’t want to hear him complain about blue balls when he can’t fuck you because you’re not thinking straight.”

“He has permission to fuck me even when I black out.”

“Not happening,” Colt growls. “You’re welcome to find someone who will.”

“Maybe I will,” she teases, watching his jaw seize. “What will you do about that?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

I can’t shake how odd this is. I understand the notion of no strings attached, but I’ve never seen two people so open about it. So uncaring that they’re only about sex.

They sit at the same table, but it doesn’t stop Colt scanning the bar occasionally, his eyes eating up other girls, and Anastasia doesn’t mind.

It seems counterproductive.

Considering what Conor said about Colt being territorial, I doubt he shares, so they’re obviously exclusive, yet they’re perfectly content with it being purely physical.

In my mind, territoriality is closely interwoven with jealousy. Jealousy means feelings, so I’m curious how this thing between them works.

“If you want my dick, say the words,” he clips. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

Anastasia shrugs, moving away. “Maybe later. Right now, I need to pee, and I need another drink.” She hooks elbows with Kelly-Ann, then zeroes in on me. “You coming, Vee?”

Since the devil’s not so black as he’s painted, I get up and follow, feeling more myself in this new setting.

“Sooo,” Anastasia drawls when I close myself in the cubicle. “What’s the deal with you and Conor, girl? Don’t say nothing because he sure doesn’t look at you like it’s nothing.”

I stay silent for a moment, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to answer. We’re not a couple. Then again, we’ve spent the day kissing, holding hands, and I want more no matter how much he gives me.

“I’m not sure,” I finally say. It’s not a secret and it is the truth. “We’ve been out on a few dates.”

One of them lets out a long ooooh.

“Dates?” Anastasia squeals. “He must be serious about you. How did you even meet? You’re not in our college, are you?”

“Duh!” Jasmine clips. “Didn’t you hear? Her sister takes piano lessons from Nico’s girl.”

It doesn’t slip my attention that they say Nico’s girl instead of Mia, like being his somehow defines her… On the other hand, there’s a sudden commotion of butterflies flying all directions in my belly, when I think about myself as Conor’s girl.

A small yelp slips past my lips, the thought undeniable.

‘I want more than dates.’

“You okay there?”

I mumble what I hope sounds like yes, I’m fine while inwardly panicking. This is my biggest flaw, one I hoped to control better around Conor—I get involved quickly and then drown in my own tears.

I’ve done it before, latching onto my ex and the girl I thought would be my bestie forever. I do it to this day, giving my all to everyone way too fast. Abby knows it’s an issue, and she’s one of the few people who don’t abuse the knowledge.

I’ve always been like this. Whether the lack of a mother and an ever-absent father who worked hard all his life to provide for his family is the reason, I don’t know.

I’ll likely never know, but I guess the theory is valid. I was only one and a half when my mother died. Without pictures, I wouldn’t know what she looked like.

I can’t say my relationship with Dad was or is bad. We’ve always been close, but then he’s always been absent, working twelve or fourteen-hour days and missing school events. Never home to help me with homework.

While Rebecca offered me some attention, Rose was her focus. I was just three when she was born. I don’t remember much from those times. Every now and then, the topic of our childhood comes up, and Dad boasts about how independent I was. I could tie my shoes, get dressed, and make my bed when I was only four.

Maybe I was a clever kid… or maybe I had no choice but to take care of myself while Rebecca had her hands full with Rose. She was a difficult child. Becca couldn’t leave her alone for one minute without Rose finding a way to hurt herself or flip the trailer upside down.

It took years before I realized my problem. I get attached too quickly. For years I’ve been trying to get a hold of the unquenchable need to be there for everyone, wearing my heart on my sleeve so people would stay with me. So my friends wouldn’t move on, leaving me behind.

Not that taming that part of my character works much. I know my issues, so I try and correct myself whenever I go overboard, but with Conor… I failed to keep myself in check.

And now I’m attached. Far too invested for the little time we had together.

We need distance.

I need distance. A few days to get a grip on these silly thoughts. I’m not his.

‘Rich.’

The word springs to my head unwanted, reminding me I’m not up to his speed and we’ll most likely end before we truly begin.

I won’t be the silly girl falling in love with a man out of my reach.

I need to be more like Anastasia. ‘Enjoy this while it lasts.’ Open up to new things, seize handfuls of Conor’s kisses, and how good he makes me feel, but remember it won’t last.

We’re having fun, but this is temporary.

I’m territorial about you because this is in no way temporary.

His words barrel into my mind, navigating the fuzzy traffic like that ambulance he described. And with that thought sprinting across, flashing its lights, I realize I’m surrendering to overthinking, letting doubt and fear take control.

Not this time.

With a deep, calming breath, I exit the cubicle to wash my hands. Wherever the road at Conor’s side leads… I’m taking it.

Consequences be damned.