BRADY REMINGTON LANDED ME IN JAIL

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CHAPTER ONE

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I didn’t wake up at three thirty every morning, just…it wasn’t unusual for me. And no, I’m not talking about insomnia. To be exact, my phone usually woke me up and on the other end…my best friend, Brady Remington.

Brady was a force of his own. He paralleled tsunamis, quakes, blizzards, the whole nine yards of weather disasters. That’s just how he was. When he showed up, everyone noticed. There was usually a bulletin news that rang out, complete with the storm doppler’s beep, beep, beep.

Everyone looked out their windows, perked up their ears, and called their friends. And then in his wake, let’s just say that Brady reigned his own trail of tears. There’d be crying girls, bruised egos, and usually blood. There always seemed to be blood.

Don’t get me wrong, Brady’s not malicious or anything. He’s quite beautiful, just like any storm. You tend to just sit back in awe, if you’re smart—you stay in shelter, and wait it out.

A lot of people weren’t smart. They liked to get close to what was so beautiful and charismatic. Little did they know their mistake.

Brady moved next door to me when I was in seventh grade. Technically, he had failed a class and should’ve been in sixth, but he told me later on that he’d been inspired by all my book nerd gloriousness and sped through summer school that summer. In the end, Brady entered eighth instead of seventh. He skipped over an entire academic school…just because he could and he wanted to.

Here are my three descriptions of Brady: hotheaded, gorgeous, and a genius. A few other that didn’t quite make the list but could still describe him are: reckless, passionate, lazy when he wanted to be and ambitious when he wanted to be. Brady could do anything. I really believe that and when I rolled over in bed that morning, checked the clock that read 3:34 am, I knew who’d be on the other end.

“Hey?” I was too groggy to form a proper greeting.

“Rayna, Rayna, Rayna, tell me that you’re awake?” Brady goaded, all too charmingly, on the other end.

I blinked, slowly sat up, and rubbed the sleep grit out of my eyes before I formed another response.

Yes, I was awake, but did I necessarily want my best friend to know that I’d almost come to expect these calls? Hell, no. The calls would increase then.

I yawned and leaned back to rest against my aged oak headboard, “What’d you do?”

A smooth deep chuckle came over the phone line and Brady responded, “Let’s just say…I’m not the one in the hospital.”

I groaned, rested my head back, and asked tiredly—and I’m talking bone-deep tiredness—“Who was it this time?”

“Some dickwad. What do you care?” Brady asked shortly.

That raised my eyebrows.

“Brady.” I said smoothly, a warning.

I wouldn’t be bailing him out if I got attitude. Brady knew this and immediately adjusted, “Sorry, I just…he’s a loser and if I see him again, I’m going to pound him into dust.”

“I hope there aren’t any police men near you.”

“What? No. We get some privacy for these calls. So are you coming or what? I’m itching for some fried eggs and pancakes.”

And sad to say, that was our tradition.

Brady would go to jail, he’d call me, and I’d take him to breakfast. Of course, he paid, but I was the one who drove. I still took credit for ‘taking him to breakfast.’

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.” I grumbled. As I moved my bedsheets off, I shivered from the cold air, but ignored the goosebumps. I quickly grabbed a light-weight sweater and slipped on some jeans. To my chagrin, I’d realize later that I had grabbed the new pair that my grandmother had bought for me that morning and I refused to wear.

When I mentioned earlier that I was the book nerd—that meant the whole nine yards. I wore baggy sweaters, shapeless jeans, and I always wore a turtleneck underneath. But, for some unknown reason that must’ve been shaped by the gods, I never registered the tight blue jeans or how the sweater I grabbed was actually a slinky white sweater with diamonds interweaved around the neckline.

I just cared about being warm that morning.

After I got the bail amount and bid my goodbyes to Brady, I turned and thumbed through the nightstand drawer. That’s where I kept the cash.

Truthfully, if Brady hadn’t been in my life, I probably would’ve fainted at the thought of bailing someone out of jail, much less actually knowing someone that would go to jail.

My grandmum knew about the bail stash and she contributed to it weekly.

In my household, with my grandparents and myself, there was a role reversal. My grandmother was the free-spirited granddaughter and I was the elderly one who baked cookies, curled up with a romance novel, and religiously sent out birthday cards to everyone in our congregation.

Needless to say, Grandmum loved Brady at first sight and she adored the idea that I kept a drawer just for bail cash.

I knew that I could quietly creep out the front door and borrow the ancient Malibu, but I always got a little thrill by climbing out of the window. Guess that was the extent of my own inner rebel, pretending to sneak out. If Grandmum knew, she would’ve paved the way with a golden trophy at the end.

I sighed, shook my head ruefully, and tucked the money into my back pocket. I swung free from the last rung in the ladder and dropped lightly to my feet on the ground. It was either too late in the night or too early in the morning because the dew hadn’t even come out. The full moon was out and highlighted the clothesline and strawberry lawn decoration.

I briskly walked past the laughing gnome tucked behind our Poplar and hurried towards the red Malibu parked underneath my grandpa’s adored Weeping Willow. The door creaked its protest, but I slid over the chilled leather seats and revved the engine. As I pulled out onto the gravel road, I always loved to look back and watch how the Weeping Willow’s branches slid smoothly off the car’s back, like the tree was lovingly hoping our trip was a safe one and would be waiting for our return.

I’m sentimental like that.

The drive into town was quiet, boring, and my ideal trip. It was a short ten minute drive into Northshire Folk, but since we lived on gravel roads most of the time—I only had to squint my eyes against two oncoming headlights. The main roads were heavily used, but I liked taking the back roads. After I swung through the two streetlights in town, past the closed bar, and the popular open all-night gas station, I turned onto the police station’s parking lot.

Two squad cars were positioned at the front, but I knew they parked in the rear too. The main door, which was one glass door with The Northshire Folk Police Headquarters emblazoned on it, jingled my arrival and I looked up to see a tired Deputy Doug Hamilton come out from the back room.

One other person sat in the waiting room, but judging by the sluggish head drop and the closed eyes, I doubted the person was either sober or able to fake sobriety. Either way, I didn’t recognize the girl.

That’s when I circled back, expecting to hear my usual greeting from Deputy Doug, but instead found him staring, with a dropped jaw, at me. His eyes were blank, but they slid up and down my body.

And that’s when I realized what I’d grabbed in my dark bedroom. I swiftly sucked in my breath, cursed my laziness that stopped me from turning on a freaking lamp in my room, and straightened my shoulders in bravado.

I couldn’t literally cover my body with my two hands, so I’d need to brave it out.

But, really, I was quaking on the inside.

I swallowed tightly, moved in front of the greeting desk, and cleared my throat, “Hey there, Deputy Doug.”

And his jaw dropped even further. “Ray…Ray…Rayna, is that you?”

I grimaced against his stuttering. I hated to think my abrupt wardrobe transformation warranted that reaction. He must’ve been used to seeing girls in tight clothes before. I never thought my body was that hideous, but…even though I cringed on the inside, I smiled on the outside and asked lightly, “Can I post bail for him?”

And then the old Deputy Doug returned in full force.

An instant frown came to his thirty-something features and slight balding patch on the top of his head. Wrinkles appeared where I knew laughing lines were usually pronounced and fierce disapproval came off the normally friendly deputy in waves.

I blinked, somewhat taken aback, by his abrupt transformation, but really—it just meant that Brady had done worse than usual this time.

I hated to ask, but I was forced to—I was the best friend here, “What’d he do?”

My voice was husky. I hated when my voice turned husky.

Brady loved it. I hated it because it always meant that I couldn’t keep my emotions in check.

Blast the sudden drop in my stomach.

“It’s not what he did, but who he beat up.” Deputy Doug shook his head and coldly reached for a file.

I gazed worriedly at his turned back. The crisp white shirt looked like it had been ironed that afternoon, but the hours had wreaked havoc on the pressed edges. I wondered, belatedly, what he’d been doing during his shift.

“You want to know who it was?”

I hadn’t asked, but I waited, my breath held.

“Kidrick Stephens, that’s who.”

“What?” I blinked, confused. Kidrick Stephens used to go to our school, but he’d moved away two summers ago. And Kidrick used to be best friends with Brady—the other male component of best friend that I wasn’t for Brady. They loved to get into trouble with each other, giggled at whose cherry bomb exploded bigger, and loved giving me puke-flavored gum.

My life became a lot easier when Kidrick left, but… “Wait—Kid’s back?” I asked, but I didn’t know how I felt about that…and Brady put him in the hospital?

“Yeah, he’s back.” Deputy Doug huffed as he stomped something official on some papers and glowered up at me. “He’s back and his daddy is back and now I have a monumental headache. Do you know what’s going to happen now? Mr. Stephens is going to want us to press charges against Brady and do you know what that means?”

Frances Stephens had been the town’s golden boy, years ago. He bought a ton of realty, sold a bunch of businesses, and made millions off the entire exchange. He quickly became a prominent figure in town, but when he left—everyone took a breath of relief.

To say that Frances Stephens was pompous and an ass was an understatement. To say that he was even high-maintenance was an even worse understatement.

My stomach dropped out, almost literally, and I now understood why Deputy Doug looked hassled, frazzled, and harried.

“Anyway,” Doug continued. “Your boy’s coming out now. Don’t take him for breakfast this time, Rayna. Take him to get a lawyer because he’s going to need it.”

And that’s when the back door loudly clicked open. The locks were heavy, but I always wondered if they just liked that ear-cringing sound for intimidation purpose. Did they have to make such a scene about opening a door and letting out a convicted?

Well, to be articulately correct—Brady wasn’t convicted…yet. He’d just been arrested.

And out came Brady, grinning stupidly, his buzzed Mohawk flatter than normal (if that was even possible) and his normal tight t-shirt ripped across the chest. When he turned and I caught sight of his tattoo on the back, I saw that the entire back section of his t-shirt was gone.

To say this fight had gone bad…was like me saying that I liked books. I didn’t think it needed to be said.

“Deputy Dog!” Brady heralded warmly, oozing his usual amount of charm and charisma. “Who do I have to thank for this hospitable visit?”

Deputy Doug frowned fiercely and stomped harder on the papers, “You don’t have to thank no one, Brady.”

Brady lifted his arms, turned back around, and another officer took off the handcuffs. When my best friend caught sight of me, the sparkling green eyes transformed to shock as recognition quickly settled in.

“Rayna?” Brady asked in shock.

Deputy Doug grinned in amusement. He looked from Brady to myself, but I scowled and pulled my sweater tighter around myself. Really. Did I look that different?

“What? You’ve seen me in a bathing suit.” I glowered and turned away.

“Yeah, but…” Brady moved closer and I heard Deputy Doug hand him some papers, “…you always wore a sundress over your suit. I haven’t…nevermind.”

I looked back and saw his head bent forward with his shoulders tense. He was reading what Deputy Doug had just handed him.

Concerned, and momentarily forgetting my own irritation, I moved to his side and took the papers from him.

“Hey!” Brady protested automatically.

I shooed him away, “We all know who reads best.”

Brady frowned, but then sighed in acceptance.

The papers just read another court date where Brady would have to appear in assault charges.

“You’re charging him?” I cried out brazenly. Again, I was completely forgetting my self-conscious body issue. My hands flew out, aggravated, and my sweater came apart—now showing off the tiny skimpy tanktop that I indulged in when I went to bed…alone. Always alone.

This exposed my stomach and the contoured muscles that I secretly adored.

Both Deputy Doug and Brady dropped the jaws again.

“You just said—I can’t believe that you’re actually charging him.” I cried out again, unfazed by their lack of attention—or well, their lack of attention to what I was saying. I was on my own steam roll.

“Well…” Deputy Doug focused—with effort—and shook his head clear. “He did assault Kidrick Stephens. We have witnesses that attest this and, I’m sorry Rayna, but Mr. Stephens won’t let this go away. He’s not like the rest, you know, who…”

…who Brady could charm and smile his way into their good graces. That’s another thing Brady did. He could make all these rash decisions in the heat of the moment, but he always saved his own butt in the end by charming the victims or victim’s parents into dropping what charges they had tentatively thought of filing.

“Frank Stephens is an ass. I’ll gladly see him in court any day.” Brady growled.

I turned, dazed and confused, to see my best friend neither smiling his sexy appeal or laughing the good-natured way he always did. Instead was the Heat of the Moment Brady, where he’d do anything if it meant standing up for his beliefs. Normally that meant fighting, but this time…I was blown away when I started to realize that Brady was willing to see this thing through, all the way through the judge’s gravel hitting the sentence handed.

Deputy Doug sighed, wearily, and murmured, resigned, “Frances Stephens is back in town and you messed up his only son. I told your girl, but you need to get a lawyer. Skip the breakfast at Mulley’s and go straight to any lawyer that’s open right now.”

Your girl.

I wasn’t his girl. I was his best friend.

Brady growled again and ripped the papers out of my hands, “I’ll do just that then! I’ll see Frank Stephens in any court. He’ll think twice before crossing me again.”

“Brady…” I murmured, confused and reeling. “Brady…”

But the door had already slammed shut, the jingling bell had gotten ripped off as Brady stormed out, and I was left gaping at the Deputy.

Now I really wanted to know what the fight was about, but when I heard my car’s engine roar to life—with my keys still in my hand, I tore out of there and managed to throw myself in the passenger door before Brady shot out of the parking lot.

As he whipped around a corner, I threw a hand on the dashboard to brace myself. I still hadn’t gotten the seatbelt on, but Brady didn’t care.

Brady always cared about my safety.

“Okay!” I said sternly and took a deep breath.

Brady took another turn and I was thrown across the seat and into his lap.

One of us had good reflexes and it wasn’t me.

Brady caught me and anchored me against his chest with his free hand as he took another savage turn.

“Okay.” I said meekly now. “Brady,” I murmured from his lap and stared up at him.

He didn’t look back, but just glared at the road ahead. His jaw was cement and his eyes glittered in unresolved rage, but he sheltered me against his chest.

“You can let me go.” I said again, more clearly this time.

Brady didn’t move. He just kept me in place.

And this was how the drive went until he skidded the car around, stopped abruptly, and then cursed as he stared out the windshield.

I opened my mouth—more to remind him of my presence and where I was, but something held me back. And then I saw a different Brady than I’d ever seen before.

He collapsed.

Not really, but in my eyes he did.

Brady was always confident, no matter what right or wrong he was doing. He believed in it whole-heartedly, but this Brady—he fell back against the seat, let his other hand drop from the steering wheel, and stared, defeated, at whatever was staring back at him.

Did I forget to mention that his other hand dropped onto my face? It did. And it rested, unconsciously, against my lips.

In fact, his thumb started to caress my lips—talk about weird sensations.

Whoa…his thumb was slowly rubbing against my bottom lip. It started to almost play with my lip, stretching it out and then it dipped into the valley between my two lips…and, oh my god, it slipped inside—my heart felt like it was going to pound itself out of my chest.

But I heard, from a distance, “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Ray.”

His thumb swept beside my tongue and teased it. It dipped back out and left a trail that wet my lips.

I held my breath—I couldn’t do anything else—I watched, wide eyed, as the thumb slid itself absent-mindedly over my lips, over and over in a comforting and yet, sensual, feeling.

“I just…”

That was Brady talking.

It was Brady who was touching me, but it took another second before I pulled myself out of the haze which his thumb had entranced me in—and I realized that Brady looked defeated.

He didn’t even know what he was doing.

Slowly, I caught his hand and held it as I lifted myself out of his lap—and now found myself trapped in his arms.

His eyes focused on me, dazed, as if he’d forgotten I was there.

I forgot everything when his eyes met mine. He looked forlorn, like he’d seen his dream in life fail.

My hand reached up to his face and cupped the side of his cheek.

He closed his eyes and moved into my touch, seeking comfort.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Ray.” He whispered.

I watched, almost as if I was out of my body, as he pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me.

Now—hugging wasn’t unusual for us. In fact, Brady loved to hug me, but I always stiffened and it usually ended with me shoving him away after a second.

This time—yes, I stiffened, but then he dipped his head into the crook of my shoulder and something washed over me. I was no longer in control of my body and I found myself wrapping my arms around him in turn. I closed my eyes and held him tight, content to breathe him in.

“I just want to stay here, like this.” He whispered with his voice muffled against my neck.

It tickled me, but it also appeased me.

I sighed in contentment and felt my body melting. I no longer knew where I ended and Brady began.

“Rayna.” He breathed out and muzzled further into my neck.

I didn’t know what was happening—I was too caught up in how good it felt being in his arms, being this close to him, and then I felt a weird sensation at my neck—almost as if someone had just…licked me.

Someone had. Brady hadn’t just licked me, he was kissing my neck, sucking on it, and a groan escaped my throat before I knew what I’d done.

That was all Brady needed and he tipped his head back, framed my face with his hands, and took one look. Whatever he saw, he must’ve liked because he groaned and his lips were on mine, commanding his entrance.

I gasped—his tongue slipped inside—and I clutched at his arms.

I felt myself falling, but I didn’t know if it was into some dark void or if I was literally falling—I was literally falling. Brady pushed me down on the seat with him on top and his tongue doing all sorts of stomach twisting, leg melting sort of things.

I didn’t know what was happening or that I was even kissing him back, but I became extremely conscious of his hands. They were magical wands that could weave any spell he wanted.

I mean it.

Wherever they touched, I wanted more. I wanted his hands all over me and another strange sensation washed over me when his fingers dipped low and rested between my legs.

I gasped, arched my back, and clamped my hand over his. I didn’t move it away, far from it—I pushed it down harder and some need that seemed to rip out of my inner primal animal came soaring over me.

When I pressed Brady’s hand down, I think that animal came over him too because suddenly he wasn’t holding anything back. When I thought his kisses had been demanding before—I’d been wrong. They’d been tentative compared to this sudden new Brady.

Brady didn’t kiss me. He just took me over. He took over my mouth. His hands proclaimed my body as his and it wasn’t long until I felt his fingers against my naked skin.

After that—the foreplay was done with.

I was starved, but not for food. I was starved for touch, Brady’s touch actually. I wanted more and whatever god had destined me not to grab my normal baggy clothes must’ve seen this in the stars.

I was not myself that morning and I couldn’t blame lack of sleep.

It was like I was drugged.

Brady raised himself up, I preened for his touch, but his eyes were hazy. They weren’t focused on me, but on the task at hand and that task was to get us both naked.

He slid a hand underneath my shirt and pushed it up, over my head. He kissed me and I melted once again, but he tenderly pulled my sweater off my arms and then lifted my top over my head.

That’s when my fingers found his chest and pushed his shirt up.

Brady finished my fingers’ task and threw his shirt off. I had no idea where our clothes landed—but I’d be glad later that they hadn’t been thrown out of the windows.

And then Brady was back on top of me, skin against skin, mouth to mouth, and his fingers were now rubbing just underneath the zipper on my jeans.

Have you ever appreciated a man’s back? I mean, really? Because it is a glorious thing. The muscles are pristine and perfected by gods, or Brady’s were. I could feel every muscle outline. As my fingers traveled over them, each muscle shifted and seemed to beckon my touch. I marveled at the smooth and rough contour of his back—and then I shifted to his arms, his shoulders, oh my god—and his hips. A man’s hips are magnificent…

Brady roared to life at my touch and pushed my pants down. When I felt the rough texture of his jeans against my naked thighs, I didn’t like that. It was the animal inside of me, because I ripped at his zipper and Brady lifted himself just enough to push his jeans off.

And that’s when I entwined my legs around him with my hands trailing over his back. Brady moved to suckle my breasts, but the real magic was happening with his fingers. They dipped inside and I came off the seat. If Brady hadn’t been above me, I would’ve flashed anyone on the street at 4:30ish in the morning.

I fell back abruptly on the seat and Brady stretched languidly to take my mouth with his. His fingers brought me higher and higher until I was gasping with my fingers clamped on his shoulders. I left marks, but Brady told me later that they were just love marks. He was almost proud when he said that.

And then, his tongue came back to meet mine, and I felt him push inside—finally.

It was tight, slow, and painful, but Brady waited inside until I relaxed slightly—and then he started to move…holy god.

When a groan wrangled itself out of my throat, I bit down on my lip to staunch it. I would’ve been mortified that I was one of those ‘loud ones’, but I didn’t have time to think about it when Brady protested to my own teethmarks on my lip. Turns out, that was his job and he took over.

When his speed picked up and I could only hold onto him, Brady molded my body to his and took us over the edge. Immediately after I exploded, so did he and I knew that he’d been holding it back on purpose.

Now I understood why all those other girls fought over him.

Wow.

Whoa.

Oh god.

And that, folks, is how I lost my virginity to my best friend badass in the front seat of my grandmother’s Malibu.

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