The Anti-hero (The Goode Brothers)

The margarita machine whirs loudly behind us as Gladys, Mary, Sylvia, and I set up the card table with various dips and snacks, our single, shared copy of The Rake and His Reluctant Bride in the center.

Sylvia crocheted the blue-and-gold doily in the middle on which the book sits. Gladys is whipping up the margaritas, which I already know will be so strong I’ll be drunk in minutes. And Mary is arranging potato skins on the tray like she’s about to present them to the king of England.

As for me, I sit curled up on the black folding chair, watching the three of them setting up, wearing a smile on my face because book club night is my favorite night of the month. And the start to my day wasn’t so bad either.

Even if I did have to hang up on Adam just now for being a pompous, self-righteous, bossy asshole. Instead, that moment this morning on the couch, when he had his hand around my throat and his rough words in my ears, has been playing on repeat all day.

And yeah, I did let out all of that built-up tension with the magic wand after he left, but the effect it had on me lingers. Brett was never very rough in bed, but then again…Brett was never very anything in bed. Sadly, the same goes for nearly every other guy I’ve slept with. There was the occasional ass slap or hair pull, but the dirty talk was never anything more than “Fuck yeah” and “Don’t stop.”

But the way Adam looked me in the eye and told me he wanted to fuck me like he hated me altered my brain chemistry. Even if it wasn’t real. I felt those words in my bones.

I’ve never wanted to be so used before. Like that night in my apartment, I got off on him getting off. And that’s something I could never say for Brett. Does it have to do with the fact that Adam is slowly getting corrupted? Am I the one corrupting him?

Do I want to be?

The flutter of butterflies in my belly answers that question.

“Okay, let’s get started,” Gladys says, clapping her hands together. The rest of the ladies gather their chairs and circle around the table. Then, Gladys dives immediately into her personal likes and dislikes of the book, just as she does every month.

As for The Rake and His Reluctant Bride, she loved it. But then again, Gladys always loves the broody alphas.

“He was so…cruel to her,” Mary replies, looking a little uneasy.

“He only acted that way, but deep down, he really loved her,” Sylvia adds.

“I just don’t understand why. If he was on that ship for so long, why was he so mean to her when he returned? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Men don’t make sense,” Gladys says, popping a chip into her mouth.

“It added conflict,” Sylvia replies, making a scowling expression. “If he had come back to her happy and ready to marry her, there wouldn’t have been a story.”

I let out a laugh. “I think it’s deeper than that.”

“How so?” she asks.

But as I remember the rake in the story and how cruel and dismissive he was of the heroine, I’ll admit I’m struggling to find the depth I’m looking for. “I don’t know. I just think there was more to his brutish attitude than just a lame story device. He was broody and rough, but he wasn’t a bad guy. Besides…I think the baroness liked it.”

“Yes, let’s talk about the good stuff,” Gladys adds with a wink. “Like that scene in the garden.”

We all hum in unison.

“That was pretty hot,” I say, taking a long sip of my margarita.

“Not as hot as their wedding night,” Sylvia replies. “The way he tied her to the bed with the ropes.”

Mary is blushing across from me, so I stifle my laugh with my lips around my glass.

“He must have learned how to tie those knots on the pirate ship,” I joke, and we all erupt with laughter.

“My husband was in the Navy for twenty years and he never did that with me,” Gladys adds. Now we’re all howling, and my cheeks are burning from laughter. As I wipe away the tears falling from my eyes, I notice Mary quickly compose herself and stare wide-eyed at something over my shoulder.

“Can we help you?” she asks with a small voice.

Under the table, Gladys nudges my knee, so I quickly spin around and stare at Adam, standing near the extra-large dryers and watching us with confusion.

It’s weird how my mood instantly brightens at the sight of him before remembering how rude he was on the phone, like some toxic mixture of excitement and bitterness.

“Hey,” I mumble.

“What are you doing?” he asks, glancing at the ladies around me.

“I told you. Book club.”

His only response to that is a flinch of his brows. “Can we go upstairs, please?”

“No,” I reply sternly, “I’m in the middle of something.”

“Well…”

“Why don’t you join us?” Sylvia asks in her sweet Southern drawl.

“Yeah, pull up a chair.” Gladys’s voice is a little smokier and less cordial, but the invitation is still there.

“No, thank you, ladies. Sage…” His eyes are piercing as he stares at me. There’s not a single chance in hell he’s going to get me out of this chair and up those stairs before the end of this meeting. I have half a mind to tell him that right now, but I don’t want to let my harsh response ruin the fun we were having.

“Come on, we could use your input,” Gladys adds, breaking the tension between Adam and me.

“My input?” There’s that deepening wrinkle between his brows.

“Yeah. We need a man to explain this to us, so you’re right on time.”

Sylvia jumps up to grab Adam a chair, unfolding it and placing it next to me. Meanwhile, Mary is loading food onto a paper plate and handing it to him as he shuffles hesitantly toward the empty chair. I watch him with amusement, biting my lip, as he awkwardly takes a seat and smiles politely at the ladies fawning over him.

On the other side of the table, I notice Mary staring at Adam like he’s the greatest thing she’s ever seen. He must notice too, because, after a moment, he gives her a tight-lipped grin.

“You recognize me, don’t you?”

“I have all of your father’s books,” she replies, launching into full-on fangirl mode. “And yours too!”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you wrote a book,” I reply, staring at him over my margarita glass.

“Two,” he replies.

“What are they about?” My interest is piqued. I guess I’ve had Adam pegged as his father’s son for so long I forgot to wonder what he actually does on his own. Somehow on my Google search, I got so distracted by his family that I missed his personal accomplishments.

“They’re devotional,” he replies, brushing it off like I wouldn’t care, but Mary quickly cuts him off.

“Oh, they’re so much more than that. I gave your first book, Prodigal, to my son when he came home from Afghanistan. It saved his life.”

Aside from the tumbling of clothes in the dryers behind us, the room is silent as we all stare at either Adam or Mary. It’s like seeing a whole new side of him, kind and warm and humble. Suddenly, I realize there’s probably a lot about Adam Goode I don’t understand.

With grace, he nods at Mary as he says, “Please thank your son for his service. And thank you for sharing that with me. I’m glad it could help.”

I glance at her, seeing the tears welling in her eyes as she smiles warmly back at him. Mary is always smiling. She’s like a warm glowing light wherever she goes, but to see her react to Adam in this way, as if he is the one emitting light…makes me feel strange inside.

The room is bathed in quiet tension for another moment before Adam clears his throat. “So, what book are you discussing tonight?”

Sylvia hands him the worn paperback, and he looks it over with interest.

“It’s about a baron who is kidnapped as a boy and raised by pirates. When he returns home as a man, he has to marry the woman he was betrothed to, but they hate each other,” Sylvia explains. Adam looks mildly interested as he reads the back of the book.

“But what we can’t understand is why the rake hated the baroness so much,” Mary adds.

Gladys grabs a handful of chips and drops them on her plate. “He didn’t always act like he hated her,” she says with a laugh.

“Maybe you can help us understand,” I say, glancing playfully at him. “Why would a man hate a woman he’s so attracted to?”

Adam’s forehead wrinkles. Then he glances down at the book, looking deep in thought for a moment.

“Maybe he doesn’t understand her. I mean…they grew up in different worlds, right? And it seems that everything in his life is out of his control, even the woman he’s supposed to marry. So, the only thing he can control is how he reacts to the situation.”

He glances up at the ladies around the table, and I notice the way he won’t look at me as he continues.

“So I imagine he was pretty frustrated to find that the woman he was forced to marry was someone…he also wanted to marry. I’m sure it felt as if he had no power in his own life. And the only person he could take that out on…was her.”

Finally, his gaze falls my way and our eyes lock for a brief moment before I turn my eyes downward.

“So, he never hated her at all. Not really,” Mary says wistfully.

“I don’t know. I didn’t read it, but I’m willing to bet he didn’t,” Adam replies.

“Men are always shit at expressing themselves,” Gladys says, and I can’t help but laugh. Next to me, Adam chuckles too.

“I agree,” he says, taking a bite of the potato skin from his plate. He seems deep in thought for a moment, and when he reaches for a drink, I hand him my margarita. He takes a swig and winces from the strength of it. Then takes another drink.

I glance around the table, and the women seem enamored by him. Even Gladys is smirking. For once, I can feel what it’s like to have a boyfriend people actually like.

But then the guilt creeps in because Adam is not my boyfriend. Lying is so much worse when it runs this deep. It’s not our words that lie, but our actions. And it feels wrong.

“All right,” Adam says, passing my drink back to me with a smirk. “Now tell me about this garden scene.”

Immediately, Sylvia launches into a very descriptive retelling of her favorite scene in the book.