The Anti-hero (The Goode Brothers)

My wrists burn and my arms ache, but I can’t feel anything other than his mouth between my legs. Who would have thought Mr. Church Boy himself had such a talented tongue? Not me, that’s for fucking sure. I thought that first night was a fluke or a moment of passion, but tonight proved me wrong.

He’s just that good.

When he finally pulls his mouth from the apex of my thighs, I’m hanging in a cold sweat and my heart is still hammering in my chest. Our eyes meet as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and suddenly I’m melting all over again. Then he fixes my dress, covering my naked breasts. Carefully, he unbinds my hands and rubs at my wrists when he notices the red marks left behind.

As he sets me on my feet and stares down at me, I feel as if we’re seeing each other for the first time. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, brushing my sweat-soaked hair out of my face.

And I want to kiss him. I want to worship those exquisitely talented lips. I want to get lost in a connection so intimate that none of these people standing around us exist. There is only me and Adam. My Adam.

Pressing upward, I reach for his mouth, mere inches away when we’re bombarded.

“Let me buy you two a drink,” an older voice says in a gravelly mumble.

“My girlfriend and I would love to take you both to a room,” a female voice interjects.

“You two are so hot,” another voice joins in.

Soon, it’s a cacophony of sexual invitations, voices blended together as bodies crowd us. Adam pulls me closer as I sense his patience growing thin. His jaw clenches as he pushes me through the crowd toward the door.

It’s chaos until we finally reach the door, sucking in fresh air when we get to the parking lot, running hand in hand until he’s practically shoving me into his car. As he slams the door with me safely tucked inside, the cool leather against my ass reminds me that I’m not wearing any underwear. The panties I came here with are now in Adam’s pocket, and I don’t know if I should remind him of that or if I should let him keep them. If he even wants them.

What even are we now? I still don’t know if I mean anything to Adam Goode, which is frustrating because, with every passing moment, he means more and more to me. This broken, splintered man is slowly coming back to life right before my eyes.

Sure, he just tongue-fucked me to oblivion in front of a crowd, and he seemed to really enjoy it, but that was just playing the part. It doesn’t mean he cares about me.

All of this runs through my head in the time it takes for him to shut my door and walk around the car to the other side and climb into his own seat. By the time he slams his own door and glances my way with a strangely warm expression, I’m feeling hopeless and confused. And he can sense it.

“I should get you home,” he says, almost making it sound like a question.

Awkward silence fills the car, and I can’t stand it, so I turn toward him and address it head-on.

“Should we talk?”

His brow furrows. “About?”

“About what just happened back there. That wasn’t pretending, Adam.”

There’s a look of contemplation on his face for a split second before he responds, “It’s all part of the plan, isn’t it?”

“It was supposed to be fake. That wasn’t fake. And what happened at your parents’ house wasn’t fake either. And in your dad’s office—”

“Okay,” he snaps, and I close my lips, letting a wave of heat flush my cheeks. Inside, I’m begging Adam to do anything but shut me out. Don’t leave me hanging here with my heart on my sleeve just so he can avoid facing reality. Don’t make me look and feel like a fool.

I understand this is a big change for him. I understand that he’s behaving in a way he never would have before, but it still feels like he has one foot in his past life and one foot in this life. I just wish he’d step all the way in—for me.

When it’s clear he’s not going to say anything other than okay, I turn forward and stare out the windshield, silently fuming. “Never mind. Just take me home.”

I approached the subject too fast. Why did I have to push him so hard?

“What do you want me to say?” he argues. “We got carried away, Sage. You want me to confess something personal and profound to you just because I got off a couple times? Everything is fake, okay? The relationship. The sex. The way I treat you in those videos. I’m not really like this. It’s all fake.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter as I yank on the car door and move to climb out.

“Where are you going?” He grabs my arm to keep me in my seat.

“I’ll get a ride home, Adam, but I’m not going to sit in this fucking car with you while you make me feel like an idiot.”

“What did I say that made you feel like an idiot?” He jerks me backward until I’m facing him, and I suddenly feel so angry with him I want to hit him. He and Brett and all the other assholes who stomped all over my feelings and used ignorance as an excuse.

“You can keep lying to yourself, Adam, but I’m not going to let you lie to me,” I yell. “Rule number five. Keep it fake, right? But what did you say that night, just before you put your hand up my skirt? You told me to tell you it was real. And what happened this morning, the way you love to degrade me? You can pretend all you want, but that is not fake. But you’re so hung up on believing a good man can’t like that you put all the shame on me. So, what is it, Adam? If we’re truly breaking the rules, why can’t we at least talk about it?”

He looks away and my anger only grows more intense, so I grab his face and turn him toward me. “I’m trying to help you, Adam. I see you.”

For a moment, his expression softens, and so does mine. For a split second, I have my Adam back. The one who doesn’t care what anyone thinks, who sees me for me, and who gives me the attention I so desperately crave. Who doesn’t mind being a little bad to be good.

But as quickly as it came, it’s gone. His expression deadens as he mumbles, “It was the heat of the moment. It was all for show, Sage.”

Everything inside me turns to ice. None of it was real. This whole time I’ve been growing these feelings for a man who’s incapable of changing or feeling anything. He can’t stand to be vulnerable for a single moment.

I yank my arm out of his grasp and fight back the tears that threaten to come.

“You’re such an asshole,” I mutter as I climb out of the car.

“Why am I an asshole?” he argues as he gets out and shouts over the hood. “Because I followed the rules?”

“That’s all you ever do, Adam,” I yell, throwing my arms out. “You follow the rules, so you don’t have to feel anything. When was the last time you ever stuck your neck out for anyone, Adam? You’ve been following the rules your entire life and look at where it’s gotten you. No one truly knows you, so no one truly loves you.”

Those words come flying out of my mouth, and I watch as they hit him like an assault. If I had pulled out a gun and shot him in the chest, it would have hurt less. Instantly, I regret it and wish I could unsay what I just said.

His mouth falls into a straight line and I know I’ve struck too hard. Shame and guilt crawl up my throat, nearly making me sick. I’m about to apologize when I notice Adam’s gaze scan to something over my shoulder.

The sound of shoes jogging against pavement steals my attention, and when I turn to see Brett running toward me, my emotions get all jumbled up inside. Anger, desire, guilt, fear, comfort—they run together, feeling all wrong, the way different colors blend to make an ugly brown sludge.

“What’s going on?” Brett calls from behind me, and I turn back to see Adam’s face, looking for something I can’t quite put my finger on. He freezes in his spot, a grimace etched in his features.

“Nothing. We’re fine,” I reply, taking a step back toward the car.

And then Brett touches my lower back and long-forgotten feelings come floating to the surface. I know his touch. It’s familiar and comforting and safe.

“Why the fuck are you yelling at her?” Brett asks, putting a hand out toward Adam, treating him like a threat.

“He’s not—”

“I don’t know,” Adam replies, looking at me. “All I know is my life was fine until one morning when I walked into that fucking diner. Now…”

Tears sting my eyes as I glare at him. “Now what?”

“Now I don’t know anymore. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I want.”

As I blink, a tear slips across my cheek. This feels as close as I’m going to get to a confession from Adam. He’ll never be able to truly express himself, and I’m clearly wasting my time if I expect him to ever admit anything more.

“Let me take you home,” Brett says, running a hand along my other arm. A moment ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of ending this night with my ex, but that’s how easily a beautiful moment with Adam turned to shit. What on earth was I expecting?

“Fine,” I mutter, turning away from Adam.

“Sage,” he calls after me, but I don’t turn back.

It’s clear I mean nothing to Adam Goode. So I’ll try to pretend he means nothing to me.