Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2)

  Afraid to Fly

  Copyright ©2015 S.L. Jennings

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editing by Tracey Buckalew

  Proofreader: Kara Hildebrand

  Cover design by Mae I Designs

  Formatting by Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Quote

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Consolation Duet by Corinne Michaels

  I’D BEEN HERE BEFORE.

  Exiled to a permanent state of loathing where pain reigns supreme, and I was but a lowly whipping boy, spoon-feeding the monsters of my past with my own guilt and shame. A place where those same feelings fueled my constant need for acceptance and love, causing the misery to corrode my morality, and left me to douse the burn with hollow, tear-stained lies. Where regret was my only friend, and he was a cold motherfucker.

  I’d been here before.

  No, seriously. I’d been here before.

  I wouldn’t call myself a regular at The Pink Kitty, but I was far from a stranger. The drinks were strong, the music loud and provocative. And most importantly, the girls were hot and impressionable.

  There wasn’t much more a guy like me could ask for.

  “Dude, I can’t believe you brought me here.”

  I looked over at Blaine Jacobs, the boyfriend of my best friend/soul mate/former roommate, and shrugged with a sly smile. “Hey, you’re the one who said you needed to get out. What’d you think men do on Guy’s Night Out? Talk?”

  “Well . . . yeah. I’m not saying I haven’t contributed my fair share of singles to a few college funds but, shit, you know Kam will kick my ass.”

  Chuckling, I appraised our front row entertainment with hazy eyes, following the hypnotic, pendulum sway of her shapely hips. Cherri, two Rs and an I. Twenty. Virgo. Got her name from her fetish for fruit in some unconventional places, and her affinity for the color red.

  “Relax, B,” Blaine’s cousin, CJ, chimed in, smacking him playfully on the shoulder. “Kami’s cool. Besides, ever since you two moved in together, I hardly see your ass. Fuck, is her pussy made of gold or something? It better be, considering that you’ve been acting whipped as shit. What the fuck, man? It’s not like you’re married!”

  Blaine leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees before his narrowed eyes connected with CJ’s, brewing an ice storm of wrath. I could feel the temperature drop 30 degrees. Judging by the hardness of Cherri’s nipples just inches from my face, she could feel it too.

  “First of all, that’s the last time you ever mention any part of my woman, especially the space between her thighs. I better not even hear an obscene word and her name in the same fucking sentence. Don’t even think it. The second you want to spout off some dumb shit and utter her name—don’t. Not unless you want to keep your teeth. You got that?”

  Just when I thought Blaine would cause CJ to disintegrate under the hostility of his glare, his expression changed from murderous to somewhat thoughtful. He leaned back in his chair and exhaled a breath into the cheap perfume and sex-scented air.

  “And yeah . . . I do need to talk. So try to fold your wagging tongues back into your mouths for two seconds, ok?”

  I turned away from Cherri’s routine to “Sweet Cherry Pie” and gave Blaine my full attention. He was a pretty chill dude, for the most part. The seriousness of his voice had me on high alert, sirens and bells colliding with the bass vibrating my skull. He wasn’t fucking around.

  Blaine let out another breath and tugged at his wayward hair, before rubbing his inked hands against his jeans. “I’m going to ask Kam to marry me.”

  “What?!” CJ and I shouted in unison. I couldn’t turn away from Blaine’s ashen face, but I could bet my left nut that CJ’s eyes were just as bugged out as mine.

  “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” he continued. “And, shit, I know I’ll never want anyone else. There is no one else. And it’s bad enough that we’re doing things ass-backwards with the baby coming and all. I just want us to be a real family. For our baby to have parents that share the same last name.” He moved his jaw like he did when he was nervous or deep in thought about some shit—usually Kami’s shit—before grabbing his beer and tipping it back. He was already signaling for another before he slammed the empty bottle down.

  I closed my gaping mouth and tried to stifle the odd, conflicting feelings churning in my gut. Kami and Blaine were definitely right for each other. He was patient, understanding and protective with her. Hell, he was a fucking saint to put up with all her varying degrees of crazy. And somehow, he made all the bad shit she had been through easier for her to digest. No, he could never fully take it all away—her past was what made her who she was. But Blaine loved her in a way that made it ok. He made her see that the past was just that . . . the past.

  However, Kami was just as haunted by her ghosts as I was about mine. She was a delicate thing. One wrong move and she would be running, willing to give up on her shot at true happiness. And marriage was a huge step—something I wasn’t sure she would ever be ready for. Shit, maybe she never could be ready for something like that. I know I couldn’t.

  “Dude, are you smokin’ crack? Marriage? Are you shittin’ me?”

  Thank fuck for CJ and his big mouth. Blaine was more preoccupied with his cousin’s insolence to notice my less than joyous expression. I liked Blaine—at least I did now. We had come a long way since earlier this year when he decided to insert himself in our lives and make our crazy little nutcase fall in love with him against her better judgment. But part of me would always feel like no one would be good enough for her. Whether they rode up on a big ass pick-up truck or a white stallion, Kami Duvall would always be too good for any guy, myself included.

  Did I want to be good enough for her? Hell yeah. More than anything. But I gave up on that a long time ago. I loved her too much to burd
en her with my past bullshit when she had so much of her own suffocating her.

  “Hey. Earth to Dom,” Blaine said, waving a hand in front of my face.

  I blinked my glazed eyes a few times before they focused on the guys. “Huh?”

  “I said, I’m about to call it a night, fellas. I haven’t had a Saturday night off in months, and I’m not about to spend it in a place like this. Why the hell should I be at a strip club when I have a drop dead gorgeous girl at home waiting for me?” He pulled out his wallet and slapped a bill onto the table. “Next round’s on me.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” CJ replied, waving him off. “More T&A for us.” He returned his attention to the stage just as the next featured dancer’s song began.

  Shaking his head at his cousin, who was lewdly adjusting himself, Blaine turned to me. “So Dom, I just wanna get your take on all this. You’re cool with it, right? Because if you’re not, you know Kami will never go through with it. And I wouldn’t even press the issue.” Again, he tugged at the longer layer of hair grazing his forehead. “It just would really mean a lot to me to have your blessing.”

  I dropped my gaze down to the drink in my hand, not really knowing what to say. Shit, was I ok with this? With Kami being married? She wouldn’t be my Kami anymore. She’d be his. Blaine’s Kami. Fuck, to be honest, she already was.

  “Yeah, man,” I managed to smile, clapping Blaine on the back. “You got it. I wish you two nothing but the best. Congratulations.”

  Blaine exhaled the nervous breath he had been holding, and his face split into a cheesy-ass grin. He was a good one. Something I’d never be. And now he was even better because he was humble and considerate enough to ask for my blessing. “Thanks. That means . . . that means a lot. You have no idea.”

  “Of course,” I nodded. I didn’t have an idea. I’d never know that feeling of immeasurable pride and joy.

  “Ok, cool. I’m outta here.” Blaine jumped to his feet, suddenly anxious and enthusiastic to get home to the woman of his dreams. The woman of my dreams too. If I actually had dreams, instead of the nightmares that broke free and wreaked havoc on my subconscious almost every night.

  I waved goodbye just as a waitress strolled up to our table, pen and pad in hand. “What can I get you guys?” she asked, popping her pink bubble gum. She captured my attention, seizing my senses with undiluted femininity wrapped in concentrated sex appeal. She was tall for a girl—slim, but curvy and soft in all the right places. She wore the usual cocktail waitress get-up of obscenely short shorts and a skintight tank top that looked like it belonged on the runway, rather than Hoe Stroll, North Carolina. Hell, she owned that shit. Confidence was practically oozing from the pores of her alabaster skin.

  “Well?” she asked, looking up from her paper pad and pinning me with her bright blue eyes. Fuck. Me. She was gorgeous. Dark hair framed her heart-shaped face—a hauntingly beautiful backdrop for those remarkable eyes. She wore very little makeup, thank God, but her full lips were painted a shocking red. Just the sight of those lips had me licking my own.

  “We’ll have another round,” CJ said before I regained vocal function, his eyes roaming her ass without shame. I wanted to tell him to back off. Wanted to knock those eager eyes to the back of his head. But the delicate beauty in front of me left me breathless, and ultimately, speechless.

  What the hell was wrong with me? Um, hello? I was Dominic Trevino. Dirty-fucking-Dom. I wasn’t exactly new to this shit. I never got flustered with any chick. Ever. I loved ’em and left ’em just as quick as I could bag ’em. And the girls . . . the girls knew the game. I didn’t have to lie to them. I never fed them any false bullshit, nor promised them anything more than a few orgasms and maybe a meal or two. Sometimes it took less than that. Women were weak for my exotic good looks and Latin charm. It was a gift and a curse. Because, most of the time, that was all they saw.

  So why was this chick looking at me like I had three heads, and all of them were butt-ass ugly? Hell, she was nearly scowling at me. Oh shit, had I already slept with her? And forgot to call or something? No. I would have remembered her. Definitely.

  “Hey,” I finally said, touching her elbow just as she turned to walk away. She jerked her arm away with so much force that her pen clattered to the floor. “You’re new here.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. Now get your hand off me, prick,” she snapped through gritted teeth.

  “Whoa, whoa, my bad.” I raised my palms up to show her that I wasn’t a threat. That was the last thing I wanted her to think about me. “Sorry, uh, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “You didn’t,” she sneered, her ethereal blue eyes sparkling like sun-filtered prisms under the multi-colored, neon lights. “I just don’t want your hands on me. Got it?”

  “Yeah, sorry, didn’t mean to offend you.” I furrowed my brow in confusion and dipped my head to one side, trying to unmask the reason behind her visible disdain. Despite the hardness of her scowl, there was something soft and graceful about her. Angelic, even. Like a lamb in lion’s clothing. I just needed to peel off all the layers. “Do I know you or something? Like, did I do something to upset you?”

  She popped her pink bubble gum again, chomping on the gooey goodness like it was my manhood she was grinding to bits. My nuts ached, but I couldn’t tell if it was from arousal, fear or some convoluted mix of both.

  “Know me? Ha!” she laughed sardonically. “Like I’d ever associate with someone like you.”

  In the span of three seconds, I had somehow morphed into a two foot, yellow, Twinkie-like creature wearing overalls and goggles, because I swear, the only reply I could think of was, “Whaaaaaat?”

  “Someone like me?” I snickered, shaking my head. “Funny coming from a chick in booty shorts and a top that looks like it was painted on . . . in a strip club, no less.”

  Hello, mouth. This is foot. Now choke on that shit.

  Before I could open my mouth to apologize, the waitress let out a frustrated growl and stormed away, leaving her pen to die a slow, cruel death on the sticky, fluid-splattered floor.

  “Dude, talk about crash and burn!” CJ guffawed, enjoying the sight of someone else getting beat with the rejection stick for once. I downed my whiskey to nurse the invisible wounds.

  Before I could harp on the evening’s odd turn of events, Cherri sauntered over to our table, depositing her nearly bare ass on my lap.

  “I get off in two hours,” she whispered, twirling a lock of her bright red hair.

  I looked over at CJ just as one of the more seasoned dancers escorted him to the Champagne Room for a “private” dance. I shook my head. Hope he was up to date on all his shots.

  I stroked Cherri’s bare thigh, my fingers grazing the mound of hot flesh that only a thin layer of silk concealed. She moaned as my lips slid up her earlobe. “Yeah. I’ll be here.”

  I WOKE UP IN a humid, tangled web of naked limbs and tousled hair. Three sets of legs, including my own, were twisted in the sheets. Both blonde and red tresses tickled my face and chest. Two hands grasped my torso in slumber, yet one was decorated with fire engine red nail polish, while the other was painted a familiar powder pink.

  I’d been here before too.

  This scenario. This feeling. This regret.

  Same shit, different day.

  I unraveled myself from the erotic mosaic of my bed and shrugged on the pair of discarded jeans from last night. Fatigue was still heavy in my joints, so I sat on the edge of the mattress, running a hand over my sleep-matted hair, and trying to piece together the last several hours.

  Shit.

  You know what’s worse than reliving some of the lowest points of your deviance? Being too fucked up to remember them.

  A part of me wanted to do the Dirty Bird on the fifty-yard line of my immoral psyche. While the other part—the more rational, mature part that wouldn’t be placated by random hook ups—knew that I was wrong. But how do you stop doing the only thing that gives you a sense of security? The thing that mak
es you feel connected and accepted by someone—anyone—if only for a few hours?

  I wasn’t jaded to what I was really doing—what I was really hiding under a collection of ripped panties, scratches on my back and dirty sheets. Yeah, the sex, the women . . . it was exciting and satisfied me physically. But it did nothing to fill the void of confusion and shame. Still, I was resigned to bury them both, no matter how impossible that feat seemed.

  I trudged into the kitchen for my caffeinated wake up call. I was on my second cup when Angel emerged, dressed in a pair of my boxer shorts and a white, ribbed undershirt, sans bra. Without a word, she lumbered over and took my cup into her small hands, taking a long sip.

  We stood in heavy silence as I worked to fix myself another cup. When two people shared what we did . . . there really wasn’t much left to say.

  “So . . .” Angel said, finally breaking the awkward tension.

  “Yeah.”

  “Crazy.”

  More silence stretched between us as we sipped our brew. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of what happened between us. Hell, it wasn’t the first time. And it’s not like Angel and I had had sex. But, I knew what we were doing wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t right. It was just a placeholder for the happiness we both longed to obtain.

  “Let’s keep this between us,” I murmured. “We don’t need Kami thinking we’re falling apart over here. She’ll pack her bags and be in her old room in a heartbeat.”

  “Would that be the worst thing in the world?” Angel shrugged. She was dead serious, although I could tell she regretted her selfish intentions. “Yeah, you’re right . . . she’d flip. We promised her we’d knock it off last time. I so cannot sit through another one of her lectures.”

  I smiled, remembering the last time Angel and I stumbled into a little mischief. Kami nagged us for hours, and oddly enough, we let her. “That girl is more of a mother than she gives herself credit for.”

  “Shit, if I’d had a mother like her, maybe I’d be less of a train wreck,” Angel added with a melancholy grin that didn’t meet her cornflower blue eyes.

  “Hey . . .”