Book 1
HATING MY BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND
Lindsey Hart
DESCRIPTION
That prick! He just took over my business without so much as my consent.
Now, he has the nerves to act like he's the boss around here.
I always knew I would end up doing some serious bodily damage to him one day.
I just did not know it was going to be of the heart variety.
CHAPTER 1
Stella
“I am not going to borrow money from that shitbag, barfy, wizard bastard, Halitosis Hal,” I shouted.
My older brother, Sam, grunts at me in characteristic Sam—you’re being a stubborn pain in the ass—older brother fashion. “Fine. Let butthole Daryl ruin all your hopes and dreams then. Why are you making fun of Hal’s name when you dated someone with the name Daryl and went into business with him? Guys named Daryl are always assholes.”
“Argh!” I throw my hands up and storm around my brother’s kitchen. He has a nice place. He, unlike myself, made all the right decisions after high school, and now, he’s living the dream while I’m stuck swallowing my pride and begging him for money to save what’s left of mine.
Sam opens the stainless-steel fridge and thrusts a carton of homogenized milk at me. “Here. Have some milk.”
“Why the hell would I want milk?” I back up and jerk my hands to my hips. “What’s wrong with you? A glass of milk isn’t going to fix the fact that I’m going to lose my business unless I can come up with fifty grand.”
Sam ignores that. He’s ridiculously tall, like all of us Winters are. I’m five-ten myself, and sometimes, that made it hard to find dates. Heels used to be out of the question before I entered the more confident raised middle fingers stage of my life and decided to say fuck it to all the haters before going out to buy the freaking shoes I loved.
“Because milk is good. Milk fixes everything. Milk is also delicious and creamy.” Sam pours himself a glass, sips it, and sighs. “There. My problems are all better.”
I groan. “You’re an imbecile.”
“Yes, but you love me.”
I stare at my brother. He has the same sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes that I do. My grandma used to call us fay children. I think it was because when we were younger, we kind of looked like wood fairies with our slim builds, shiny eyes, delicate skin, and blonde hair. Not, I hope, because she actually meant fay children, which could stand for fucking annoying youngsters. Knowing our grandma, though, she might very well have meant that instead. And yes, I’m sure we were fucking annoying most of the time when she had to babysit us.
“Whatever. I do, but I don’t want milk. Good god.”
“I don’t know what you have against Hal. And why make fun of his name when he can’t help it? His mom did that to him.”
“He could change it.”
“Change it? Who would change their name when their legal, actual, real birth certificate reads Haladon Windsongs Destinyblade Walker? That’s pretty badass.”
“It’s also pretty stupid.” I stare down at the milk on the counter. My brother went with granite when he took a loan to renovate his bungalow completely. Between that, the dark cabinets, and the dark hardwood floor, it looks pretty good in here. Oh, also, going for hip appliances makes for a really nice kitchen. Not that I would know since I live in a dumpy apartment. I guess I can live out my dreams of one day living somewhere nice through Sam’s house. “Fine. Give me a glass.”
“Ha! I knew it.”
“Why did Jennifer name him that anyway? I mean, who would dare?”
“You know how obsessed she is with fantasy stuff. Shows. Books. She goes to all those conventions or whatever. Plus, as a single mom, she didn’t have someone to talk her down.”
“Her own family didn’t try?”
“I’m sure they did, but you know how she is.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” I curl my fingers around the cold glass Sam hands me. “You asked me what I have against Hal. Well, you know what I have against him.”
Sam slides the milk back into the perfectly sized square space on the top shelf of his fridge. I notice he’s bought a few new blocks of cheese, and the drawer looks full to bursting. I’ll have to raid it before I go. “No. Not really. We’re adults now. You should let old grudges die.”
“Grudges? God. It’s more than that. You’re talking about a kid who tried to convince me that lighting my farts on fire was a great source of natural energy and that it should be harnessed and used for the good of mankind.”
Sam rifles his hand through his hair, which is long and shaggy. He hates haircuts, so my mom always comes over when it’s absolutely necessary and cuts his hair for him. I haven’t seen the business end of a scissor myself in over five years. No, I somehow don’t have a million split ends, and yes, I’m afraid of how every single hairdresser always hacks off six bloody feet when you tell them two inches for a trim. I gave up on that a long time ago. I wanted to grow my hair out anyway, and it’s coming along nicely. I’m not going to roll the dice on someone snipping away, not even my mom.