Ruled. Anne Marsh

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СКАЧАТЬ keeping me busy.” His tone makes it clear that this is another conversational no-fly zone.

      “You know you have a job with me anytime you want it.” We’ve had this conversation only about a million times, but it bears repeating. I will always be here for Rocker.

      He tilts his head at the RV. “You really see me driving around in that thing?”

      “What’s wrong with the Princess Mobile?” Admittedly, the gas mileage sucks, but she gets us where we need to go, she’s great advertising and she has honest-to-God turrets. Pop that sucker up and I can play Rapunzel on demand. It holds my costumes and props, and it gets my princesses from one party to the next.

      Rocker’s just starting to list all the reasons a pink ride isn’t his thing when his phone goes off. He looks down and then disappears briefly to take the call.

      “I have to go,” he says, sauntering toward me.

      Yeah. Color me shocked.

      He pulls me into a one-armed hug. “Be extra careful for me, Evie girl?”

      “I’m always careful,” I tell him, and sadly, it’s the truth. I’m a color-between-the-lines girl—he doesn’t need to worry about me.

      “Promise me,” he insists and I think he’s actually serious.

      “You want to be more specific?”

      He curses. “Evie—”

      “Does it have anything to do with your club?” I point to the patch on his vest. I’d like to rip the thing off his chest, but it wouldn’t solve the problem.

      “Might do. Trouble’s brewing,” he says slowly. “Trust me. You don’t want the details, Evie. I’ve got it handled, though. You don’t need to worry.”

      Some things never change—Rocker swears he’s got a situation under control, I worry, and then I conceive a half dozen plans for salvaging said situation. I love my baby brother, but I don’t approve of his lifestyle choices. His biker buddies are bad news. Today, though, he really doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering him, so I nod and promise to be extra careful. He gets back on his bike and tears out of the campsite faster than I’ve ever seen him go. Whatever trouble he’s facing down must be really bad.

      It’s one hell of an exit—even more dramatic than the Princess Mobile. It makes it impossible to ignore his departure, which Samantha makes clear when she wanders over, fanning herself.

      “God, your brother’s hot.”

      I force a smile, although the last thing I want to discuss with my fellow princess is the degree of my brother’s attractiveness. I’ve got bigger things to worry about. “In the category of things I don’t need to know...”

      “Who’s hot? And are we sharing secrets?” Carlie wades out of the lake to join us.

      “Rocker’s in trouble.”

      Samantha wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes gently. “You need to stop worrying about that man. He’s an adult, doing adult things.”

      “Funny. That’s exactly what I’m worried about. Life was way easier when he was just afraid of the monsters in the closet.”

      “You should be thinking about dating or at least getting laid,” Samantha counters. “Ask Rocker to introduce you to some hot biker.”

      “No bikers,” I say firmly.

      “Really?” Carlie sounds doubtful.

      Bikers are fascinating, but they’re the polar bears of the dating world—a look-don’t-touch breed of man you’re better off spotting in a zoo than in the wild. So freaking touchable on the outside, but completely wild on the inside. I love bad boys, but I prefer to do my loving from a nice, safe distance.

      “Biker is a synonym for bad boy. I don’t need that.”

      “What if I find you a bad boy with a heart of gold?” Samantha is the eternal optimist.

      Reality check. “I’ll be ninety before you find one of those. Give me someone who’s nice.”

      “Imagine the sex. Booooring.” Samantha makes a face and wades back into the lake. As she executes a spectacular belly flop into the cool water, I check my phone. We need to be on the road in twenty minutes or we’ll hit traffic. Still, I can afford five more minutes.

      I wade back in and rejoin my girls. “It’s been so long since I had sex that I’m not sure I remember how to do it.”

      Obviously, that’s an exaggeration, but both Carlie and Samantha look like I’ve just announced that there will never, ever be another episode of Game of Thrones. Possibly combined with a nationwide shortage of chocolate. And wine. Maybe I could kick a puppy and complete my elevation to total loserdom.

      “Who doesn’t get laid?” Carlie floats over to me. It feels like high school, except the margaritas are no longer illegal. “Do you have a disease? Or did you take a religious vow when I wasn’t around to stop you?”

      “Not everyone has to have sex. Not everyone wants to.” Most days I’m too tired to even think about taking my clothes off, let alone doing so in a sexy fashion and then making sure my man comes. I’ve been working twelve-hour days for the last eighteen months to get my princess party business off the ground, and my efforts are finally paying off.

      “Intervention?” Carlie gives Samantha a look I have no problem interpreting. Neither one of them has a filter and they both have frequent, fantastic sex (at least to hear them tell it—and believe me, they certain don’t hesitate to tell).

      Samantha nods and heads for her purse. She trots back into the water a few seconds later, phone in her hand, and thumbs like a mad woman. Water-based internet surfing seems like an obvious recipe for disaster—while I wish the good folks at Apple would come up with a waterproof number, so far they’ve dropped the ball on that particular winner.

      “We’re finding you a booty call,” Samantha announces.

      “How about this one?” Carlie taps a picture on the phone, but Samantha’s already shaking her head vigorously enough to spray me (and the phone—she really is living dangerously) with water.

      “He’s a taxi and not a long-haul trucker, if you take my meaning. Eve needs someone with stamina. She has a drought to work off.”

      I mentally run time trials on my previous two boyfriends for the next few minutes (they’d both qualify for gold in any track-and-field sprinting contest) while Carlie and Samantha review and reject various single men. Eventually they linger on a dark-haired hottie with a nice face and a strong jaw. He’s wearing a suit and a tie, although there’s always the possibility that’s an aberration. Maybe Samantha snapped him at a funeral or a wedding.

      “Jack Turner.” Samantha taps the screen and Jack zooms into focus. “He runs numbers for a casino. He’s twenty-eight, currently single, never married and he has his own place. Rumor has it that he’s really, really good at putting his partner first. I like a man with manners.”

      Nice to know the man СКАЧАТЬ