Broken Boys Despise Deceit: A Second Chance Romance Read online

  Broken Boys Despise Deceit—Moments Series Book 3

  Copyright © 2022 by Author JB Heller

  Published by- Author JB Heller

  Cover Design by- Tall Story Designs

  Photographer- Regina Wamba

  Editing by- Creating Ink

  Proofreading by- Jenn Lockwood Editing

  Formatted by – JeBDesigns

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  A NOTE FROM JB

  Also by JB Heller

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  I don’t know how the hell it happened, but I think I’ve caught feelings.

  What is wrong with me?

  I stare at my cell screen as I pace my shitbox of a room, waiting for Scout to reply to my last text. I know she’s seen it, so why isn’t she answering? I reread it.

  MASE: You free to hook up tomorrow night? I’m off the clock at six.

  When the hell did I become such a little bitch, waiting with bated breath for a chick to text me back? Ugh.

  I toss my cell onto my bed, then run my hands through my messy curls, pissed with myself. This isn’t me. I don’t get pussy whipped; that’s Carter’s department.

  A frustrated growl builds in my throat, and I clench and release my fists half a dozen times, attempting to relieve the tension coursing through my veins. It does nothing—shocker—so I stride out of my room, away from my cursed cell. In the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of water and down it, followed by another.

  My dad’s voice comes from behind me. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

  I turn to face him, then lean back against the sink. “Nothin’, old man. What are you doing up? I thought you went to bed an hour ago.”

  He mirrors my pose, propping himself against the opposite counter while arching a graying brow. “You’re not the lying sort, Mase. Cut the shit. What’s up?”

  Dropping my head back, I stare up at the stained ceiling and groan. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  I lower my head and meet his steady gaze. We’ve always been on the level, never kept anything from each other. But this…this is just plain pathetic. Heaving a dramatic sigh, I cross my arms over my chest and avert my gaze as I tell him, “There’s this chick...”

  His mouth twitches with the beginnings of a smirk, and he makes a valiant effort to control it, but fails. “No shit, I thought you were about to finally admit you and Carter are fuck buddies, and you’re running away together.”

  My jaw drops at the same moment my eyes about bug out of my head. “The fuck you say?”

  He bursts out laughing, bending in half and slapping his thigh, his laughter soon turning into a wet, hacking cough.

  I rush to his side to help him lower into a chair at the dining table, then refill my glass from the tap before handing it to him as he regains his breath. “Think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you? That’ll teach you for sayin’ shit you know is unequivocally false,” I say while rubbing soothing circles over his back.

  After a few minutes, he places the empty glass on the table and peers up at me, water clinging to his lower lashes from the coughing fit. He smiles and shrugs. “It was worth it for the look on your face. Now, tell me about this girl.”

  I roll my eyes but drop into the chair across from him at our small, two-person table. “She’s a spitfire with a killer rack, and she’s cool with keeping things casual. In fact, she insists we keep it that way. I don’t know, there’s just something different about her. I… I enjoy her company, if you can even believe that.”

  My old man nods along as I speak, then quirks a brow when I’m done. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”

  “What more do you want?”

  He throws his hands in the air. “Details, boy! What is it about her that’s got you all twisted up inside?”

  I scoff. “I’m not twisted up over her. I’m frustrated.”

  “About...?”

  “About her. She’s infuriating and so fucking pretty it hurts to look at her sometimes. And I don’t know what to do with all that. I know she’s going to let me down at some point. I mean, that’s what women do, ya know. But damn it if I don’t give a shit about that when we’re together. I just want to spend time with her, and that’s some confusing shit right there.”

  Dad stares blankly at his hands clutched together on the table between us, then he shakes his head and brings his gaze to mine. “Not all women are like that, Mase. I just wasn’t very good at choosing the right ones. Your mother—God rest her soul—wasn’t like that.”

  I run a hand through my hair, snagging it on a knotted curl. Yanking it free, I shrug. “Finding a decent woman is like finding Willy Wonka’s golden ticket. And I’m just not that lucky, which is fine. I’m fine with it. Truly,” I reiterate as doubt blankets his expression. “I don’t need a woman to make me happy. I’ve got you and Carter. I’ve even got his psycho little girlfriend in my corner nowadays. She’s one of the good ones, and I’m glad he has her, ‘cause the dude needs someone to chill him the fuck out. But I’m good. I’ve got everything I need right here.”

  He’s the one to roll his eyes this time, and I glare at him. “What? I’m serious.”

  “I know you are.” He releases my hands. “You’re too damn stubborn for your own good. What if this girl turns out to be your golden ticket?”

  “It wouldn’t matter if she was. She doesn’t want anything more. And I don’t do more. So, that’s all there is to it.”

  Standing, he mutters as he takes his glass to the sink, “Stubborn little shit.”

  I grin and pretend I didn’t hear him.

  He pauses in the doorway on his way out of the kitchen, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Just keep an open mind; that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Alright, alright, now go back to bed. You’ve got chemo in the morning.”

  He waves me off but heads back to his room. My shoulders drop the second he’s out of sight. I’m so fucking drained I can’t think straight. That must be why I’m having these feelings about Scout. I shudder. She’s become an escape from all the shit in my life recently. Between finals, football, the gym, Carter practically losing his damn mind, and Dad’s cancer, I’m running on empty. Thank fuck college is over and done with; at least that’s two things off my plate.

  My lips curve into a tired smile as I push away from the table, return to my room, then flop down on my lumpy mattress, closing my eyes only to dream about Scout and her infuriatingly beautiful smile.

  My eyes peel open as the sun burns a path across my room right into my face. I groan, rolling toward the wall. Stupid sun.

&
nbsp; Dad’s tinkering around in the kitchen, probably getting ready for our neighbor, Charly, to pick him up for chemo. I sit and swing my legs over the side of my bed just as a loud thunk echoes through my room. My cell rests on the floor, face up by my feet, and I reach down to grab it, flicking the screen to life as I do.

  There’s a text from Trick, confirming my hours at the gym this week, and one from Scout. It was sent only half an hour ago, and I run my hand through my hair as I read it.

  SCOUT: Yeah, tonight’s good. I need me some stress relief.

  I lick my lips, considering my reply. I want to know what’s stressing her out. I thought, coming out the other side of senior year, that things would be smooth sailing for her now. She’s a crazy talented artist. Surely, getting work would be a cakewalk for someone like her.

  MASE: Good thing that’s my specialty. What’s stressing you? Anything I can help with?

  Again, she reads it but doesn’t reply immediately. I narrow my eyes, willing the little dots that indicate she’s typing to appear, but nothing happens. Fuck my life.

  My gaze flicks to the time displayed at the top of the screen, and I don’t have long to dick around waiting for her reply. I grab a fresh set of clothes and head into the bathroom for a quick shower before I have to leave for work at the gym.

  Dad bangs his fist against the door on his way out, shouting, “I’m off. See you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll call you tonight,” I yell back as I step out of the shower. I tug on a pair of Superman boxer briefs then some workout shorts with the gym’s logo. Dude’s going all fashionista on me, designing clothes and shit. Grabbing the black muscle shirt that matches, I pull it on then snag my hoodie off my bedroom floor before taking off. The mornings are still too fucking cold for my liking.

  Once at the gym, I force myself to leave my cell in my locker, refusing to be the guy who continually checks for messages from his woman. Because Scout isn’t my woman. She’s a free agent. She can do what she pleases when she pleases, and it’s no damn business of mine. Just the way I like it.

  Then, why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about her?

  He wants to know what’s stressing me? Why?

  I frown at my cell as Chance yammers away about how proud she is of Carter for going back to school…or something like that, I think.

  “Excuse me? HELLO! Earth to Scout, my former best friend and confidant.” Chance waves her arms in front of my phone screen, forcing me to lift my head and meet her probing gaze.

  “What? I was listening. I can multitask, you know,” I grumble.

  She rolls her eyes. “The hell you can. What was the last thing I said?”

  “That I used to be your best friend and confidant, which, by the way, I take offense to. What’s with the past tense?”

  “I meant before that, smartass.” She chuckles and shakes her head. “What’s on your mind?”

  Licking my lips, I glance at my cell again. “Mase is acting weird.”

  Chance’s big eyes sparkle behind her black-framed glasses. “Ohh, weird how?”

  “Okay, so we’re hooking up tonight, and he asked me what’s stressing me out? Like, what? Who even is he right now? That’s not how we roll. We hit it ‘n’ quit it. We don’t talk.” I pick up my iced chai latte and take a few sips. All the while, Chance stares at me like I’ve got a screw loose.

  I arch a brow and snap, “What?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get you. We’ve been besties for what…six, seven years now? And you still make no sense to me.”

  That makes me frown. Chance gets me better than anyone ever has. That’s why she’s one of my very few chick friends. “We started hanging out at the beginning of sophomore year when Nixie started getting shit for dating Finn. So yeah, it’s been, like, seven years. How can you not get me by now?”

  She scrunches her nose. “Huh, I’d forgotten that’s why we started hanging out. Speaking of, have you heard from Nix lately?”

  “I have. She’s disgustingly content, living it up with Finn.” I shudder. I can’t think of anything worse. “Now get back to the point. What don’t you get?”

  “Mase is a nice guy, a solid choice for a steady boyfriend. And you two have been hooking up for months now. Why don’t you just date him already?” she asks, confusion wrinkling her brows.

  I heave a sigh and flop back onto the couch I’m occupying at The Café. “Mase is a fuckboy. Do you really expect me to date him? I mean, I’m no shining star of virtue either, but the dude’s screwed more chicks than a handyman has lightbulbs. Besides, I don’t date. What’s so hard to understand about that?”

  “I don't know, I just want you to be happy, I guess. And being with Carter has made me crazy happy, so I don't see why the same thing can't work for you,” she says with a hopeful smile.

  I burst out laughing. “Oh, honey, no. First of all, I’ll never place my happiness on another person’s shoulders—especially a man’s. And second, what makes you think I’m not already perfectly happy?”

  Chance immediately shakes her head, her eyes widening and her mouth popping open. “That’s so not what I meant!”

  “Well, that’s how it sounded.”

  She sits there gaping at me like a goldfish that’s forgotten you fed it five minutes ago. I smirk, and her jaw snaps closed, her eyes narrowing to what I’m assuming is supposed to be a glare, but Chance doesn’t have a nasty bone in her body; therefore, there’s no weight behind the look.

  “You’re a bitch. I thought you were serious for a minute there,” she mutters. “You know I’m all for being an independent, kickass woman who stands on her own two feet.”

  God, those words coming out of her dorky mouth…it’s hard not to laugh. Especially when the T-shirt she’s wearing says Boys in books are better, and her leggings are covered in little novels.

  I grin at her. “I know. And before you say it, I know you don’t rely on Carter for your happiness. I’m just saying I don’t think being in a relationship would make me any happier than I am right now. Relationships are messy and gross. All those emotions creep me out.”

  She rolls her eyes behind her thick glasses. “Whatever. You’re just a killjoy.”

  I poke my tongue out at her, and she chuckles, then we both pick up our drinks and move on to safer topics, like what I’m going to do with my life now that college is officially over.

  Yeah, safer topic, my ass.

  Chapter Two

  Music pumps through the sound system, drowning out the sounds of clinking weights and the general chatter of the other patrons. “Nice work today,” I tell Zeke as I drop the training pads to the floor, then slip through the ropes surrounding the ring. Sweat slides down my temples, and I swipe it away with my forearm. “Tomorrow, we’ll do some fine tuning on your left hook.”

  With one end of the strapping from his right wrist between his teeth as he tugs it loose, he simply gives me a chin lift in acknowledgment.

  I stalk toward the locker room with purpose, making sure to dodge the members that like to get chatty, before ducking inside and grabbing a towel from the rack. Slipping into the first available stall, I strip off my sweaty workout gear, dropping it to the floor. It takes me all of four minutes to do a quick scrub down and run some shampoo through my hair. I seriously don’t know why it takes chicks so long to shower. Unless I need the heat for tender muscles, I’m in and out in under five.

  I’m standing in front of my locker, towel knotted around my waist, when Trick strolls through the door. He waggles his brows as he approaches me, and I arch one of mine in return.

  “Your woman’s waiting out front,” he says, batting his lashes at me as I grab my stuff from my locker.

  I flip the big bastard off and try not to laugh at him. He looks ridiculous fluttering his eyes like a queen. “Not my woman.” I tug a fresh pair of Batman boxer briefs on under my towel, then drop it and reach for my shorts.

  The cocky prick that is my boss snorts, then follows me out of the locker room
once I’m dressed. “You’re so full of shit. You two’ve been bangin’ for months.”

  “And?” I say, meeting his probing gaze.

  “And that usually equates to a relationship, which makes her your woman.”

  I roll my eyes. “No, dickwad, it equates to convenience. We both know the score, and neither of us is interested in more than fucking around.” Unfortunately, going by the look of complete disbelief blanketing his features, it’s safe to say he’s as unconvinced by my proclamation as I am.

  Pausing by the check-in desk, I scowl at him. “Don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, just…don’t. I got enough shit on my plate without you adding to it.”

  Trick eyes me for a moment, then nods and holds his hands out, palms up. “Okay, I’ll drop it. For now…” He smirks, and before I can say a word, he spins around and makes his way toward the bunch of teenagers waiting on him to start the night’s Brazilian Jujitsu class.

  “Asshole,” I mutter under my breath as I push through the exit.

  “Talking about yourself again?” a husky, feminine voice I’d recognize anywhere speaks from my left.

  I turn toward her and grin. Fuck, she’s hot. Scout leans against the brick outer wall of the gym in skin-tight black jeans, a matching tank that exposes her pierced navel, and black Dr. Martens. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as my appreciative gaze rakes over her form, pausing on the lifelike dragonfly tattoo caressing her collarbone.

  When my eyes meet hers, I just about nut on the spot. Heat, lust, desire…everything I’m feeling right now shines right back at me. Except for one thing. Possession. Never in my life have I been possessive over a woman. But Scout brings out things in me I never expected.