Ex Best Thing (Sisters From Hell Book 4), page 1
Ex Best Thing
Sisters From Hell #4
Marika Ray
Ex Best Thing
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Copyright © 2021 by Marika Ray
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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First Edition: November 4, 2021
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All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
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Cover Model: Lewis Craddock
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Ebook ISBN: 978-1-950141-39-5
Print ISBN: 978-1-950141-40-1
Contents
Ex Best Thing
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
Epilogue
Series Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Marika Ray
Ex Best Thing
First rule in the sister’s handbook: don’t date your sister’s ex-boyfriend.
Oops.
* * *
If there was one man on the planet I shouldn’t be looking twice at, it’s Daire Beneventi. Sure, he’s my sister’s ex, but he’s also the leather jacket to my quilt tote bag.
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He rides a Harley, frowns at everyone who makes the mistake of glancing at him, and closes real estate deals that have more zeroes than the number of dates I’ve been on recently.
* * *
He’s all wrong for me, but now I’m tasked with training him at the center we both volunteer at in our off hours. Except, maybe he’s not the man I thought he was. He asks me to teach him how to be kind. I ask him to teach me how to have some adventure.
* * *
The big question is if this unlikely pairing is worth the backlash from my family. Could we actually ride his motorcycle off into the sunset?
1
Izzy
* * *
“Izzy’s here!”
“Where’s Waldo?”
“She’s here, bitches!”
A chorus of women raised their hands in the air to greet me as I swung through the lobby of Gigi’s House and into the front living area where they were gathered in a circle. I didn’t know how they knew someone had arrived. It wasn’t like there was a bell over the door or a footman announcing my arrival. But without falter, they did. And it wasn’t a sedate greeting either. It was the type that made me blush and stammer and wish the spotlight would move elsewhere. It was also the type that fed some small part of me that craved the acknowledgement. A part of me that wanted to be needed. Wanted to be seen.
I turned to the snacks table, letting my short dark hair swing into my face to hide the blush I knew was there. “Now, you ladies know I don’t bring treats with me every time. No need to shout like that.”
“Yes, you do,” snapped a woman who’d been there the longest. Georgie. She’d seen and experienced things I knew would give me nightmares just to hear about. She was also tougher than anyone I’d ever met, including my brother-in-law, Remington, who was a real-life cowboy rancher.
I put the pink bakery box down on the table and cracked open the lid. Lifting my head just enough to meet Georgie’s eye, I winked. “Okay, fine. I do.”
“Mhm. Because you love us. Say it, Izzy.” Lulu folded her arms across her chest and pinned me with a devilish smile. She was one of the newer girls, but had jumped into teasing me the second we’d met.
I shrugged. “You’re okay.”
“Whadya bring us this time, Snow White?” Stacy hopped up and tried to peek over my shoulder to see what was in the box. I really didn’t care for that nickname. Sure, my skin was pale and I had dark hair. It wasn’t black though. It was the shade of brown right before you get to jet black. It wasn’t the looks so much as the connotation that I was pure as the driven snow. Let’s be honest—I was. I feared that made me boring with a capital B. Compared to my four sisters, I was a stick in the mud.
Maybe it was the nickname thrown about so casually. Maybe it was the adorable wedding cake earrings that had been gouging me in the neck all day long. Maybe it was a little bit of Hell magic that had followed me over to Blueball. Whatever it was, a flare of defiance flooded through my veins, shocking the hell out of me and returning me to the attitude of a toddler who absolutely positively does not want to share her toy.
Isabel “Compliant” Waldo was having a moment.
I snatched the box off the table and slapped the lid shut. “These aren’t for you.”
“Ohh! Burn!” The ladies all erupted, elbowing each other and laughing.
Stacy turned back to me with a grin. “Come on. Don’t hold out on us. Did you bring boobcakes again?”
“Or fuckupcakes?” Another woman got in on the guessing game.
“Ooh! Do-nut worry donut holes?”
“Vag-cakes? ’Cause I’m not so sure I liked eating those. They tasted good, but if I’m going to put something in my mouth, I want it to be a thick, long co—”
“Okay, okay!” I held my hand up to stop the inevitable slide into a conversation that would have me turning the shade of a ripe tomato. I’d brought it on myself, really.
I worked as head baker for Baked Goodness, the only bakery in Auburn Hill, aka Hell. Monroe was the original owner, her gray hair in a tight bun showing just how long she’d been baking for the town. The thing was, a girl got tired of baking birthday cakes and graduation cakes and get-well cupcakes with flowers and birds and well-wishes.
Bleep that. (Because even though defiance was running the show right now, it did not mean I was ready to bring myself to curse straight out. A well-placed F-bomb would take some working up to.)
Sometimes said girl wanted to bake a bone-shaped cake and write in fancy cursive frosting I have a boner for you. What girl wouldn’t swoon over that sentiment? Sometimes I wanted to bake a cake for Polly’s T-Spot and recreate the logo I’d painted for her business. Sure, it looked like a giant flower, but once you stared at it long enough, all you could see was a woman’s labia. And speaking frankly, that would look amazing in frosting.
Baked Goodness needed a dash of badness to balance the cosmic scales.
When Monroe left for the day—which was usually early since she needed a mid-day nap—I churned out the rated-R baked goods and sold them on the black market which was alive and well in Hell. I had to be careful though. I was currently sixteen months from having enough saved cash to buy the bakery from her. Monroe had been grumbling about retiring for years, but said she was holding out for me to take over. A little more time and the dream would be mine. I planned to spend equal time baking angel cakes and demon pies. Not that demon pies were a thing, but now that I’d thought of it, maybe I should make it a thing.
Fingers snapped in front of my eyes.
“Earth to Izzy,” Georgie said with enough sass to float a barge across the Pacific. Then she lowered her voice so only I could hear her. “Did you bring a dud? You went the Thanksgiving wholesome route and now you’re embarrassed? You did raise the bar pretty high, my friend.”
I shot her a smile. I appreciated her tact, I really did. But I did not go the Thanksgiving route, though maybe you could twist it and see it as something to be thankful for. I wasn’t even supposed to be here today as it wasn’t my normal day to volunteer. I just couldn’t go home to my sister’s place yet again and listen to their happiness while I evaluated my lonely life. Esme had gotten married recently, and while I adored Remington, a girl could only hear her twin having life-altering sex so many times before she felt like she might vomit.
“Actually, I just realized these might have gone too far.” Which was the truth. Gigi’s House was a shelter for abused women. Many times the abuse was physical, but sometimes it extended to sexual abuse. The last thing they needed was the baked goods I’d brought today in bad taste.
“Oh, come on. You’ve brought vagina cookies and cupcakes with hairy balls. Pretty sure whatever you have won’t phase us.”
I cringed. What was wrong with me? I thought maybe the lack of personal sexual experience was coming out in the form of scandalous baked goods. All that unrequited sexual tension had to be channeled into something.
I spun away and headed back for the doorway, my head turned to Georgie. “Sorry, I really should—”
I got cut off as I hit a brick wall. The flimsy bakery box was no match, crumpling on impact and creating an explosion of cookies shaped like dicks, complete with a spurt of white frosting on the tip. I blinked and the brick wall was actually a man. A really large, grumpy man. A man I knew. A man no
Oh, shut-the-fuckupcakes. This was not good.
He growled—yes, growled like an animal. His dark hair was swept back from his tanned face, but a single lock of it fell over his forehead like it knew it would drive the ladies wild. His leather jacket creaked as he lifted a hand and swept a cookie from his cheek where it had plastered itself like a good little dick. Or monster dick, considering the cookie cutter I special ordered had come in an eight-inch variety. Go big or go home was my motto. Just kidding. I didn’t have a motto, but if I was forced to adopt one at this very moment, it would be that.
His dark gaze didn’t leave mine until the sight of an eight-inch cookie hanging off my chest caught his attention. He looked down at my breasts, then down at his own hand. He jumped back and tossed the cookie to the floor.
“Now why’d you go and do that?” Georgie whined, hustling over to try to save what was left of the flock of dicks. Actually, was a group of dicks a flock? Maybe a pack? A herd? If a group of flamingoes were a flamboyance, I would argue a group of dicks should be an orgasmic. It was only fair.
The staredown began and I suddenly had bigger things to worry about than an explosion of dick cookies at a women’s shelter.
Daire Beneventi.
My sister’s ex-boyfriend.
His glare was familiar. So was the sneer pasted across his gorgeous lips. While the worn leather covered his arms, I knew they held full sleeves of tattoos, some of which he got during the six months he was dating Amelia. His eyes didn’t just look at you, they dove straight into your soul and grabbed you by the uterus. Sounded painful, but it was actually a little stimulating in a way one wouldn’t think. He may be an asshole, but he was a damn-good-looking one.
“Izzy?”
His voice was the equivalent of the Italian affogato: vanilla bean ice cream drenched in espresso and drizzled with liqueur. Decadent, dangerous, and so delightful you couldn’t refuse.
“Daire?”
“Oh good. Y’all got the introductions out of the way. Now we can eat dicks.” Georgie took the dilapidated box from my hands and hustled off to deliver the remaining goods to the other ladies.
My cheeks flooded with heat, and I knew he could see it. What I wouldn’t give to be a heart-stomping Vee, crushing men under her heel. Or Esme with the no-nonsense sound bites that flowed from her lips like she practiced in the mirror while mere mortals slept. Or Amelia with the cat claws and sass, daring a brown bear to a fight just for kicks. Hell, even Oakley would just arrest you if you annoyed her too much. Alas, I was Izzy, the sister who spoke softly, made quiet friendships everywhere she went, and blended into the background as much as possible.
Daire’s face morphed from angry shock to angry sneer. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him without an emotion prefaced by angry.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
It was the emphasis on you that got my goat up. That was always an interesting phrase that made me wonder where it came from. Regardless of its origins, my goat was definitely up and it was butting me with its horns, just waiting for me to say go so it could charge at the godlike asshole. He said it as if I didn’t have a right to be at Gigi’s House. Like the years of volunteer work I’d done here didn’t matter. Or that he was annoyed he had to stop and notice me when previously his dark gaze had always swept right over me in a clear dismissal.
I narrowed my eyes, the defiance from earlier picking up steam. He’d ruined my beautiful cookies. He’d ruined my day. The least I could do was return the favor.
Walking slowly as if I hadn’t a single care in the world—which anyone who knew me knew that was false. I had so many cares I couldn’t prioritize them on a single sheet of college-lined paper—I swept by him, leaning in to deliver a line I would pat myself on the back for, for the rest of the night and long into the next day. Rare was the occurrence when I delivered just the right line at just the right time. Usually I came up with a zinger a couple days too late.
“Such a dick,” I whispered, making sure to put in a hefty dose of venom I knew Amelia would appreciate.
One slender finger reached out to flick the broken bulbous head of a penis off his shoulder. It landed on top of his black boot, looking so out of place I would have laughed if it weren’t for the scent of cedar and whiskey that nearly made me choke with yearning.
How did an asshole smell so good?
It was with that disturbing thought that I rushed out of Gigi’s House and headed home where I could dissect every single moment of this exchange until I was so tired I fell into a dreamless sleep.
Sisters before misters was a tenant us girls had grown up with and believed in wholeheartedly. But there was nothing in that phrase that said a sister couldn’t at least appreciate the fine form of an ex-mister’s body.
If I woke up thinking of Daire, it was only because he’d shown his face in the area for the first time in two years. He’d probably just gotten lost and stopped at Gigi’s for directions. Thankfully, I’d never see him again. I’d never have to hear my name on his lips or wonder what he saw when he stared at me. And I certainly would never have to smell his cologne and wish for things I could never have.
2
Daire
* * *
“Why are you so growly?” Giana snapped, standing right in front of me so I had no choice but to stalk around another car in the parking lot to get away from her.
“I’m always growly.” Which was the truth and we both knew it. Of all the people in this great big world, Giana knew me better than most. And she usually used that information to piss me off. Little sisters were like that.
She flicked her long, stick-straight dark hair behind her shoulder. “Yeah, I know, but you’re extra growly today. Did a deal fall through? A competitor piss on your property? Did a woman actually turn the great Daire Beneventi down?”
I grunted. “No.”
She sighed and had to hustle double time to keep up with my stride. Would have been easier if she wasn’t wearing a ridiculous pair of pants with strappy shoes that made her a foot taller, but handicapped her. She about went down and I had to grab her elbow to keep her upright.
“Couldn’t you have worn flats?” I groused.
She straightened and gave me a look I’d been getting since she was old enough to know what snark was. “I could have, but then this outfit would have been hideous. These espadrilles make the whole thing pop.”
I gave her a deadpan face. “And we wouldn’t want an outfit that didn’t pop at therapy, now would we?”
She smiled so wide and brilliantly I heard a car squeal to a stop out on the street. My little pain-in-the-ass sister was so beautiful, I wanted to stick a bag over her head and take her back home where no one would see her ever again.
Giana poked a long fingernail into my chest. “See that frown? I know what you’re thinking. And that’s why you’re here at therapy with me. You’ve got a hero complex that just won’t stop.”
I glowered at her, incensed she wasn’t as angry as me. “You were assaulted, Giana. The guy’s lucky he didn’t get his neck snapped right after I bashed his face in. Pardon me for being a little overprotective now.”
The fire that normally snapped in her eyes went out like a light and I felt like an ass for being responsible for it. If a person could age in a snap second, it happened to her every time we talked about that incident.
