The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(57)

Subtly in the back of my mind, I wonder if I failed him—a thought that’s plagued me since the day he left. I never realized in all of my years that the one person I was supposed to protect him from was our own father. Now I have no idea if he’s safe or alive or happy. He might as well be dead, but even with death, we get closure. When Isaac ran away, all we got was emptiness.

Sage turns back toward the bed and stares at it with a smile, distracting me from my gloomy thinking. “How many girls did you feel up on that bed?”

I laugh. “Zero.”

“Bullshit,” she says, cackling. “You guys have your own fucking wing in this ginormous house and you never once brought a girl in here?”

I can’t hide my mischievous smirk as I drop my ass onto the mattress. “Okay…two. But that’s it.”

She sits next to me with a teasing smile. “That’s disappointing.”

“I know, but back then, all I wanted was to be like my father. I thought I was on the right path.”

It’s quiet for a moment as she lets out a sigh and then places a hand on my thigh. “I’m sorry for causing a scene at dinner. There’s nothing wrong with saying grace. I was just trying to piss him off.”

“You did just that,” I reply with a lopsided grin. “Your grace was just fine, and you don’t need to apologize. But, Sage…” I turn my head to face her. “Is it true you’ve never sat down at a family dinner?”

She lets out a huff and avoids my eyes. Then she leans back on her elbows. “Sort of. I had a friend in high school who used to invite me over to dinner. We sat at a table like that.

Sometimes Gladys and I eat together too.”

“What about your family?” I ask, leaning down on my side beside her.

“My mother had me when she was really young and when I was in high school, she remarried and had a few more kids.

Her new husband was an asshole, and he hated me, so I emancipated myself at seventeen and moved away. Then, we just…lost touch. It’s sort of sad how easily she was able to let me go.”

My heart lurches as she speaks.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. As she turns toward me, our eyes meet and our faces are impossibly close. I let my gaze trail from her stunning blue eyes, down the gentle slope of her button nose, to the ring in her lip. And I find myself swallowing, almost as if…I’m nervous.

The tension grows as we stare at each other from just a few inches apart. And just when it feels unbearable, she turns away.

“I’m not gonna lie, Church Boy. It’s a little weird that your parents have kept your room so immaculate after all this time.”

I let out a sigh and shift on the bed. “It’s my mother. She thinks we’re going to need it again someday. So she keeps all of our rooms the way they were when we left. Even Isaac’s.”

Her eyes find mine again, and I instantly regret bringing him up. Please don’t ask me about him.

“Want to film a scene?” she asks, and I stare at her with confusion. Just like that, she breaks the tension.

“In here?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of hot. Fucking in your childhood bedroom.”

Blood rushes to my cock at the mere thought of getting to actually fuck her in here like we’re teenagers. “No…” I say, glancing at the door. “Someone could walk in, so let’s keep our clothes on.”

She bites her bottom lip. “Now I really feel like some girl you snuck into your room.”

A laugh bursts through my lips. “Just a couple of horny teenagers.”

“So let’s make out. I’ll let you feel me up like you did with those girls from high school.”

“Seriously?” Suddenly she’s asking to make out with me?

Where the fuck did this come from?

Then she holds up her phone. “For the viewers.”

Oh. Of course.

For the viewers.

Jesus, Adam. Get your head on right.

“Sure,” I reply casually.

With excitement, she scoots up the bed until her head is near the pillows. Then she turns on her camera and places it on the nightstand, finding a good angle before lying down on her back and waiting for me.

Something about this feels wrong and right at the same time. I mean, there’s no way to really fake making out so, like it or not, this will be real.

The sight of her lying on my bed, waiting for me, is something I’d like to etch in my memory forever. I can’t even remember the names of the girls I kissed here twenty years ago, but I’ll remember the way Sage is looking at me right now, in that black bralette and green skirt forever.

After taking a mental picture, I crawl over Sage’s body and nestle myself between her legs. With a smile, she whispers,

“Action.”

But I don’t kiss her, not right away. Instead, I brush a tendril of hair off her cheek with my thumb, and I stare into her eyes for a moment. And I think about that moment at dinner when she thanked me during the grace, and I can’t help myself.

“Was that real?” I ask.

Her face falls. “What?”

“When you thanked me during grace for showing you what a good man is? Were you being truthful?”

Recognition dawns on her face. And it takes her a moment to answer.