Love Me Like You Do: Books That Keep You In Bed Read online

  “I thought maybe that one was for me.” The side of his mouth turns upward slightly in a smile. I swear his teeth sparkle as he looks away and nods to the bartender, holding up two fingers.

  I swipe my tongue over my teeth, hoping they’ll sparkle like his do. “I would have, but I wasn’t sure if you were part of the cast or crew.”

  He turns and leans against the bar, taking a drink before asking, “Which are you?”

  “Crew, of course. Just like you.” I raise my glass and wink.

  Now, it’s really not a lie. This is indeed quite a crew.

  I drink slower now, not wanting to be totally inebriated, because this man is hot, like seriously hot, and also the polar opposite of … what’s-his-name. I want to remember this one.

  He has a full head of dark blond hair, blue eyes, a day or two worth of stubble covering his jaw, and a body that is definitely rocking the black V-neck, khaki cargo shorts, and flip flops.

  I see him eyeing me the same as I am him, taking me all in.

  I am in a Dad-approved swimsuit, even though I can’t go swimming for a while. The top isn’t all that revealing, which of course makes Dad happy, and the bottoms … well, I’m wearing a wrap for a reason.

  When his eyes finally make their way up to mine, he asks, “You thinking about going for a swim?”

  I set my glass down and smile. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of things.”

  His smile grows. “Is that so?”

  I shrug. “Weren’t we both?”

  He looks me over again, slower this time, his eyes darkening, yet he says nothing.

  No matter. It is what it is … God, I hope it is.

  My mouth is suddenly dry, so I drink down the rest of the champagne, for courage this time, and then set the empty on the bar. “I’m going to take a walk toward the back of the boat.” I place my hand against his waist, and I smile inwardly when I feel how hard his abs are. Abs, I love abs. “I might get thirsty.”

  He licks his lips, eyes cast downward, looking at my chest.

  I step back and turn around, allowing him to take in more of my assets. I look over my shoulder and give him the sultriest look I can pull off then slowly walk away.

  I hear him behind me … and so do my nipples.

  He’s hot. So hot. Definitely hotter than Danny and maybe even hotter than … what’s his name?

  I slow down, allowing him to catch up. He swings his arm around me from behind, a glass of champagne in his hand.

  I stop and look behind me. He’s looking down at me with beautiful eyes.

  I tip my head back and close my eyes as his lips come closer to mine …

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing young—”

  I turn my head quickly and groan, “Daddy, go away!”

  The arm in front of me quickly disappears as Dad stomps toward me. I look past him, knowing Carly will make him … behave, but she’s not there.

  Dammit!

  “—really fucking young, lady.”

  Buzzed and pissed, I decide to take care of the situation the way I was taught to handle my shit … by him!

  Rule number one: Make sure you’re right before you start some shit.

  I know I’m right. I’m of legal age!

  Rule number two: Be confident enough to handle your shit.

  So, I go with that.

  I hit him with rule number one, holding up my hand and telling him, “Dad, I’m of legal age to drink.”

  “Dad?” I hear tall, blond, and gorgeous snarl from behind me.

  Dad’s about to say something, so I hit him with rule number two.

  “To be clear, I’m an adult, so this”—I motion between me and … aw hell, I don’t know his name either—“is none of your business.”

  “You will always be my fucking business, Little Bell.” He points at me then at the hottie. “And what the fuck are you thinking, Arnesen?”

  Arnesen? Oh damn, he’s Paige’s, the bride’s, brother.

  “I was thinking she was thirsty,” he snaps back at Dad.

  I cringe. Oh, here we freaking go.

  “I was also not thinking she was one of you.” If he had said that with less attitude, it would have defused the situation, but he clearly isn’t intimidated by my father.

  Stow it before I blow it, is not only Dad’s warning, but his exact words whenever I pop off at the mouth at him. I never pushed hard enough to see what him blowing it actually meant.

  Time to diffuse the ticking time bomb that is Jase Steel.

  “It was an honest mistake,” I say, hoping to catch his attention because Dad is turning red — I can even tell in the dim lighting— and his fists are actually balled-up at his sides. If I think about it, he truly resembles a cartoon character who is actually ready to explode into a million confetti-colored pieces.

  He doesn’t look at me, but Arnesen gives me a sideways scowl, and yes, I know I shouldn’t have lied.

  I attempt to step between them when Dad grabs my arms, moves me aside, and then demands, “Get your ass to bed.”

  He isn’t stepping away, and Arnesen isn’t either.

  Time to do the right thing or, in this case, the wrong thing to ensure there is no fight and that my overbearing father doesn’t do something because his grown-ASS, adult daughter is going to act her age.

  Ass. Huh, that’ll surely work.

  “I’m going for a swim first.”

  I’m definitely not going for a swim.

  I untie my wrap and let it drop to the ground before quickly starting to walk away.

  “You aren’t going … What in the fuck did you do!”

  “Jase!” I hear Carly yell, and then I see her running down the deck.

  “What? This?” I ask as I reach behind me and point to my ink.

  “Which one of those motherfuckers did that without asking permission!”

  “Jase.” Carly stands between us, panting as she tries to catch her breath.

  “No, nope, no way, baby. This is some bullshit.” Dad moves her to the side and starts coming toward me. “Who fucking did that to you?”

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. It’s scary … really scary.

  “I had it done when I was in New York.”

  “You go to some fucking shop in New York and let someone ink you? A tramp stamp, Isabella?”

  When he grabs my arm, I see Paige’s brother step toward us. Carly does, too.

  She grabs his arm, stopping him. “Pace, she’s fine.”

  Pace. His name is Pace.

  Again, in true cartoon fashion, Dad’s eyes bug out of his head as he whips around to look at … Pace. “And what the fuck do you think you’re gonna do, asshole?”

  “Jase, that’s enough,” Carly says as Pace glares at my dad.

  I pull my arm away from my father while he’s sidetracked, and he snaps his head back toward me.

  I hold up my hand, stopping him from saying a thing while I begin to speak. “I asked you, and you told me no several times. It means a lot to me; just like yours do. And Dad, it’s pretty fu—”—I stop when his eyebrows nearly jump up and off his face then groan as his constant and obvious hypocrisy shines through … again—“messed up that you are covered in them yet tell me I can’t. That you can curse yet freak when I do. I’m a grown-ass woman, Dad.”

  “You fucking think so?” he snaps.

  “No, Dad, I know so! And I know damn well Momma Joe never gave you half the crap you give me. She let you make your own choices; learn as you grew and matured. So give me the same courtesy, would you?”

  He throws his hands in the air. “You got a fucking tramp stamp!”

  I refuse to tell him that … what’s-his-name talked me into the placement. And I refuse to point out the obvious—it’s not a tramp stamp.

  “’She is beauty … She is wisdom … She is strength … She is love … She is me’. That’s what it says, Dad. It represents all the women in my life who have influenced me. It means so much to me. My
mom, Grandma Charlotte, Momma Joe, and Carly. It represents them being a part of me.”

  For a moment, I can see how it affects him, but then he’s back to pissed.

  “The women?” he huffs.

  “I could always get an arrow pointing to the crack of my ass with the words ‘He Is An’ above it, Dad.”

  When Carly snorts, Dad looks back and snarls at her.

  “I’m sorry, Jase, but that was hilarious.”

  He rolls his eyes, throws his hands in the air, and then looks back at me. “Get your ass to bed.”

  With my buzz wearing off and knowing my father isn’t going to leave this alone, I sigh as I bend over to pick up my wrap. Then I walk past him and stop in front of Pace. “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest about being part of the cast and not the crew, but as you can see”—I throw my thumb back toward my dad—“it’s sometimes a necessary evil.”

  Pace nods. “If you were my daughter, I can’t say I’d be any different.”

  “And she could be,” Dad sputters.

  I roll my eyes and begin to walk away. “Night.”

  Carly rushes up and stops me by taking my hand. “I think the thought behind your tattoo is beautiful.”

  I can’t help hugging her any more than I can help feeling emotions building up behind my eyes as I whisper, “You’re love.”

  “Oh Bell, so are you.” She hugs me tightly then steps back and smiles. “Can I see?”

  A smile bursts out of me as I hand her my phone, excited that I no longer have to hide it and can finally show someone. “Can you take a picture for me so I can get a better look?”

  “Of course.”

  When Carly walks behind me, she clears her throat.

  “Um, what did you say it says?”

  “ ‘She is beauty … She is wisdom … She is strength … She is love … She is me’.”

  “Oh dear,” she whispers.

  Hearing the concern in her voice, I look back at her. She’s looking at my tattoo, cringing ever so slightly.

  Eight

  Thugs

  Bella

  Lying in the dining hall on an air mattress, amongst my siblings and cousins, I feel sick. And not because the water is rocking the yacht, because that is actually the only thing comforting to me right now. But because I have a tattoo on my lower back that I have pondered for years, and it’s now tainted by the artist who I have vowed to myself that I would find and castrate as soon as I get off this boat.

  I hold up my phone one last time and look at the picture of what he did to me. The art is beautiful. Dare I say more detailed than I think I’ve ever seen?

  Let’s be honest; I don’t dare. That’s why I’m thinking it … in my head.

  But he tainted it.

  She is beauty … She is wisdom … She is strength … She is love … She is mine.

  “No, motherfucker, I am mine!” I hiss at the picture.

  “Huh?”

  I look up and get blinded by a flashlight in my face.

  “Kiki, you’re blinding me.”

  She turns it off. “Sorry.” Then she crawls over to me and sits on my air mattress. “Did you just say motherfucker?”

  “Language,” I scold, sounding just like Dad.

  “Look around, Bell; you’re no more an adult than we are. So, if I wanna say motherfucker, I will say motherfucker.”

  I’m completely shocked. “Oh my God, Kiki. Really?”

  In the dark, from a distance, I hear a whispered motherfucker against stifled giggles. Then another whispered motherfucker, followed by more giggles and many … many more motherfuckers. I feel like I’m camping in the middle of a field, but instead of being surrounded by crickets, I’m surrounded by all the little Steels chirping motherfucker and giggling.

  “Enough!” I whisper-hiss at them as I turn on my phone light and flash it around the room, seeing all their faces grinning. “That’s enough.”

  Then, like little cockroaches, they begin to crawl toward me. When I’m completely circled by Max, Truth, Justice, Patrick, Tris, Amias, and Brisa, I look at Kiki and arch my brow. “See what you’ve done?”

  Oh my God, I am now acting their age.

  She says nothing. It’s fucking creepy.

  When Justice turns on his phone light so it points up at his face, it’s even creepier. When they all follow suit, I pull my sleeping bag up to my chin.

  Justice narrows his eyes. “We made a decision.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah.” Max scowls. “You need to Steel up.”

  “Steel up?” I ask, trying to hide my amusement.

  “They kept saying man up, and we decided it was sexist,” Truth explains.

  “Meaning, you need to grow a set,” Kiki clarifies, as if I need her to.

  “The way we see it, we’ve let you lead the way long enough, Bell. No disrespect, but you keep it up, I’ll be yanking my chain well into my twenties, and I am so sick of you yanking my chain,” Patrick huffs.

  They all look from him to me.

  “You got a tattoo, and you come running in here like you’re still in middle school,” Amias states matter-of-factly. “You’re a woman. A beautiful woman who needs to own her womanhood.”

  Oh my God, he sounds just like Uncle Zandor.

  His sister Tris pipes in with, “I don’t plan to be a virgin throughout high school.”

  “She’s not sad because she’s a virgin, Tris; she’s sad because someone gave her a tattoo and botched it up,” Brisa tells her sister, and then they all look at me.

  “Is it bad?” Justice asks.

  “It’s fine,” I lie, trying to stop the madness and questions. “Nothing any of you—”

  “ ‘She is mine.’ Someone tagged her ass,” Patrick snaps, “without consent.”

  “How the hell do you know that?”

  “I was tailing Aunt Carly, hiding behind the post.”

  What the fuck?

  “This is none of your business,” I scold him.

  “Two things,” Justice begins. “One, you’re wrong. What you do affects us. Two, I want his name and address, because that’s fucked up, Bell, and he needs to learn a lesson.”

  I laugh. “And what are you going to do about it?”

  “We,” Kiki pipes in. “What are we gonna do about it.”

  Oh, my good Lord, if Dad thinks I’m hard to handle, he’s in for a rude awakening.

  Max grins. “We’re gonna teach him a big-ass lesson.”

  I can’t help laughing at that. “Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do? You can’t even drive.”

  They all look at Patrick, who gives them all a death glare.

  “Please tell me you, at fifteen, haven’t driven. That’s illegal and unsafe, Patrick.”

  “That’s neither here nor there,” Kiki draws the attention away from a completely horrifying realization.

  “We’ll just rough him up,” Amias states.

  “Tag him,” Tris adds.

  “It’ll be done quietly, and no one will—”

  “Hell no.” Not gonna lie, I’m a little more than concerned now. I don’t know if they’re letting their imaginations fly or if they really would try to do something like this. “You’ll be kids. Nice kids. Nice Catholic school kids who—”

  “Can you imagine how terrified the asshole is going to be when we all come for him?” Patrick laughs.

  “In Catholic school uniforms?” I scold him. “He’s a man, not a kid. And—”

  “You ever see Children of the Corn, Bell?” Max asks. “Kids can be fucking terrifying.”

  I have to do something, because they look serious as shit.

  “He’s my boyfriend.”

  They all gasp.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “He was, and then we broke up.”

  I am going to Hell, but as I look around, I realize the chances are slim that I won’t be alone for long.

  Kiki grins. “Does Dad know?”

  I shake my head.

  She flas
hes her phone around to each of their faces. “We keep this between us.”

  They all grumble.

  She narrows her eyes. “We use it when we need it, but she’s one of us.” Then she looks back at me. “You really need to stop being such a pussy.”

  “Doesn’t mean we don’t love you, but really? You just got your Masters.” Max looks at me like I’m the child and he’s not before he walks back to his mattress.

  Tris smiles. “What was sex like?”

  “You’re like ten,” I scold her.

  “I’m like twelve.” She rolls her eyes and stands up then looks down at me. “And I’ve already been felt up.”

  I lose my shit.

  “All you motherfuckers back here right fucking now!”

  They jump, and I get a slight bit of satisfaction from it. Then they all come back.

  “Sit.” I point down and, oddly, they do. “Rules were made for other reasons than breaking. You break them for fun, then you’re a bunch of little thugs. You break them because they’re ridiculous, that’s another thing.”

  “Well, Dad’s rules are ridiculous,” Kiki interrupts.

  I point at her. “You be quiet and listen. No dating, no drinking, no drugs, and no decorating. Dad may be over the top, but he made them for a reason.”

  “Mainly because he broke every fucking one of them,” Kiki quips.

  “I’m adding one. No being dumb. You sound dumb when you say fuck every other word, not adult.”

  “It’s a great word,” Max, my thirteen-year-old brother, defends her. “Very versatile.”

  “Okay, Max, go ahead and play the dumb card even harder. But it’s true. Spend a little less time trying to be a thug and a little more time broadening your vocabulary.”

  I look at Tris. “No boy deserves to touch your twelve-year-old boobs.”

  “It’s not about the boy. My boobs deserve to be touched and admired,” she replies flippantly.

  “Dear God, they haven’t even fully checked in yet! They’re at an awkward stage. And,” I huff, “And, you ever look at a penny from the 60s?”

  She looks at me like I’m nuts.