Foolish Games: Cartwright Brothers, book 3 Read online

  Foolish Games

  Cartwright Brothers, book 3

  Lilliana Anderson

  Ebook Edition

  Copyright © 2018 by Lilliana Anderson

  All rights reserved.

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

  Cover design by Ember Designs

  Editing by Making Manuscripts

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. MacGyver is full of shit

  2. None Of This Makes Any Sense

  3. All The Space In The Room

  4. Nothing To Lose And Everything To Gain

  5. Searching For Meaning

  6. You’ll Never Be Done With Me

  7. I Should Have Gone To Bed

  8. Two People Who Don’t Hate Each Other

  9. A Puddle Of Liquid That Can’t Even Speak

  10. Dog On A Leash

  11. The Woman You Need To Be

  12. It’s Been Weird

  13. Holy Fucking Pissflaps

  14. Castle Grayskull

  15. Do You Kill A Lot Of People?

  16. Knight In Stolen Armour

  17. Battle Cat

  18. Stand Here And Look Pretty

  19. All Hands On Deck

  20. A Completely Fucked-Up Kind Of Right

  21. Take It

  22. Born To Do This

  23. Criminals Are Like Cockroaches

  24. Hopeful Comfort

  25. The Cruellest Of Cruel

  26. As Green As Green Can Be

  27. Eight Hours

  28. The One Person Who Gives A Damn

  29. I’m Not A Cartwright

  30. Where Do I Sign?

  31. Let Me Be Your First

  32. A New Kind of Debt

  33. Band of Thieves

  34. Soppy As Fuck

  35. For A Girl Like Me

  Also by Lilliana Anderson

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  For the fools who love a good time

  Foreword

  Whenever I think about the experience of writing this book, I think about that joke, ‘I just flew in from out of town and boy, are my arms tired.’ It’s not that I had to do a lot of travelling during the course of this book, it’s just that I had terrible muscle pain from the hours I spent at my computer, deleting then rewriting, deleting then rewriting.

  I scrapped over half of this book—twice! Why? Because Ronnie was a really difficult character to write, and if her words didn’t sound authentic to her, I didn’t want them in the book. But, we got there in the end. Early readers have been telling me that Foolish Games is their favourite Cartwright book yet.

  It’s funny, it’s intense, it’s sexy. And it’s also bittersweet because it marks the halfway point of our Fool Series journey. Two more fools to go. I think we’re all going to miss them.

  Take heart, we get to enjoy the journey together. And what a journey it is.

  I hope you enjoy, Foolish Games.

  Chapter One

  MacGyver is full of shit

  “Bum a smoke?”

  Maree squinted in my direction as she leaned against the building, one arm across her middle, the other angled toward her mouth, menthol cigarette hanging loose between her fingers.

  “Hey Ronnie,” she said, reaching into her pocket to pull out the gold packet with a green band around the bottom. She handed it to me. “Want one?” Her voice was so raspy, the kind of sound only those with a serious nicotine habit developed after years of abusing their lungs. It was kinda sexy if I was being honest.

  “You ever thought about being a phone sex operator, Maree?” I asked, placing the cigarette between my lips. I lit up and inhaled while she gave me a sidelong glance that said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I’m serious.” I laughed, the fresh cool feeling of the menthol coating my mouth as the receptors in my brain fired up. I didn’t generally smoke menthols, but beggars couldn’t be choosers as my mother always said. “You’d be great at it.”

  “Why would I want to talk to some random guy while he jerked off in my ear? That would be the worst job ever.”

  “Worse than waiting tables wedding after wedding while drunkards grab your arse and call you ‘sweetheart’?”

  She bounced her shoulders on her wiry frame as she sucked her cigarette down to the butt. “I’m far too old for any guy to grab my arse, drunk or sober,” she said, smoke popping out of her thin lips with each word. “And this job is OK. It pays the bills while Daz is still finding his feet.”

  “Still nothing?” I asked, watching her stub the butt with the toe of her black dress shoe.

  “Nah. That ex of yours pissed off and still no one will work with Daz. This going straight stuff is for the birds, I tell ya. If I ever find the guys with the Ute, I’ll have their balls and make myself a nice necklace out of them.”

  Laughing through my nose at the mental image of a testicle necklace, I nodded in agreement. We’d both seen some hard times over the past year. And I put the blame for that squarely at the feet of a certain group of brothers. Life was much better before they came along. Sure, I was the one who took their car. But they took it back, and it should have ended there—they didn’t need to ruin our lives over it too.

  “Why don’t you do phone sex if you need the money?” she asked, flicking her faded blonde hair out of her eyes.

  “Because I don’t have a sexy rasp to my voice like you do.”

  That made her grin. “You could do that video sex then. You know the ones where they pay you to touch yourself? I’d do that if I was still twenty-seven and had great tits like you. Reckon I’d rake it in. Sex sells you know.”

  “Nah. I don’t have a computer.”

  “What happened to the one you had?”

  “Those dickheads stole it from me when they took their Ute back.” Although, to be fair, I’d stolen it originally when some kid decided to use the restroom in a coffee shop and just left it there on the table. I walked past and yoink, I tucked it under my arm like it belonged to me. Too easy. I had a habit of taking things left unattended, and a sweet-looking MacBook was too hard to pass up. Still, I was pissed that it was gone. I had to watch Netflix on my phone now.

  Glancing at her watch, Maree gave me another shrug. “Sucks to be you, hey? I guess you’re stuck here working with me. Sweetheart.” Her mouth kicked up at the side just before she slapped me on the side of the thigh.

  “Fuck you, old lady,” I teased, smiling because despite our twenty-year age difference, she was probably my favourite person. She was also my boss, and didn’t look like an old lady at all. She just looked like someone who didn’t sleep much, smoked, and drank a lot.

  She laughed at my dig and opened the side door. “Better finish up. They’ll start arriving for the reception in about ten minutes. Don’t want the guests to find us out here smoking. Anyone bitches, I might lose my job, and I doubt anyone else would put up with your slacker attitude and criminal history.”

  Showing her my half-finished cigarette, I smiled as I flipped her my middle finger. She laughed.

  “I won’t be much longer.”

  She nodded. “See you inside.”

  Taking my time with the cigarette, I looked out at the parking lot. There were a couple dozen cars in it, mostly belonging to employees. Pretty soon, it would be full of random vehicles, all belonging to the friends and family of the happy couple.

  Happy c
ouples. They made me want to vomit. I’d seen so many of them in the several months I’d worked here. They gazed into each other’s eyes, and linked arms to do that stupid champagne-drinking thing. So sweet it made me sick. I was never going to get married. So far, every guy I’d ever dated had been nothing but a disappointment. In high school, I dated guys my own age, and they just turned out to be morons who wanted sex to crow about. Then I started dating older guys, because I hoped they’d be more mature, and maybe they would, I don’t know, be stable enough to take care of me somehow. But that was a bust. I ended up feeling like the moron in that situation. Now I just focused on keeping my own shit together. It was better when I quit thinking about anyone else. No one counted on me, and in turn, I didn’t count on anyone else either. It was easier that way. I was fine. Whatever fine was supposed to be…

  Finishing my cigarette, I dropped it on the ground and stubbed it out where Maree had. Then I kicked both butts into the garden and turned to head inside. Just as I opened the door, the flash of sun against a windscreen drew my attention. And here they come.

  Normally, I’d go straight in and give everyone a heads-up, but this time, I stood and watched. Familiarity kept me rooted in place as a Ute, a burnt-orange colour with grey accents, pulled into a parking spot. Holy shit. It’s him.

  A little under a year ago, I was dating a guy named Johno. He wasn’t much into the whole nine-to-five gig, but he was really good at stealing cars. I wasn’t too bad at it either. Working with Maree’s husband, Dazza, we were making bank, taking a car once a month and selling it off. It was a sweet life. We were happy. But then I spotted an opportunity to get my hands on that particular car—a Holden Ute that was less than twelve months old. The owner left his keys in plain sight while he taught some girl how to surf. He basically begged me to take his ride. So, I did. Next thing I knew, there were two dudes and a chick breaking into our house to steal the Ute back.

  They took it, my computer, and my Beats. Then they tied me up, beat Johno until he passed out, and made it pretty clear they’d kill us if we ever crossed them again. After that, we couldn’t sell food to the starving.

  And now, after becoming the reason my life was in the toilet, the Ute guy was parked maybe fifteen metres away from me. Maree would have a fit when I told her he was here. She’d also need to get her testicle-cutting knife ready.

  My jaw ached from clenching my teeth so hard. But I couldn’t tear my gaze away waiting for the driver’s door to open. I couldn’t breathe, my heart beating so hard it hurt my ears. Then he was outside, larger than life, the monster under my bed, looking just like a man. He was taller than I remembered, his huge body unfolding itself as he straightened and looked around with a dimpled smile, pulling sunglasses from eyes so blue I could see them from here. So carefree. His dark brown hair had grown—before it was cropped close to his head, but now it was short at the sides and longer on top, styled so it looked like he’d run his hands through it and it just stayed like that. I hate people who look so effortlessly good. He wore a suit that moulded to his body like it was made of liquid, showcasing some crazy big muscles.

  He was hot. Ridiculously hot.

  I hated him even more.

  Anger flared inside my chest. So what if he was good-, no, great-looking? He messed with my life and he needed to pay for that…somehow. But, what was I going to do? I could go over there and kick a dent into the side of his stupid car right in front of him. Or, I could spit in his food, fill his glass with toilet water, trip him so he fell into the wedding cake. There were so many choices. But damaging his car felt the most cathartic. I really wanted to kick that thing.

  Clenching my fists at my side, I set my shoulders and started marching in his direction. I didn’t care about him seeing me. I didn’t care about losing my job. I only cared about vengeance. I barely made it five steps when more cars turned up, and I froze where I stood. People started getting out; a couple of guys who looked related to the first. Older brothers, I guessed. I’d seen one of them at the beach during an altercation with Ute guy. But the other one I’d never seen before. He held open his car door and helped an overweight blonde woman out. Then they all stood together and spoke before they stopped and looked at the Ute as the passenger door opened. I thought it was going to be the woman I’d seen Ute guy with on a couple of occasions, but it wasn’t a woman at all, it was another man—another brother—and he looked exactly the freaking same as the first guy. Twins. The arsehole had a twin brother.

  Double the hotness.

  Shut up, brain.

  “What are you still doing out here?” Maree’s voice snapped me out of my vengeful thoughts.

  “Um…” I started, trying to decide what to tell her. She didn’t know these guys by sight. Did I tell her who they were now, or wait until the end of shift? While I was willing to risk my own job by kicking the crap out of the Ute, I didn’t want to risk hers too. She had a mortgage to pay. “I was, um…”

  “Whoa,” she said, looking in the same direction as me. “Is that the bridal party? They look like those guys on the stripper cruises. Stupid hot.” She placed her hand on her chest like she might swoon.

  “Yeah,” I said simply.

  “Ha! Look at you. You’re speechless over them. Bet you wouldn’t mind one of them grabbing your arse and calling you sweetheart,” she crowed, nudging me in the arm with her elbow and giving me a lewd smile.

  Giving her an awkward laugh, I shook my head and turned away from the parking lot. It took some effort to uncurl my fists, crescent marks from my nails stinging my palms. “Let’s just get back in there, hey?” I suggested, deciding it was best to wait. Doing something now, telling her who they were, it would just do more damage to us. And we’d already suffered enough.

  C…

  Pressing my fingers against the length of my key, I forced the point through the copper-coloured paint. It took a bit of effort—that paint protection stuff wasn’t easy to get through—but I was making headway. The letter was looking nice and bold, carved into the driver’s door.

  Turned out I couldn’t wait. On top of being fond of five-finger discounts, I also had impulse control problems. Sue me. Seeing them inside, knowing the car was here, I had no choice but to satisfy my itch.

  To my credit, I waited for my break and made sure the coast was clear before I came out. The only person who knew I was here was me. I took great delight in messing with these guys when they weren’t aware of it.

  U…

  Ten bucks to guess what I was writing. It was fitting. The guy was definitely a cunt. He and his family obviously had a shitload of money based on the cars they drove and the size of this wedding reception. From what I heard inside, it wasn’t even the first wedding. This was a vow renewal after the couple had been married for a year. I mean, who the fuck did that? Worse was the fact that the couple in question were the other two that had stolen the Ute back from Johno and me. Alesha and Sam Cartwright. And after the speeches, I learned that the twins were called Kristian and Abbot—although, I had no idea who was who, because they had the same hair and the same outfit on because they were groomsmen—and the other two brothers were Nate and Toby. The woman I’d seen get out of the car was Holland, and she was the matron of honour. I wasn’t sure if I should hate her by association, but decided it was best to just have a blanket loathing for all people with the Cartwright surname. Seemed a safe bet to me.

  Serving dinner wasn’t a lot of fun. I had to work the back table and keep my head down so none of them recognised me. I had to keep trading jobs with someone every time I was required to do something that involved going near the bridal party. Freaking nightmare.

  Those people seemed to have everything anyone could ever want. The happiness displayed between Alesha and Sam was like acid at the base of my throat. Kristian and Abbot were those classic boy’s boys—you know those guys in a group who are the life of the party everyone loves to be around? That was them. They had the attitude of men who didn’t have a care in
the world, everything was a joke, everything was a good time. It didn’t seem fair. They had everything and I had nothing. They took far more from me than I ever took from them. It isn’t fair.

  I pressed my key harder against the door, hitting metal. You couldn’t tell me that they didn’t have insurance for this thing, that they couldn’t have just reported it stolen like every other person would and left us the hell alone. It would have been win-win: they’d get another new car and Johno and I would have still been OK. I’d still have a roof over my head and none of this would even be a problem.

  “Stupid rich pricks,” I muttered, working on the lower part of the U then pushing the key upward to finish it off. I could hear the music playing inside, the dance floor filled with semi-drunk guests reliving their youth while dancing to Vanilla Ice. They’d move on to Salt-N-Pepa soon. It was always the same. My head ached.

  Almost ready to start on the N, I blew away the paint dust to check on the U’s boldness. I wanted this guy to drive around town letting everyone know exactly what he was without anyone having to squint.

  A throat cleared behind my right shoulder, and I froze.

  Crap.

  Slowly, I turned my head and looked up, up, until I found myself locking eyes with one of the brothers. He looked like he was late thirties, early forties with bright blue eyes and super neat hair. Toby. He’d given the shortest speech and been the quietest out of the Cartwright bunch. I’d noted the look of discomfort on his face a few times throughout the night. Maybe the grass wasn’t so green on his side of the fence.

  He tilted his head inquisitively and folded his arms across his big chest, leaning on the BMW sedan parked next to the Ute.

  I palmed my keys and stood bolt upright, hiding them behind my back. “Can you believe this?” I said in a rush. “I’m shocked, to be honest. This is a classy establishment and this kind of thing isn’t common here. I’m just taking photos to show management so we can get the owner compensated.”

  Toby lifted his brow so I knew he wasn’t buying a single word of what I was selling. Well, it was worth a try.

  “You were taking photos?” he asked. “With your keys?”