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  cALLOUS

  a sENSES sERIES NOVEL

  Xavier Neal

  CALLOUS

  Copyright© 2015 by Xavier Neal

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Dedication

  Dedicated to The Universe for bringing me the best year yet.

  Table of 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

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Other Books

  Xavier Neal

  Chapter 1

  Erin

  “Oh my God! What the hell is that?” Maxx’s voice shrieks from somewhere on the other side of my door.

  Trust me, not what you wanna hear after working until 2:00 a.m. the night before.

  “Erin!!!”

  You think if I just bury my head under the pillow I can pretend I don’t hear her?

  “Erin!!”

  I hear nothing. I hear nothing. I hear—

  “Erin Hart!”

  Stop laughing at me because I will use the pair of stilettos I wore last night as a weapon of mass destruction for the third time in a row.

  Groaning, I lift my body in my king size bed, lean back against my soft steel gray colored sheets, and brace myself for my pregnant best friend to barge into my room.

  On cue Maxx tosses my bedroom door open, a frantic look on her face, in her t-shirt that reads ‘Book Nerds Rule’ rolled up right under her boobs.

  Not cute, on anyone. And I don’t just mean the trailer park rolled up shirt look, but the T-shirt clad uniform she believes in. You like t-shirts cool, whatever, but for the love of God please can you wear a normal shirt, with a neckline not suited for an 8 year old boy occasionally?

  “What is that?” She points to her baby bump.

  I swear she does this at least once a week.

  “Maxx, its home to the future spawn of Logan Kellar,” I explain with a slight smirk. “That’s the warm home to the next generation of broody, annoying MMA fighters who fight and fuck their problems away.”

  Her mocha face sulks and she pulls down her t-shirt. “No, I’m having a girl.”

  “So you keep saying. You could always just—”

  “No.” She folds her arms across her chest. “We wanna be surprised.”

  “And by we, don’t you mean you”

  She smiles and shrugs innocently.

  You know, once upon a time, Logan and I were basically the same person. In the house that we all share, he and I are the most alike. We understand the importance of never getting too emotionally attached to people. Except well...now he is, which is good because he needed to be. It was about time he turned around and admitted how much he needed Maxx. Watching the Maxx and Logan train wreck was funny and scary at the same time. It also made me do something I hate to do more than admitting my brother has fashion sense. It made me actually reflect on my own feelings in the relationship department. Ugh, I’m getting shudders just thinking about it again.

  “Seriously,” Maxx grouses at me again flopping on the edge of my bed. “I don’t think I can handle getting any bigger.”

  “You’re not that big....”

  “Really? So I don’t look like an over inflated water balloon?”

  It’s way too early to deal with this.

  “No. Can I go back to bed now?”

  “Actually, I need a favor.”

  “Shocking,” I mock.

  “Logan, Dean, and I are gonna go look at some stuff for the new house,” she starts.

  Logan, Maxx, my brother Luke and I have shared this house together for the last seven years and I can’t explain to you how insane it is that they’re moving out. This entire last year has been like one giant heel toe boot kick in the chest. First, it was the roller coaster ride of Maxx and Logan finally hooking up. Then, they legally adopt Dean, a teenager from an abusive home. Followed next by her getting knocked up and the two of them saying, ‘I do’. Now...well now they’re moving out to buy a house all on their own, like adults moving on with their lives. You’ll never hear me admit this out loud again, but I don’t actually want them to leave. I don’t wanna be one step closer to being permanently alone.

  “Is there anyway on your way to work you can swing by C.J.’s apartment for me and grab a package?”

  I don’t hide my groan of objection.

  Don’t even ask.

  “Please?” She sticks out her bottom lip like a two year old. “You can’t really tell a pregnant woman no, can you?”

  “Sure I can. No.”

  Maxx shakes her head and rolls her eyes behind her box frame glasses as she struggles to get up.

  It’s almost like watching a spinning top trying to stay upright.

  “Thank you. It’s a huge help.”

  “I said no.”

  As if she didn’t hear me she continues, “Just leave it on the kitchen counter. I’ll grab it when I get home.”

  Annoyed I snuggle back down in my blankets right as the door closes unsure of what irritates me more. The fact she woke me up from the sexy dream with the quarterback from the Green Bay Packers or the fact she is sending me over to see the only guy, I’ve ever met, that I fantasize about more than my pretend football husband.

  Like you don’t have pretend football husbands. Have you seen their ass in those pants? Yum.

  Chapter 2

  C.J.

  I watch my best friend, Stuart, raise his coffee cup to his mouth slowly.

  Whenever he’s nervous, all of his movements slow down because apparently his life is a fucking movie and this builds suspense.

  “It’s like this.” He clears his throat, playing with his tongue ring another nervous habit he has. “You’ve got 30 days before your father takes this into his own hands.”

  Unimpressed, I lean against the arm of the gray leather couch.

  “Look, C.J. It’s not an empty threat this time.”

  “It’s always an empty threat.”

  Stuart ruffles his shaggy dirty blonde hair.

  Not sure if the hair is an ode to the adolescent good times we had by the beach, a fuck off to the controlling people we call our parents, or just laziness. Look at him though. Does he not look like he belongs on some reality show aimed at teens with that hair cut?

  “Your father told mine who made sure to tell me that if you’re not back in Maryland in 30 days, he’s going to take it public.”

  My hands scrub the sides of my face.

  The last thing I need right now is for my face to be plastered all over the T.V. and internet. Leave it to my father to not only control the old life I had but the new one as well.

  Out of frustration, I rub the side of my temple. “Fine, fine! I’ll call him and see what I can do.”

  “Bro, he’s not budging on this.” Stuart takes another sip and gives his tight gray jeans an adjustment. “You’re gonna have to go back, C.J.”

  I shut my
eyes tight.

  If I wanted to go back, I wouldn’t have fucking left.

  Forcing my eyes open, I let out a heavy sigh. “Can we please change the subject?”

  “Yeah.” After a small beat, he says, “Can we talk about how good Luke’s ass looked in jeans the last time I saw him?”

  My head shakes as I try not to chuckle.

  “The things I would let him do to me if the situation was different.”

  “And by different, you mean?”

  “Sara, speaking of, did you get that paperwork drawn up for me?”

  “Yeah,” I push the envelope across the coffee table towards him. “And I’ll be at the mediation with you like I promised.”

  “Good.”

  “But Stuart, you have to know that if this doesn’t get settled at the meeting, we’ll have to go to court. And if we go to court, well...I can’t promise that your parents won’t find out.”

  “I know,” he sighs, his dark blue eyes looking down at his coffee cup, his tongue pushing the piece of metal in and out of the hole it is home too.

  “In fact, I can almost guarantee you that she’s gonna try to use it against you.”

  “You don’t think I know that? You think that makes having to look Mr. and Mrs. Ducane, the perfectly groomed politician and his wife, in the face as I tell them their one and only son is gay any easier? Because, it doesn’t!” His hard swallow makes me feel like an asshole for bringing it up.

  I could care less that he’s gay. Hell, I was the one that caught him kissing Mark H. in 5th grade. His parents, on the other hand, don’t typically care to let him live his own life, because, Heaven forbid, it makes them look bad. You know, just like my own.

  “I’m gonna try to keep us out of the courtroom. I mean, I know I was just there a few months ago to help Maxx and Logan get Dean, but if I can avoid going back any time soon again, I fucking will. I actually had to go and buy a nice tie for that.”

  “Seriously? You have enough nice ties to make GQ jealous.”

  “Yeah, well, I left them in Maryland with everything else when I skipped. Never planned on needing them here. Never planned on stepping back into a courtroom either.”

  “That was pretty cool of you. Helping them get custody.”

  A smile falls on my face. “Felt good too.”

  “That kid is fun to have around.”

  I nod in agreement. After a beat, I sigh, “You know between their case and yours, I’ve been thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to go back to being a lawyer. But instead of high profile bullshit, really make a difference, ya know? Helping families, and people, and kids....”

  “So why don’t you tell that to your father?”

  “And be the reason he goes into an early grave? Yeah. I don’t think so.”

  “C.J.—”

  “Nope.”

  “C.J.—”

  “Subject over.”

  “But—”

  “Co-sign on it, bro.”

  Stuart offers a hand in surrender. “Co-sign.”

  You too. Co-sign. What? You don’t understand? It means you agree with me. Everyone doesn’t use that phrase? Huh. Well now you do.

  “Shouldn’t you be leaving? Don’t you have someone’s picture to take?”

  It’s what he does. Photographer and no I don’t mean like any asshole with a nice camera calls himself a photographer. I mean he’s won prizes for his photos, done pieces for magazines and a couple of male model shoots. He’ll take any kind of photo and every kind of photo.

  “God, it’s a toddler’s birthday party out in Fair Field.” He groans standing up.

  “So it should feel like home then.”

  “Which is exactly why I’m not excited,” the answer is followed by him grabbing the envelope off the table. “That and taking pictures of clowns isn’t fun for anybody.”

  Neither one of us were cut out for the country club lifestyle in the long run. I mean, yeah, Stuart dresses the part but his need to be the photographer who lays his dick where ever he lays his camera like some sort of camera rock star doesn’t really scream politician’s son. You’re wondering about me now huh? Well keep wondering.

  After walking Stuart out, I reach for my cell phone knowing damn well I need to make this call, but would rather Erin kick me in my left nut.

  And let’s be clear that she would take the offer. Erin....oh...Erin. Sticky subject, but I’ll give you the quick version. We’ve been friends dancing around the subject of being more for almost a year. No. Not tap dancing. Think tango. She pretends to want to punch me in the face rather than kiss me. Very elementary school style but with her...I dig the whole love to hate you, hate to love you vibe. It fits.

  Within a couple of moments, I’m pacing my apartment living room floor listening to the thing ring. My eyes glance in the direction of the kitchen which branches off to the right then loops around to a dining nook against the far wall taking up the complete opposite side of the apartment from the front door. The nook that’s home to my steel gray and glass modern table is also home to the door that leads to my patio.

  “Ah,” my father victoriously sneers through the phone. “I see passing words along to you through the grapevine actually does get the job done.”

  Leaning my ass against the back side of my couch, I stare at the black and white photo of water hitting the sand to where the word ‘Bro’ is written in it.

  The photo was my 30th birthday present from Stuart this year. The guys and I had all hung out together, but only he knew the real reason why the get together was anything special in comparison to the others. He gave me the gift before we left to meet up with them at a sports bar to start the night’s festivities. It was meant to be a wedding gift to me, and when that fell through I guess he figured the occasion of a milestone birthday in a new city would work too.

  “Surprised it took you this long to pull Stuart’s family into it.”

  “His father has been busy with his fundraising, and it didn’t feel right to bother him at the time. I was expecting you to come to your senses by now.”

  Indifferent to his comment I respond, “I know what you’re trying to do—”

  “I’m not trying any more, Christian.”

  I hate that he uses my real name.

  “It’s done. Now when you ran away from your wedding and left a mess for your mother and me to clean up, we did it. When you disappeared and thought we couldn’t find you playing bartender in Texas, we let you. But enough is enough. We’re getting close to a year of this nonsense, and it needs to end. You took your little vacation to fight the power or whatever you hipsters call it—”

  “I’m not a hipster.”

  “But it’s time, Christian. You have 30 days to be seated at this dinner table or I’m gonna run a news report about my so-called missing socialite son around the country on every outlet that will run it and destroy the facade you’re hiding in.”

  My fingers run through my dark hair and give it a tight pull in hopes of relieving some of the stress. “Fine, 30 days. But you’re not gonna like what I have to say.”

  “And you’re not gonna like what I have to say either.”

  “Do I ever?” I mutter before rolling my eyes and hitting end on the phone. Immediately, I toss the stupid thing over my shoulder onto the couch.

  Son of a bitch! The last place I want to go back to is Maryland. Bontassa, Maryland, the home of those that breed money with social status and build fences to divide new money from old money like it doesn’t all spend the same fucking way. In case you’re wondering, it does.

  The pounding on my front door forces me to let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. Quickly, I hustle across the room to answer the knocking and am greeted by a vision that adds to the list of reasons I never want to leave this place.

  Erin raises her eyebrows at the sight of me shirtless as her pink tongue wets her lips.

  If only you knew how many times I’ve wanted that thing against my own.
/>   “What? You don’t believe you have to wear clothes to answer the door?” Her sass is followed with her folding her arms across her chest, making those perfect b-cup tits of hers pop out at me in her button down white shirt.

  The more attitude that falls out of her mouth, the more I just wanna put my fucking dick in it. What? Too honest?

  “And have to miss that look on your face? Pass.” I lean one arm on the door frame and wiggle my eyebrows.

  A disgusted growl comes out of her mouth, and she taps her high heel covered foot at me. “It’s way too early for you to be so annoying.” I smile wider, and she rolls her eyes again. “I’m here to pick something up for Maxx and Logan.”

  “Right,” my head nods slowly and I back up. “Come on in. I’ll go grab it.”

  Erin follows me in shutting the door behind her. I head down the hall, take a left into my office, and grab the documents that are thankfully in a blank sealed envelope on my glass desk.

  While Maxx and Logan, her best friends, and now mine too, happen to know that I’m not just the neighborhood friendly bartender, she doesn’t. And it needs to stay that way. Just trust me on that.

  Strolling back into the living room, I notice her leaned over moving magazines around my coffee table. She has her long brown hair that’s almost down to her ass pulled to one side. Her perky ass is squeezed tightly into a black skirt that is swaying slowly back and forth while she riffles through my shit. The combination and slow movement of her in that position makes my cock stir the same way it always does when she bends over.

  It’s not my fault the girl looks like a fucking Victoria Secret model and then when she bends over her ass just so happens to look like the perfect place for my cock to be nestled. I can’t be held responsible for her looking so fucking good. That’s her fault. Or her guardian angel’s for insisting she wear looser clothing.