"Good thing we have lots of ice cream."

"And whipped cream. And cherries," I remind her.

She nods. It takes a while before she finally speaks, but then it all tumbles out. "The rehab center forced my parents into attending family therapy. They told them I won't get better unless I dealt with the issues that were causing me to drink. Not feeling good about myself. Never feeling good enough for my parents. Stuff like that. I finally figured out why my dad was so hard on me my entire life. He resented me."

"Why would your dad resent you?"

"Because he's not technically my father."

"How can your father not be your father?"

"He's listed on my birth certificate as my father. And he raised me. But his swimmers didn't make me. He's not my biological father."

"You're saying your mom screwed around?"

She nods. "As soon as I had that piece to the puzzle my life made sense. Why my dad was so hard on me all those years. I knew he was in the Army when he was young. He was in the Middle East. Desert Storm. My mom got pregnant while he was deployed. And she has no idea who my biological father actually is. Apparently while my dad was away she drank a lot and slept around a lot. Sound familiar?"

"What's that saying about the fruit not falling far from the tree?"

"It's apples. Apples don't fall far from the trees."

"You could probably say that about any fruit, right?"

She laughs. "I've been waiting for this moment for a while. I finally have your nickname."

I frown. "I don't think I need a nickname."

"You have no trouble calling me Wild Child," she counters.

"That's because it's who you are."

"And you're the Cliche Mangler. You have a knack of completely twisting nearly every common saying in the English speaking world."

She has a point, but I'm not sure I'm willing to accept a nickname, at least not that one. "I'd rather be Mr. Big or Big c.o.c.k. How about Big Swinging d.i.c.k?"

A playful slap on the upper arm is her response to my suggestion.

"So your dad still raised you as his own kid? Even after your mom f.u.c.ked around behind his back?"

She nods. "And resented the h.e.l.l out of me since the day I was born. He's an honorable guy. He thought it was the right thing to do. And he's always loved my mom. He didn't want to leave her. He just didn't love me so much. Maybe because I was a constant reminder of my mom's infidelity."

"And I thought my family was f.u.c.ked up. Makes me wonder if anybody has a normal childhood."

"Harper did."

I laugh. "And look how she turned out."

"She may be a little unconventional on the outside, but she's got a big heart. And she's brilliant."

"I know she's your best friend, but she kind of freaks me out."

Brooke smiles. "How does she freak you out?"

"She's like an old person in a young person's body. I mean she's hot, underneath her weird clothes, but f.u.c.king her would be like f.u.c.king a grandmother."

Narrowing her gaze at me Brooke asks, "And how often do you think about f.u.c.king Harper?"

I shake my head. "Never. Sometimes I feel like Rayne can read my mind. If he ever caught me thinking about Harper that way he'd probably kill me. And then if I became a ghost, he'd kill that too."

That makes Brooke laugh. I love it when I can entertain her, even if it's because I'm an idiot.

I take her hand and look into her sparkling brown eyes. "I just want you to know that I think you're amazing."

She glances down and kicks a stone with the edge of her bright pink sneaker. Not exactly hiking shoes, but I don't think either of us expected us to actually hike.

When she looks back up at me her eyes are damp. "You're just saying that because you want to keep f.u.c.king me."

"I do want to keep f.u.c.king you. There's no doubt about that. But I'm not just saying it. Just because your dad treated you like s.h.i.t doesn't mean you are s.h.i.t. It means he's the one who feels s.h.i.tty about himself."

She gives me the tiniest of smiles. "Are you some kind of amateur rock star psychologist? Here's the t.i.tle of your first book: Mangled Cliches of a Bad Boy Rock Star."

"I'm the Cliche Mangler. What can I say?"

We both laugh.

"At least you're willing to own it."

"Good night," Brooke says as we stand outside of her bedroom door. She gives me a soft kiss that leaves me craving more. "Are you disappointed?"

I nod. I'm not going to lie. I'd like to be inside of her every chance I get.

She heaves a sigh. "I'm really trying to turn over a new leaf. I want to be the girl who can go on a date and have fun, but not always have to have s.e.x. Does that make sense?"

"Not really," I tell her. "But I'll do whatever you want. Whatever it takes."

Neither one of us makes a motion to move. Then I decide to throw something out there. "Can I still sleep with you?"

She frowns. "You mean like really sleep. Without having s.e.x?"

"Yea."

"Do you think that's even possible?" She presses her lips into a thin line.

I shrug. "I'm willing to give it a try."

"Okay," she replies more quickly than I expect.

When she opens her bedroom door I follow her inside. "I think I'd better wear pajamas," she announces. "Lessen the temptation."

"Sure, whatever." I slip off my boots and jeans, but decide I'll keep my t-shirt on. I'm still not ready for her to see my new tat.

She disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes and when she returns she's wearing the tiniest little shorts I've ever seen and a thin little tank top with no bra.

"Those are pajamas?" They're doing absolutely nothing to lessen the temptation in any way.

She laughs. "Yes, they're actually pajamas."

I quickly hop into bed so she won't see how hard I'm getting. As soon as she climbs into bed I grab her and pull her close. When she nestles right up next to me I'm sure she can feel my hard-on pressing against her a.s.s. But she doesn't say anything and neither do I.

I'm not really used to going to sleep so early and I'm not really that tired, so I'm glad when Brooke asks, "Are you asleep?"

"h.e.l.l no."

"Want to talk?"

"I'd rather be f.u.c.king you, but since that's not an option, sure, let's talk."

"I want to hear about your family. I told you all about mine."

"There's not a lot to tell," I reply. My family is not a subject I like to talk about. Or even think about for that matter.

"Tell me something," she insists.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

She laughs. "You know me so well."

"My parents are gone. Dead."

When she asks, "Do you miss them?" I'm not sure how to respond.

"I'm not sure I knew them well enough to miss them. Like if Xander, Rayne or Raven died it would be like a piece of me died right along with them. Those three are my family. When my mom and dad died I felt sad, but it didn't feel like part of me died too."

"I think it's different for me because I don't have siblings, or cousins I'm close to, it's just me and my parents."

"You have Harper."

"She's like a sister, I guess. Things are different now that she has Nic."

"And things are different for me now that I have you," I tell her.

When she turns over to face me I swallow. I have a feeling I know what she's going to say and I really don't want to hear it.

She places her hand on my cheek. "You don't really want me, Leo. You want the idea of me. Your Wild Child. You don't want Brooke Rhodes. n.o.body does. The girl's a mess. A basket case with tons of baggage. You could do a lot better than that. And you should. You're a rich rock star. A celebrity. You can have any girl you want. Why settle for hamburger when you can have filet mignon?"

I take her hand from my cheek and kiss her knuckles. "I think you're a little confused about who's the hamburger and who's the filet mignon." Then I look into her eyes. "Maybe I like my girls with lots of baggage. Ever think of that?"

She shakes her head. "You're nuts. You know that."

"Just crazy about you, Brooke Rhodes. Just crazy about you."

She flips back over and nestles up against me again. I wrap her in my arms and pull her even tighter. I hope she realizes I have no intention of ever letting her go.

"Have you even spooned before?" she asks.

"I have no idea what the f.u.c.k that is."

She laughs. "What we're going now. The way you're holding me. It's called spooning. You know-like spoons in a drawer."

"h.e.l.l, no. Have you ever spooned before?"

"I've perfected the art of the f.u.c.k-and-run. Most guys have just enough time to get their d.i.c.ks out of me before I'm putting my clothes back on. So, no. I've never spooned before."

"Good," I tell her as I pull her even closer.

"Do you like it?" Her voice is soft and unsure.

"It's okay..." I'm afraid to admit how much I like it.

"We don't have to..." she says as she tries to wriggle free.

"Stop," I whisper in her ear. "There's only one thing I'd rather do than spoon with you, okay."

I can feel her entire body relax. "Okay."

"Good, now let's go to sleep."

The room is so quiet and I feel so warm and relaxed with Brooke in my arms I don't even realize I'm drifting off until I feel her slide her shorts off.

"Are you getting hot?" I ask.

"You could say that?" Her voice is seductive.

When she turns over to face me there's desire in her eyes. I gulp. "I thought you were trying to turn over a new branch."

"New leaf," she corrects. "The Cliche Mangler strikes again."

Before I can reply she moves her hand toward my already hardening c.o.c.k. When she slides her hand over the length of my erection my boxer briefs seem like a nuisance in need of immediate elimination.

I begin to slide them down and when she doesn't protest I kick them off the rest of the way.

"Now what?" This is her dance and she needs to take the lead.

She turns her back toward me again, but reaches for my d.i.c.k. "Let's spoon and f.u.c.k at the same time."

"Do you want me to use a condom?" I offer.