Free Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2) by Ginger Scott

house.
    Everything in here is either really expensive or a piece of trash. It’s weird. I know Sasha’s parents have money—they own a lot of land, and they’ve sold most of it. They farm this small plot, and they don’t even do their own farming.
    They’re never around, but I heard Sasha and her friends are staying here for college, driving to Northwestern for school. The result—this farmhouse has become a five-bedroom dorm without any supervision.
    “Hey, baby Harp…” House nudges me with a red plastic cup in his hand. I take it from him and smell it; it isn’t beer. “Just drink it.”
    I take a small sip and start to cough instantly while House leans forward and lets out a belly laugh. “Welcome to your first taste of Jack, baby Harp. Don’t tell your brother I gave it to you; he’ll kick my ass,” he says, holding his cup out to click cheers with mine, urging me to drink the rest along with him.
    I do.
    And I drink one more after that.
    I’ve been drunk on beer before. Owen was always more lenient about that. But never the hard stuff. This buzz…it’s different.
    I like it.
    I stop after two, though, and manage to discard a third shot of whiskey, knowing any more will probably have me throwing up. The living room has become the hub for the party, and Sasha has set herself next to me, her legs draped across my lap from one side of the beanbag to the other. I can tell she’s lit, and House keeps raising an eyebrow at me.
    “You look a lot like your brother, you know?” she says, taking a long, slow drink of whatever’s in her cup. Sasha was always the girl—the red-hot one who every guy wanted to sleep with and many had. She always liked Owen, though. They had a fling, but I don’t think she could ever call my brother hers.
    Right now, she’s looking at me with eyes that say she’s willing to accept the consolation—even if it’s three years younger.
    “Well, we’re related,” I say, laying my hands on her knees, feeling the temptation of how smooth they are sting my fingertips. I leave them there for a few seconds and slide them out an inch at a time, moving up her thigh and down her shin simultaneously, like I’m playing an instrument. She bites her bottom lip when I do, letting it slowly slide from her teeth, and I can completely understand why every other dude in the room wants to trade spots with me right now.
    “You’re the cuter one,” she teases me. I keep my eyes on her legs, knowing if I look to the right, into her eyes, they’ll be waiting to seduce me. But then…
    Sasha isn’t Emma.
    I’m buzzed, but that thought floats on repeat in my head. Emma. I can’t stop thinking about Emma.
    “Well, I’m younger, so I guess that makes me cuter,” I say, lips tight in a semi-smile, hiding my inner struggle to do the right thing. Sliding my hands under her legs gingerly, I let myself hesitate for one extra second before lifting her legs from my lap and pushing myself to my feet.
    I move to the stools on the other side of the room, taking a seat next to House, who is shaking his head at me.
    “Dude, you might be the first virgin I’ve ever seen say no to that,” he laughs lightly.
    “Yeah,” I sigh.
    “Here,” he says, handing me a joint he’s been smoking for the last few minutes. I look at it in his hand, then look to Sasha who has now let her legs fall open; I can see the black lace of her underwear peaking out through the middle. I turn back to the joint and pinch it between my fingers, bringing it to my lips. Drunk and high is still probably a better choice. Of course, the smart thing probably would have been to choose neither, but I blew that with the second shot of whiskey.
    I spend the next three hours intensely watching two guys play a made-up game on the pool table—rolling the striped balls at the solids. There don’t seem to be any rules, or fuck—maybe there are rules. Whatever, it’s fascinating. I watch it until I realize exactly how boring it is, and