Say You'll Stay: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Read online

  Say You’ll Stay

  Sarah J. Brooks

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Special Invitation

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Preview: Unexpected Heat

  About the Author

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Copyright © 2020 by Sarah J. Brooks

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Special Invitation

  Hey Sweetie,

  do you want to get THREE romance novels sent directly to your Facebook Messenger inbox? Simply click here and I will reach out to you personally!

  With love and talk soon,

  Sarah

  Prologue

  Meghan

  Ten years ago

  Young love was meant to be beautiful.

  It was a stomach full of butterflies.

  It was secret moments stolen between shy glances.

  It was soft touches that led to passionate first kisses.

  Falling in love was supposed to feel perfect.

  Too bad I decided to fall in love with my best friend.

  **

  “Ugh, I hate dressing up,” I complained as my sister Whitney tied my hair into a complicated updo. She gave the strands a yank, and I winced. “Are you trying to make me bald,” I griped, my eyes watering.

  Whitney rolled her eyes. “Stop whining; you’ll look beautiful.”She tucked an intricate braid into the bun at the nape of my neck.

  I blew out a noisy breath that was equal parts exasperation and anxiety. I stared at my reflection in the mirror as Whitney carefully placed a dozen or so bobby pins all over my head. I was wearing a knee-length sleeveless green dress that flared slightly from the hip. The color complements my dark red hair perfectly. It was a gorgeous chiffon material that made me feel incredibly fancy. I loved the way it floated around my body. The bodice was scalloped and embroidered with tiny beads. It showed just enough cleavage without making me look slutty.

  So even though I grumbled and huffed with irritation at all the primping and styling, a part of me loved every girlie second of it. I loved feeling pretty and desirable.

  Particularly when I hoped to make a certain person finally see me as something other than Meghan Galloway, softball captain, and all-around tomboy.

  Maybe, just maybe, this dress would do the trick.

  “All done,” Whitney announced, standing back with a satisfied expression.

  I stood up, shook out the skirt of my dress, and faced the new me in the mirror.

  And damn, she did not disappoint.

  I put a hand on my hip and turned from side to side, taking in my sister’s handiwork. Whitney was a whole eighteen months older than me and going to the community college down the road. She hated school, but she loved fashion and makeup. And every single feminine thing that I loathed and detested.

  Except this once.

  Because I looked freaking awesome.

  Dare I say, even attractive?

  It wasn’t an adjective I usually ascribed to myself. Not that I thought I was ugly. I wasn’t the kind of girl that moaned and cried about my weight or my looks. My self-esteem was just fine; thank you very much. Mostly because I took very little stock in what other people thought about me.

  I never applied makeup. I typically wore my thick, red hair in a ponytail. And my normal uniform consisted of my favorite pair of faded jeans, an assorted collection of graphic tees, and my most comfortable pair of battered Chuck Taylors.

  Sure, most guys would say I was cute, but I wasn’t the kind of girl that caught their attention when I walked by. I didn’t get catcalled or hit on. I was the girl the guys picked first for their soccer games. I was the one who joined them for hours of Call of Duty. I’d be first in line for the new slasher flick, never squealing over blood and gore.

  Whitney always said if I didn’t have boobs, she’d wonder if I was even female. And she wasn’t wrong. I was the antithesis of everything girlie.

  Until I realized I was half crazy in love.

  With Adam Ducate.

  My best friend for my entire life.

  Since then, everything had gone to hell, and my don’t-give-a-crap attitude went right out the window. I spent longer on my hair. I even started wearing a little bit of lip gloss—nothing too over the top, of course. I had even gone out and bought some prettier shirts. Whitney’s eyes had nearly bugged out of her head when she saw me in the color pink. Because I wanted him to look at me the way he looked at Angelina Jolie when we watched Tomb Raider for the fiftieth time.

  My almost obsessive fixation on his lips was also becoming a problem. I had to force myself not to stare too long at his mouth. I couldn’t think about much else but his gorgeous blue eyes and dimples. And soft, dark hair that fell slightly in his eyes. And his cocky smile with the chipped front tooth from the time I threw a football at his face, and he failed to catch it.

  I had it bad.

  “You’re a magician, Whit. You turned me into Cinderella,” I laughed, twirling.

  Whitney snickered but then became serious. “So, you’re finally gonna say something?”

  I stopped preening over my damn-I’m-hot reflection and met her eyes in the mirror.

  Aside from Adam, Whitney knew me best. I told her most everything, including about my new infatuation with the boy who had been a fixture in our house for the past seventeen years.

  I had originally hoped my feelings would go away. I chalked it up to temporary insanity. It was the only thing that made sense.

  I had known Adam literally my entire life. His mom and my mom had been best friends since high school. Our dads played Parks and Rec basketball together. His younger sister Lena had learned to walk in our living room. Whitney had started her period during the annual Ducate New Year’s Eve party when she was thirteen. Our families were so intertwined that our friendship had been a sure thing. Until I decided that I would follow the route of every other silly teenage girl and fall for the most unattainable guy possible.

  Because Adam Ducate wasn’t just my best friend since birth. He was the most beautiful boy in our entire school and the object of just about every girl’s—and some boy’s— fantasy. Including Whitney at one point, though she swore her case of Adamitis was down to a bad viral infection.

  No female under the age of thirty was immune to Adam’s many, many charms. I had teased him about it, goading him to use his sexy smile to con extra cookies from the sour-faced lunch ladies in our school cafeteria on more than one occasion, or to fli
rt with the awkward cashier at the movie theater so we could get more popcorn free of charge.

  Now I could only stare at him in tongue-tied horror as our friendship morphed into one-sided desperate longing.

  I let out a long, pent up breath full of adolescent angst. “What if it ruins everything?” I exclaimed dramatically. I wasn’t one for extreme theatrics, but lately, it seemed I was one huge teenage cliché. The tomboy who falls in love with her hottie bestie. It was the stuff of John Hughes’ movies and chick-lit novels.

  It made me want to gag.

  And then die at the mortification of it all.

  Whitney put an arm around my shoulder, giving me a squeeze. “And what if it doesn’t?”

  My cheeks flushed, and my hands started to feel clammy. “It’s Adam. I’m not supposed to like Adam,” I reminded her.

  Whitney rolled her eyes again, her de facto response to most things I said. “It’s Adam. How can you not like Adam?”

  She was right. It was bound to happen sooner or later, particularly after he turned fourteen and grew five inches, and his physique started to resemble a linebacker. But it wasn’t just about his looks. I could probably ignore the twinges of desire if that were the only thing about him that I was into. But Adam was smart. He read biographies on the US presidents for fun. He could count to 100 in seven different languages. He liked George Romero movies and could recite all the dialogue from Day of the Dead. He was a kick-ass tennis player, and we made a great doubles team.

  And he visited his grandparents every Friday after school without fail. He made sure to bring his grandmother a Baby Ruth candy bar, her favorite, and a bouquet of flowers he’d pick up at the corner market by her house. And he took his granddad the latest tape of baseball games he had recorded for him during the week so they could watch them together.

  Adam was everything every other boy in our grade wasn’t.

  Whit was right. How could I not like Adam?

  The question was, did Adam like me back?

  I nodded, feeling resolute. “I’m going to tell him. Tonight. At the dance.”A twinge of doubt took hold. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if I ruin our friendship?”Those were the two things that had been swimming around in my head since I realized I wanted to stick my tongue down my best friend’s throat. What if this destroyed seventeen years of friendship?Because at the end of the day, that mattered more than any potential relationship.

  Whitney kissed my cheek. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Meg. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. If I were a betting gal, I’d say he’s as ga-ga over you as you are over him.”

  “Psh, no way,” I scoffed, but the butterflies had taken hold in my stomach. It felt a lot like hope.

  “Meggie, Adam and the gang are here!” my dad called up the stairs.

  “Here goes nothin’.” I grabbed my canvas tote bag covered in patches, slinging it over my shoulder.

  “You can’t take that bag,” Whitney groaned, trying to pull it from my shoulder. “It completely ruins the look.”

  I grinned, hurrying out of my room before she could take it from me. I may be dressed up, but I was still Meg Galloway after all. Whitney chased me down the stairs, the two of us laughing the whole way. And then I saw him.

  I came up short, Whitney almost running into my back.

  Adam stood at the foot of the stairs talking to my dad, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pressed trousers, his blue button-up shirt open at the base of his throat. His dark hair was freshly trimmed, falling in a wave over his forehead. He grinned at something my dad said, and the sight of that smile—one I was achingly familiar with—made my insides turn to jelly.

  Our friends Skylar Murphy and Kyle Webber stood with him decked to the nines. Skylar, while wearing a dress, kept true to her trademark goth style, pairing the frilly black number with torn fishnet stockings, fingerless gloves, and thick eyeliner. She looked like the perfect undead homecoming queen.

  Kyle was dressed traditionally in slacks and a green shirt with a yellow striped tie. I noticed his brown hair was also recently cut and styled much like Adam’s, which wasn’t surprising. Kyle was always emulating Adam in all things. But unfortunately, Kyle was usually relegated to the second string in sports and with the girls. He would always be Adam’s less attractive friend, which wasn’t fair, Kyle was a good-looking guy. But Adam was in a completely different league. I knew it bothered him, though he would never say anything. He was loyal to Adam to a fault. Nothing would get in the way of their friendship.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, my mouth dry and my heart pounding. I focused on Skyler and Kyle so that I could get myself under control.

  Chill out, Meg. It’s just Adam! I scolded myself.

  Just Adam.

  If only.

  Skylar lifted her hand in greeting, too cool to say anything.

  “Hey, Meg,” Kyle greeted with a smile, his eyes instantly zeroing in over my shoulder. “Uh, hey Whit. H-how are you? No school?” He stuttered and stumbled over his words, not even trying to hide his obvious desire for my sister.

  Whitney, always oblivious, rolled her eyes. “There’s no school on the weekend, Kyle.” She forever treated him like a pesky little brother, even if he was now a lot taller than her and had developed a defined muscular build. The poor guy hadn’t even been friend-zoned. He’d been looked over entirely. She turned to me, squeezing my arm. “Go get ’em, tiger,” she whispered.

  “Thanks, Whit. For everything,” I told her before turning back to my friends.

  “Later, guys. Have fun!” Whitney called out, heading back up the stairs. Kyle glumly watched her leave.

  Skylar elbowed him in the side. “You’re drooling, Romeo.” Kyle glared at her but surreptitiously wiped his mouth.

  I hopped down the final two steps, bumping Skylar with my hip. “You clean up nicely, Murphy.” Skylar made no outward show of being pleased by my compliment. She wasn’t one to emote much. It’s probably why we got along so well. I ran hot and cold to such an extreme that Adam had nicknamed me Hurricane Meg when I was a pre-teen. Skylar had always been a balance to my intensity.

  “Not so bad yourself, Galloway,” she replied, finally allowing herself to smile—only the slightest.

  “Sexy, mama,” Kyle grinned, picking me up and twirling me around. I laughed, smacking him on the shoulder so he would put me down.

  “Shut up, Web,” I grumbled, loving the appreciation all the same.

  I glanced up at Adam, who was still chatting with my dad and noticed his eyes on me. My heart fluttered wildly in my chest. Was I imagining that he looked at me with something that seemed a lot like desire?

  Or was it wishful thinking? Because honestly, how would I even know what desire looked like? I had nothing to compare it to in my minimal experience with the opposite sex.

  “There’s my girl,” Dad exclaimed, beaming at me proudly. I walked over and threw my arms around my dad’s neck, hugging him tightly. I never shied away from showing my parents affection. I didn’t subscribe to that silly teenage notion that you couldn’t still hug your mom and dad just because you had grown up.

  Dad pulled back and looked at me, shaking his head. “Why did you have to go and grow up on me, Meggie Bear?” He kissed my cheek. “You look absolutely stunning. Doesn’t she, Adam?”

  I glanced at my best friend and felt the world drop out from underneath me. I wasn’t imagining the look in his eyes at all.

  He swallowed before answering. “She’s gorgeous.” There was a note in his voice that changed absolutely everything.

  This was our night.

  Finally.

  “Everyone, get together so I can take a picture!” my mom called out, bustling into the room with the energy of a whirling dervish. Mom always brought an energy that could either be exciting or exhausting, depending on her mood.

  Our group of four huddled together in the front foyer. We were a motley crew, but we worked. I felt Adam put his hand on my hip as he
squeezed in close.

  “You really do look amazing, Meg,” he murmured in my ear. I could smell his aftershave and the distinct scent that was all him.

  His fingers burned through my dress, branding my skin.

  This was it.

  The moment it would all change.

  I wanted to hold onto this feeling forever.

  **

  Of course, it all crashed and burned extraordinarily.

  Because Adam Ducatewas no longer my best friend.

  Now he was simply the asshole that broke my heart.

  Chapter 1

  Adam

  Present Day

  I was about to cum—and cum hard.

  I closed my eyes and thrust faster, my hips pumping in overtime.

  My mind was blissfully blank. I could only focus on the feeling of pressure in my cock and the soft, satin feel of her skin. I gripped her thighs, spreading them wider so I could hit just the right spot. Her deep, rough moan let me know I was doing the job right.

  I grinned, feeling high on it. If I was good at anything, it was fucking.

  I flipped her over onto her stomach, her ass in the air as I pounded into her. I wrapped my hand into her long, blonde hair, giving it a yank as my dick spasmed. We both yelled our release, our bodies slick with sweat.

  This was always the best part. Those few glorious seconds after I shot my load when I didn’t have to think about anything. Particularly what a lying bitch my soon to be ex-wife was. A lying, unfaithful, kick-a-man-in-the nuts bitch.

  The lying ex-wife in question sighed beneath me, turning on her back and squeezing her legs around my waist, refusing to let me go. She’d swallow me whole if I weren’t careful. Lord knows she’d tried her hardest for the past ten years. And had almost succeeded.

  Thank Christ, I had woken the hell up and kicked her traitorous ass to the curb.

  Yet, here I was, cock deep in her succubus pussy like the dumbass I was trying so hard not to be anymore.

  Sex with Chelsea was easy. Too easy. Old habits die hard, I guess. Our compatibility in the bedroom had never been our problem. It was everything else that was a goddamn mess.