“I’ll come in. I was just enjoying … life,” I say with a grin. “Dad loves his guest suite so much. He was telling me today about how nice it is to be in a smaller place with wide doorways and how he loves the elevator you had installed.”
Coy blushes. “I’m glad. And I’m glad Joe’s chemo is working. He told me the doctor said today that the big tumor shrunk.”
My heart leaps in my chest. “That’s exactly what Dr. Helm said. It was music to my ears.”
He sits beside me. “You’re going to be an amazing mom.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.” He bumps me with his shoulder. “Now, let's go feed my baby.”
I snort, shaking my head as Coy pulls me to my feet. “I’m going to weigh five hundred pounds if you keep force-feeding me.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen.
“Just buy us a jet,” Oliver tells Holt. “For fuck’s sake. Coy is going to need it. Aren’t you, Coy?”
“Nope. You’re not dragging me into this,” Coy tells him.
Boone walks up next to us. “I think we need a jet.”
“No one cares what you think we need,” Holt tells him.
Boone opens his mouth to respond when his forehead marrs. He pulls out his phone. “Hello?”
“What does he need a jet for?” Coy jokes.
“Are party jets a thing?” Oliver laughs. “I’m not discounting that as a legitimate reason for needing a jet. Add that to my list.”
Boone scratches his head. “No,” he says into the phone. “What? No. What are you talking about?”
He looks at Coy. There’s an odd look in his eye that I can’t pinpoint.
“You’re kidding me?” Boone asks. “Okay. Yeah. Sure. I’ll be there.”
He ends his call and looks at Oliver. “I gotta go. I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?” Holt asks Boone, but he’s already half-way across the room.
Oliver and Coy shrug before Oliver turns back to Holt and continues their jet argument.
I take in the scene around me—one filled with so much love that it’s overwhelming.
To think that I didn’t believe I could have this is crazy.
To think that I had to do it on my own is even nuttier.
And to think that I almost pushed away the best thing that ever happened to me because I was scared.
I know better now.
Life’s not meant to be lived in fear. It’s not meant to be lived alone either.
It’s meant to be experienced. Life is meant to be lived, not survived. It’s for loving and fighting and complete mess making. Life is for taking risks and winning and losing and learning.
Thriving.
A wise man once told me that a life lived without tears is a life unlived. I didn’t get it then, but I get it now.
As I watch Coy in the living room talking to my father, I know exactly what my dad meant. I could’ve taken the safe route and saved myself potential heartache. But I would’ve missed out on all of this.
“Hey, do you need help?” Wade says. “I could get Mom to get you something to drink, if you want.”
I smile at him. “I’m good, Wade. Thank you.”
And as my gaze finds Coy’s again and my heart swells so much it nearly bursts, I realize that’s not true.
I’m not just good. I’m blessed beyond measure.
And it’s all because of the boy next door—the one with the bad reputation.
THE END.
Want to see where Boone went? Read RECKLESS, coming April 8th. Preorder now.
A Note from the Author
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading Reputation. I hope you enjoyed Coy and Bellamy’s story.
If you want to keep reading about the Mason Family, make sure you pick up Restraint (Holt’s story) and get ready for Boone’s story, Reckless. It will be out on April 8th. Preorder here.
Please consider this your official invitation to my reader groups, Books by Adriana Locke (Facebook) and All Locked Up (Goodreads). I’d love to see you there!
Thank you again for reading. I’d be thrilled if you would consider leaving a review for Reputation.
In case you’ve caught up with the Mason family, keep reading to meet my reader-favorite Landry family!
With love,
Adriana
Chapter One: Sway
Sway
Landry Family Series #1
Chapter One
Alison
“This is a single girl’s paradise.”
“No,” I grimace, blotting the spilled cheese sauce from my shirt. “Paradise would be a tropical island with a hot cabana boy at my beck and call ... and an endless supply of mojitos.”
Lola laughs, the sound barely heard over the chaos of the kitchen. Chefs shouting instructions, event planners panicking, plates being dropped—the world of catering is a noisy endeavor.
I step to the side to allow Isaac, a fellow server and Lola’s gorgeous friend with benefits, to scamper to the ballroom a few feet away. He’s tall with a head full of dark curls and a laugh that makes you involuntarily smile. Lola is crazy for keeping him at arm’s length, but that’s how she operates. He has little money; she has limited interest.
“Cabana boys may have hot bodies and virility, Alison, but they lack two very important qualities: fame and fortune.”
“So, what you’re saying is that you’d take a limp dick over a hard one? Interesting,” I say, rolling my eyes and tossing the sauce-soaked rag into the linen bin.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying, smart ass. I’m saying I’d take a solid bank account over a solid cock. Think about it—with all that money, he could never fuck me at all and I wouldn’t care.”
“If that’s the case,” I retort, grabbing another tray of drinks, “there are tons of opportunities out there to not get fucked.”
I laugh at the dreamy look on her face, partly because it’s hilarious and partly because I know she’s not kidding.
Lola and I are a lot alike. We both come from meager backgrounds and Luxor Foods is our second job. There’s no doubt we both would rather not be here because serving rich bitches can be a very humbling experience. But they are also the best parties to work because they tip. Very well. Of course it’s so they can feel above us most times, but we’ll take it. It’s money in our pockets, and if they get off on it in the process, good for them.
That being said, Lo took this job to afford her manicures, pedicures, and eyelash extensions. I do it to take care of my son, Huxley. Lola’s first job is working at a salon and her career goals include marrying up in the world. I, on the other hand, work at Hillary’s House restaurant during the day and go to school for journalism in hopes to one day write pieces that might inspire someone.
“Speaking of fucking,” she says, her eyes aglow, “did you see Mayor Landry?”
“I love how you segued into that,” I laugh.
“It’s a linear comparison. Tell me that fucking isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when you think of him, and I’ll call you a liar.”