Endless Bonds Copyright © 2016-2018 xXMopelXx All Rights Reserved.

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"You can do better than that," I tell Oliver, as he tries to bench press two-hundred.

He's trying, but failing, might I add.

"I'm usually not hung over, you douchebag," he says through clenched teeth, raising the barbell over his chest.

There's a fine sheen of sweat gleaming on his face, and his grey wifebeater sticks to him like a second skin.

Oliver hates me right now, judging by the glare he throws at me every time he lifts, and the strenuous way his muscles move. He's going to thank me later though, when he flexes those babies for Inga and she's loving him even more for it.

I help him set the bar back in its rightful place.

I dragged Oliver's a$s out on a Sunday morning after a long night of drinking. Calvin and his frat brothers threw a small party last night...and Coach Harvey might have gotten wind of it. He's suspicious that half of us drank, even though most of us lied and said we didn't touch a drop. None of us are snitches. Drugs and alcohol don't mix with football – or any game, for that matter – and if Coach Harvey ever found out, we'd be kicked off the team.

I can't afford that.

It was a blessing in disguise that there was no surprise drug-test today, or half the team wouldn't be intact.

Coach Harvey's a sadist so he's punishing us, I know, by forcing us to whip up in shape for the big game on Tuesday. Gym training in the morning and then practice on the field in the afternoon.

I already ran a 6k this morning, did my reps and bench-pressed 250, and I can't feel anything in my body. I don't even know how I'm going to survive practice.

"I'm hungover, too, Oli," I say as he sits up and unscrews his bottle of water. I cross my arms over my chest and give him a smirk. "You don't see me crying."

He flips me the bird. "Yeah, well, fvck you. I'm not on the football team. I don't need this shit."

"You will when Inga decides to leave you because you're fat and out of shape. How in the world are you going to work construction this year looking like that? You should be thanking me for motivating you."

He gets up shakily and releases a painful sound. His muscles are probably aching. "Inga loves me too much." The cocky bastard has his nose up in the air. "She'd never leave me."

I roll my eyes. "You're so whipped."

He shrugs, but there's a slight smile playing on his lips at the mention of his lover. He doesn't care, either. I know a few months ago when he was piss-drunk out of his mind, he told Jared and I he wanted to put a ring on it.

I wouldn't blame him. I think Inga is the best thing that's ever happened to him in a really long time.

"Speaking of Inga, you coming to Danny's tonight? Her and a few girls are going to shoot pool. I asked Jared, too. He's down. You in?"

"Yeah, sure. I just have a paper to finish in the evening, but I can be there for later."

"Cool. I'll text Inga to let her know. Maybe Cher and Tara will be down to come."

At the mention of Cher, my chest squeezes in an odd manner that's difficult to comprehend, let alone explain.

I know this is bad, because lately I've been plagued with thoughts of her. Thoughts that have no business running marathons in my head.

"You okay, man?"

Oliver's looking at me with a concerned expression. We've stopped now that we've reaching the threshold of the exit doors. He puts a hand on my shoulder and shakes me a little. "Something you want to talk about? You've been distracted lately."

I roll my shoulders once, then do it twice. Then I hoist my gym bag higher up my arm. "Nothing."

Oliver gives me a side-long glance and mumbles something under his breath, as if he doesn't buy into my shit.

I don't buy into my own shit.

When we walk out, I run straight into Rose and her latest flavor of the week.

* * *

This isn't just fvcking awkward. It's humiliating for me.

I stare at Rose, feeling anger and frustration bubble up in the pit of my stomach. My jaw's clenched and I know she can see the sneer on my face. I take no pain in hiding my disgust.

What the fvck.

Rose and Levi – one of the basketball players – look deep into an intimate conversation. I saw him earlier on the treadmill, and now I'm wondering if he left halfway through his run to meet up with my ex-girlfriend.

Rose was smiling at him intimately and all flirtatiously, with her books held close to her chest before we interrupted. Levi's brown eyes are fixed on her breasts, and his body angled towards her. One hand is wrapped around his sweaty towel and the other is perched against the wall to steady himself. The imbecile is trying to flex and show off.

They both snap away and look at us.

I can't even blame him for going after her. I don't think the basketball jocks are familiar with my ex-girlfriend. To him, she's fair game.

But Rose has a good fvcking idea how many people I know around here.

Rose looks like a deer caught in headlights as she leans away from Levi to greet us. Her faces blanches and she swallows hard, because she knows she's damn guilty. "Hey."

Hey? Hey? That's all she has to say.

I've got a lot more than a three-letter, nonsensical word. 'Hey' does not apply to our situation.

A multitude of emotions are rocking through my system and my ground is unstable. I feel like I'm falling and there's nothing to catch me.

Right now the strongest emotion I feel is hate.

Levi just looks confused, as if he has no idea why she's talking to us. "Hey...Reynolds. You guys know each other?" His eyes bounce back and forth between Rose and I, but his smile is still friendly.

Oliver coughs in his fist.

Rose shifts uncomfortably and her fingers mess with her bangs a little. She looks sheepish, and just to make her feel more like shit, I stare right at her. Without. Looking. Away.

"Umm..." I hear Levi say.

Something breaks inside of me, and I have this deep urge to humiliate her. To break her like she broke me. All those years lost.

...And she even had the audacity to mess with Cher and I.

"Yes, Stone," I answer Levi with a huge fvcking beam, my tone sickeningly-sweet. "Rose here is my ex-girlfriend. She broke up with me after three years because she was apparently leaving for Australia. Imagine my surprise when I see her here. Still in school. Standing right next to you. Hey, Rose!" I send her my biggest smile, but even she knows my tone is anything but nice. She asked for this. "How's Australia, baby? Loving journalism? Have you seen any fvcking kangaroos? Tell me all about it."

Levi backs away with a muffled laugh, his hands raised. "Bro. I don't want no trouble. She's all yours."

Rose watches him leave, bewildered. Then she turns her angry glare at me and steps forward. "Are you fvcking serious?"

"Are you fvcking serious?" I yell back at her, not caring that Oliver is here. I don't even care about the bystanders in the hallway. "What the hell are you still doing here?"

"I decided to stay," she scoffs. "You need to drop the attitude, Trent. And calm the fvck down."

I don't believe this girl. Since when does she cuss? Since when does she have an attitude?

She doesn't resemble the girl I met, dated, and loved.

"Drop the attitude?" I shake my head. My thoughts are running over the last three years with her. "The only thing I should have dropped is you. A long time ago."

Oliver's mouth is wide open when I deliver my shots. Rose visibly flinches, and I feel bad for only three seconds. Then I remember everything she did to me. I remember the heartbreak she threw at me. She falls back and clutches her book to her chest like it's her lifeline. "Trent."

I don't give a damn that I've hurt her.

She hurt me, too.

"Let's go, Oliver."

Oli looks over at Rose and inches her a slow, sad look. Everyone stopped talking to Rose after we broke up. I don't know why they distanced themselves, but I have a feeling they thought they needed to pick sides.

I guess I'm flattered they took mine.

My muscles feel tense, but not because of my workout. Because I can feel Rose's blue eyes on my back.

Oliver walks ahead, but I halt in my steps. I give Rose my profile, without looking at her.

I say the words that I should have told her years ago. "I know what you did to Cher."

* * *

As always, Oliver's hungry eyes are on Inga's a$s as she bends over to take a shot.

Her girlfriends giggle as they nurse cosmos and laugh about god-knows what while playing pool.

We arrived at Danny's Grill half an hour ago, and there's no sign of Tara or the girl who's been driving me up the walls. Inga flounced over to her friends the minute we stepped into the over-crowded pub and the three of us parked ourselves on the only available stools along the bar.

Inga moves again to take a shot and something that suspiciously looks like a tramp's stamp becomes visible. I squint my eyes, trying to figure out if that's what I really saw, but her tank top falls back in place to cover the expanse of skin

Oliver groans loudly once more.

Jared rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of his Guinness. "Man, keep it in your pants. You're so obvious," he yells over the old throwback R&B music blaring from the speakers beside us.

"Can't help it." Oliver's gaze hasn't shifted from her behind. "She's on her periods. I haven't had some in so long."

It's my turn to roll my eyes as I look at Jared. "She literally said in the car it's been four days since she's been on her time of the month. I don't know what the hell he's talking about."

Jared's forehead crinkles as he laughs. "Wow. Oliver, if you can't abstain from sex for even a week, then I'm losing respect for you." His grey eyes dart to mine and he runs a palm over his freshly buzzed hair, letting out a low-whistle. "Then again, Trent, neither can you."

I'm only drinking Pepsi since I drove, so I take a sip before answering him. "Yeah, I can. I just chose not, too. I like sex enough and I have enough willing partners, why deprive myself?"

"I totally agree with Trent." Oliver adjusts himself on the stool and I cringe because I know why. We've all been there. There's no doubt he's rocking a semi. "What's the longest you've gone anyways, Jared? Two-weeks? Three weeks? You can't judge us."

Jared's facial expression is uncomfortable, and his eyes dart my way. "You might want to block your ears for this answer..."

"Why?"

He releases a short laugh-snort combo. "You asked for it. Anyways, the longest I've gone is six months."

Oliver and I gape at Jared with wide open mouths. If we weren't indoors, I would have caught a few flies.

"You're kidding me. Why? How is the better question?" Oliver splutters.

Jared's neck heats up and he looks at me. "I warned you to cover your ears," he mumbles. "Two and a half years ago when Nat and I broke up, it took me half a year to convince myself to move on. That's when I slept with that French exchange student you guys wouldn't stop asking about."

I bang my palm on the table, face scrunched up, and say, "Man, that's sick. I don't need to hear about you and Natalie." I look away from him before I puke, because that's my baby sister, dammit. It was bad that they slept together, but I threw that first punch at Jared after they broke up because I found out she'd been a virgin.

My stomach is rolling. "Goddammit, Jared."

"Bro," he says with a head shake. "I don't like talking about it either. Believe me. But you guys asked for it."

"Okay. Nat isn't my biological sister, so I can ask for details," Oliver cuts in with a serious expression. "Cover your ears, Trent. All right, Jared. What did you do after Nat, during those six months?"

I try to block my ears, but I still hear every word out of Jared's godforsaken mouth.

"I watched a lot of porn. And fist-fvcked my d!ck to many thoughts of Nat."

That's the last straw, so I take a swing at Jared's arm, but the moron doesn't stay still long enough for my shot to land where I want it. Instead my fist painfully collides against the wooden bar top. I grit my teeth while Oliver and Jared guffaw loudly.

My knuckles hurt.

The moment passes, and they start chatting about something else, until Oliver waves his hand at us to gain our attention. "Guys!" he yells over the music. "Look who just entered. Daniel Ivanov. He's the one who owns this place. Inga told me the other day he's got questionable ties with the Russian mafia here in Van-City. He's probably a gangbanger."

Daniel Ivanov is even taller than me, older with pale Russian skin, and light-colored eyes that look dead to the world. He threads his way through the crowd with an air of authority, but people practically part for him as if they could sense the darkness surrounding him. He's dressed in dark tones, with a brown leather jacket... whose flap sway open a little and reveal a safely tucked Glock.

Well, he's definitely a gang banger. Explains how he can own this place at such a young age.

There's a couple behind him, tall and blond, looking like supermodels on a runway, instead of average adults entering a pub. They're whispering to one another with faint smiles, and something about the guy in particular strikes me as familiar. The three are flanked with two burly and stocky looking men, who give off the impression of being bodyguards.

Odd.

But not odd enough to hold my attention for long, because it's quickly snagged by the duo that enter the place a few seconds later.

Tara and Cher have their arms intertwined to not lose themselves in the sea of boisterous people and deafening music.

If I wasn't sitting on my stool, I would have been knocked off my a$s. Fvck me. Cheryl Anderson looks stunning.

Her tight, lithe body is poured in an even tighter black dress that ends at her crxtch and starts so low that one wrong slip and I bet you could see her pretty nxpples. She's wearing a black leather jacket, long fvck-me-hard boots, and her hair is open and straight with a little beret sitting on top of that bronze mass.

Our eyes meet the same second Tara murmurs something in her ear.

Her gaze widens and her chest heaves with an inhale, and, I swear, I almost die. So close to flashing the crowd. She purses her red-painted mouth as she regards me, then flickers her eyes elsewhere as if dismissing me.

Ignoring me? Fvck, no.

I'll chase her down if I must, until we have a decent conversation.

That's exactly what I find myself doing when she disentangles from Tara, who goes to join Inga, and beelines it for the bar...the other side of it so she doesn't have to face us three.

"Excuse me," I tell Oliver and Jared, and don't pay mind to their suspicious expressions.

Because I'm tall, I easily manage to muscle my way through the horde of people at the bar. I see red when I spot her. She's on her tippy-toes, a little bit bent on the counter top, as she gives the bartender her order.

I come up behind her and give glares at the guys staring at her.

It takes me cupping her hips and pulling her back into me for her to notice my presence. My lips are at her ear before she has the time to squeak, and I no longer care that the game we're playing is dangerous.

The truth is I'm turned on by her. I can't get her out of my head, and this inexplicable rage at her avoiding me isn't seeming to leave anytime soon.

I feel like I'm eighteen and back in high school, feeling miserable and breathless because Cher is ignoring our friendship over Rose's childish whims. I hate this feeling.

"You weren't going to say hi," I have to bend a little to whisper in her ear. I feel her shiver and curse under her breath. "How rude, sweetheart."

Then her fingernails are scorching my palms, silently begging me to let go of her. I don't. If anything, my hands on her hips tighten until her a$s is pressed against my groin. "Trent," her voice is low, testy, and so damn hot to me right now. I love that she's acting all haughty with me. "Has anyone taught you it's rude to sneak up on people?"

My lips are practically kissing her earlobe. "Has anyone told you that you look fvcking stunning when you dress up like this? I can't help being rude."

I feel her releasing a shaky breath. It rocks through me like a shot of heroin. It takes everything I have in me not to close my eyes and inhale her unique scent.

Shit. Maybe I am going crazy.

"A simple you look good would have sufficed, Trent," she mumbles breathily when I crane my head to peck her soft cheek. "Thank you." Her fingers shakily dance up to my face, where they pose against the slope of my jaw, as if caressing me in greeting. "You look good, too."

"You haven't even properly seen me," I tease the words in her ear. My hands slowly drift up to her waist, and I try not to think of how they perfectly fit in the indentation.

"I don't have to see you to know it; you always look good, sweetheart."

Those words do it for me. Or maybe it's the raspy voice she uses. But the front of my jeans is tenting so I pull away so there's a decent distant between her a$s-cheeks and my d!ck.

Thank God the bartender chooses that exact moment to hand her drink. Before she can pay, I whip out a ten and I slap it on the counter.

She finally whirls around and I'm even more shocked because she's a sight to behold from this close.

Her smile is tentative and coy...But, she still looks guarded. "Hi. You didn't have to pay for me."

"If you're ever out with me, you ain't paying, Cherrycakes."

"But I'm not out with you. Plus, I'm an independent woman who can cover her bills."

"Funny. Tara told me a few days ago you're going broke and need a part-time job."

Oh, there's fire in her eyes. She looks like she wants to slap me. I'm totally here for it.

I wink at her. "It's good to see you. Now tell me, what's this thing you wanted to ask me about?"

Cheryl licks her lips a little bit and I tense. She slowly roves her gaze from my eyes all the way down to my crxtch. Pausing and lingering there for a few seconds. Fvcking hell. "Remind me what you were saying about being... stunning? I'm a little distracted, because you're looking so good dressed like that, Treasure-Chest."

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How are we feeling? Trent told Rose? Jared's sexual abstinence? Trent and Cher basically eye fucking one another?