Synister: The Push Series - Book 1 by Alexis Riddley Read Free Book Online Page B

Syn was still holding my hand as he led us to the door.
    “You know I was prepared to kick your ass tonight. Oh, and I broke up with Carter. We are a shit show, Syn, an absolute mess.”
    Never looking back, he pulled the door open, but his words wrapped their arms around my heart and didn’t let go. “I know, baby girl, but we are real, up-close, and in your face. Fuck all the Hallmark Prince Charming and Cinderella shit. We are enough, and all I’ll ever want. That’s what I love the most.”
     

 
    Brooklyn - Two Weeks Later and We Still Haven't Talked About “It”
     
     
    “You know, B, I always did love Vegas. How come you don't invite me to your place anymore?” With pouty lips, he batted his eyes at me. I just shook my head and smiled at him. Dammit, if he knew exactly how to make me smile.
    “Synister, I don’t invite you to Vegas because you always invite yourself,” I proclaimed while I plopped myself down in my chair. I adjusted my oversized shades and ball cap when I felt his hand on my leg. It had been two weeks since Chicago, and neither Synister nor I had discussed the eight hundred pound elephant in the room. We were both trying to ignore it so maybe it would go away. It was a childish thought, more like a hope that we would find a way around it. We both knew it would have to be addressed, but today was too beautiful to burden with bullshit. Frankly, neither of us was any good with feelings, so watching Synister and me try to navigate the emotional roller coaster of love was more awkward than a nun at a strip joint.
    Synister looked every bit the rock star as he lay on a lounge chair—black Oakleysunglasses, black and gray board shorts, hair pulled up off his face. I had been trying for months to get him to allow me to put his hair in a man bun. He threatened me with bodily harm and never speaking to me again before he would ever rock the bun. He was the right amount of sex and class wrapped up in the most delicious of candies. Synister had an insane amount of ink, most of which was done at the hands of Hawke. Synister and Hawke shared a connection almost as close as Syn and Scottie. Hawke and Syn were cut from the same cloth—tattoos, chicks, and the eternal lone wolf in the pack. Synister loved talking about his “stripes” as he called them. Each was perfectly placed, each with a meaning that I was sure had made its way into a Push song over the years. I swear, they were touched up every week because the color never seemed to fade. Synister, no matter the badass exterior, was sensitive in his core. He had a kind heart no thanks to his parents—that was for sure.
    The ink was for Synister; his piercings, well, those were for me. A night of too much Captain and Coke, strippers, and one dare to put the cherry on top. He thought I would shy away from it because of the pain. Wrong. We both got nipple piercings, or as I liked to call them “love clamps.” I went first, never flinching, so when it was his turn, well, let’s just say that he couldn't look like a wuss to every dude in the tattoo shop. Synister hated them, thought it was a chick thing, but when the ladies started “reacting” to them, he retreated and agreed I was right. Although I did love the nipple piercings, I had to say his tongue piercing was my favorite, for obvious reasons. I was his friend, but I was still a woman.
    Let me stop your mind right there. Synister and I had never consummated the friendship, but that didn’t mean I had never “sampled the goods,” if you know what I mean. One drunken night after a kick-ass Push show, things got pretty heavy. Synister ended it before we went too far. Hell, that was years ago, though. And although I refused to live a life with regrets, I could say that night I wished it had ended differently. Syn thought he was being the good guy, the friend. We were both naked from the waist up when he put his hands on my neck, tilted my head so he could look me in the eyes, and told me