Sin De Rella

Skip

I SCANNED the packed room, hoping to find an old mate as quickly as possible. Coming back to this place again was harder than I thought. My chest tightened when the door shut behind me-it felt like walking down the memory lane. The air was thick with the same smell of alcoholic beverages, cigarettes, perfume, chalk, and felt.

A curvy woman passed by me with a tray of cold beers and a large bowl the size of basketball full of crisps, making my stomach grumble. At the dim-lit corner, a couple started to snog on their table and didn't give a shit on the replayed football match on the flat TV screen bolted on the wall.

What was wrong with you people? That was the real football for bloody sake! Our European football, and not some bunch of bollocks!

The drinkers laughed boisterously beside the pool players who were carefully analyzing the angle of the ball on the fifth table. Across it, the two blokes slapped down their bets confidently as if they already presumed who was going to win.

Then there he was-the familiar figure about my age, same built as I am, and an inch taller than my six feet two inches height. The light hanging above the table made the tattoo of Mjölnir's symbol stood out on his right arm. He twisted his cue to the chalk square expertly.

Bloody Shark. I inwardly smirked.

He leaned on the table, then slid a cue shaft along the crook of his hand and hit the cue ball, knocking the balls into each other. A roar erupted around, causing it to gather more audience around him.

His opponent was a skin-head bulky guy, leaning across the table. He intently watched the balls rolling in front of him, waiting patiently for his turn, but I was sure it was never going to happen. I could bet a hundred quid on it that Shark was going to win, effortlessly.

A low chuckle rumbled in my chest as I sat down on the wooden stool. Bottles of different types of alcohol lining behind the bar. A sign prohibiting the minors, a liquor license, and alcohol sponsor signage posted on the right side.

A late fifties old man with an untrimmed graying and thick beard approached with a friendly smile. "What can I get for ya, fella?"

"Just a beer. Thanks, mate." I smiled back, fishing some bills from my jeans.

"It's on the house," he intoned.

To my disbelief, I stared at him like he was tricky jigsaw puzzles. Seconds ticked by, I busted out laughing. "Jett?" What the! It was Brett's uncle, who co-owned the Rogue Pool house.

His face split into a grin, showing off his two bottom crooked teeth. "Thought you wouldn't recognize me, Skip."

Still laughing, I extended my hand for a handshake. "I almost did not recognize you, Jett. What's the deal with the beard? How's business, life, and Lorcan?" I met his son with Brett back in London.

"Oh, come on. Let's not talk about my boring life, but Lorcan is in LA. So, you stay here for how long, son?" He grabbed a long glass behind the bar counter and pressed the beer tab. The beer bubbled up, then he placed down in front of me.

"Thanks. Not for good, but I'll stay for a year or so." I sipped the beer. The yeasty and bitter taste slid down, washing out the worry clogging in my throat. My stomach churned as it reminded me of why I was back after seven years.

"Good to know, son. Good to know."

Another cheer erupted and glasses clinked simultaneously from where Brett was playing. A skin-head, bulky man cursed fiercely, face reddened with anger.

"He won," I confirmed.

"Yup, poor man. He doesn't have any idea who Brett is," Jett concurred proudly.

Brett was a pool shark. Sadly, he stopped competing when his grandma died almost four years ago while he was on States tour.

At the corner of my eye, I saw the framed photo of Brett and his team. Other photos were The Minnesota Fats' Rudolf Wanderone and The Filipino's pride The Magician Efren Bata Reyes.

"Thanks, man!" That was Brett. "Nice game, by the way."

I chuckled when I sensed him heading towards us. I turned to face him. "You've got to be kidding me! You tricked him, Sharknado. You're a pool shark and he is barely a rookie. That's literally cheating!"

His big brown eyes widened in surprise, then grinned and spread his arms wide as if to welcome me. "Look who's here, fellas?" He threw his hands in the air in an exaggerated way. "Finally! Finally, he finds his way back to where he truly belongs! The United States of fucking America, where burgers and fries are our religion, right fellas?" He got everyone's attention, raising their drinks. "Welcome home, Skipper Braddock Linton, my mate!"

I slid from the stool, laughing my arse out. "That's quite British-y, don't you think? We're here in US soil, Brett Rogue." We hugged with a back slap. He was my roommate in college and had been my best friend since then, but I had to go back to England to work with my father after I graduated.

"I thought you were joking when you called last week, mate. Are you in trouble? Are you now in the MI6 most wanted lists?" Still grinning, we sat on the stools just like old times.

Jett placed down a bottle of beer for him.

"Not in trouble, as far as I know, not in a wanted list either, Jack Reacher." I laughed. When was the last time I laugh like this? We talked over the phone, exchanged emails, but not like this. I missed the old times when we were just screwing around, partying, and not caring about tomorrow.

The last time I met him was three years ago with Lorcan, but we were busy enjoying the London night. Scratched that. I was totally pissed most of the time to even remember.

"Most wanted bachelor then, Mr. Bean?" His brow waggled playfully, smiling with mischief.

I snorted. "I'm engaged, Ethan Hunt." I wish.

His eyes bulged. "No fucking way, James Bond!" He slammed his hands on my thighs, making me jerk up and wince in pain.

"What the bloody hell was that?" I grimaced. "Of course, I was lying, Stephen Curry?"

"I thought you're serious, plonker." He sipped his beer, keeping his eyes on me.

"What's wrong if I'm engaged, daft? I could have just fallen in love in a week and planned on getting married."

He snorted. "That's Mission Impossible, E. L James. The last time you were heartbroken, I and Lorcan flew from LA all the way to London to mend your stupid broken heart. And the last time I talked to you over the phone, which was just last week, by the way, you seemed far from being in love, so, I know you're lying. I might consider if a hot babe will jump into your knickers tonight, then you take her to your flat and shag her brains out."

"Bloody hell. Why her? Why not just Simon Cowell?" We high-fived and laughed-a deep thunderous laugh like we used to do. I hadn't gotten a chance to tell him the reason why I was here, and it made me felt like an arse.

I scratched the back of my head where I tied up my bronze curly hair into a bun. Talking about my ex, it only ripped the old wound open. I couldn't blame her for choosing her career over me because that time I was also busy working my arse off to make my own name and prove to Dad that I deserved to be a Linton, and not because I was his son.

"Still hurt, huh?"

"Barely." My accent thickened, especially when I was upset or worried about something. I pushed the empty glass. "Jett, scotch, please."

"You're not gonna piss your arse, Linton. It's your first night in New York after seven bloody years," Brett imitated my thick accent, which he quite fancied at it and lured lots of girls during our college days.

"Nope. I'm gonna beat your sorry skinny-arse over snooker," I challenged him, though I knew who was going to win.

"Fucking Brit!" he spat out, laughing carelessly. "Carry on, Harry Potter. So, what will get if I win?"

"Anything, Kardashian." I shrugged, extending my hand with determination.

"I can't believe you know all these shits."

"Blame it on Clyve. He didn't stop talking about shits since he started producing a morning show."

"Wow! Good for your bro, mate."

"Now, what if I'm going to win?"

"Are you serious?"

"Bloody."

"Okay, anything," he answered, sounding unsure. His brows squished together.

"Are you sure?" With confidence, I arched my brows as I gripped his hand to seal the deal. My heart started to hammer in my chest. What the fuck had gotten into me to play the game that he had been playing all his life?

"Yeah, King Arthur."

"I have unfinished business with someone, but can I have your word that you won't kick my arse-"

"With who?"

***

Thanks for your support! Don't forget to check out my other books.

Arella

I COULDN'T help but think of how happy I was when my ex-husband proposed to me three years ago. A month later we get married. Now, I was staring down at the Manila envelope that had been inside my drawer for eight months. My final divorce papers.

Taking a deep breath, I tore open the package. There it was-nothing but black and white. My marriage was over. And I already saw him with a woman in his arms a month after the divorce had been finalized.

That jerk.

And I was so damn upset about that. I loved him. I even forced him into a marriage counseling because failure was difficult for me. And seeing my world turned upside down, it felt like he stabbed me right into my heart. And after all the effort, it still didn't work, in fact, it just had gotten worse. So, I decided to leave our home when our fight had gotten physical.

Somehow, I got something that made him went ballistic. A six-figure settlement. It didn't feel right though, and I haven't touched it since I'd been single. All I wanted I was to get back my life.

I shoved it back to the drawer and pulled out my laptop. My life had been back to normal-not the kind of normal that I used to though, but I had quality weekends with my family, had time to annoy my big brother, got my friends back, and had a new awesome and bubbly roommate.

Windows started. The Wi-Fi instantly connected. I'd been checking out online dating sites and apps recently, but hadn't signed up yet. And if my brother found out about this, he was going to lock me up away from civilization and thought I was insane, but he wasn't going to find out, was he?

HeartRated got my interest. I clicked the register button, filled up some basic info, and uploaded my picture, then my finger froze in the air. Am I really desperate to go out on a date? It was now or never.

I took a deep breath and clicked DONE.

* * *

This is impossible.

Hotsome: The awkward moment when you try to message a girl and all you can think of is hello.

SinDeRella: Hi.

Hotsome: Want to chat sometime?

SinDeRella: Sure, how's your day?

Hotsome: Great. And hope you are as well. So, any plan tonight?

SinDeRella: Actually I have. How about next weekend?

Ten seconds later...

Hotsome: Cool.

Hotsome: I checked your info. I think we have something in common.

So, he checked my profile.

Do these people believe in everything you post?

SinDeRella: What made you think I'm stating the truth?

Oh, crap! It didn't sound friendly. Blamed me for not having a lot of dating experience. My ex was my first and only boyfriend.

Hotsome: We signed up for online dating, love, so we both wanted to go out on a date, right?

God, I was overthinking.

Hotsome: By the way, is that your picture on the DP or you stole it from your twin?

I rolled my eyes. That was so lame. He seemed not used to flirt or a way to impress a girl.

SinDeRella: I might be looking for a date, but what if I don't like you?

Hotsome: Come on, love. We both know we wanna have some fun.

Hotsome: If this is your picture, then you look gorgeous, love.

I cropped the picture during my roommate, Katrya's birthday last month. I was wearing a red mini-dress and showed off some cleavage. And now, I was in trouble.

I clicked Hotsome's profile.

28 years old, 6'2", single. Of course.

He loved to adopt a dog.

A foodie and football fan.

His interest: A woman with natural beauty.

My jaw dropped, just staring at his picture because his name suited him well. Hot and handsome. Damn beautiful! Indeed, his age was probably just like my brother. Did I forget to mention he has copper brown hair reaching his shoulders? It was unruly and wavy that made him sexier. His face was beautifully crafted. His skin wasn't tanned as I liked in a man, but he had warm honey brown eyes that scorched me. His nose was almost perfect. His strong jawline was covered with a day or more worth of stubble. His lips were full and pink, slightly spread into a smile. And that... corded neck. A few chest hair poking out from his opened button shirt.

I wondered if how did it feel against my fingertips?

Crap, I got it bad.

Did he have six-packs, lean hips, and muscular thighs?

Okay, enough, Are.

Wait, why did he look so familiar? Was this his real picture? He could have just cropped and put someone's picture from Google, Instagram, or other social media apps, right? Because there was no way he looked like this? He could have a lot of ladies filling in line to have him. He's not real.

I shook away those thoughts. I'm in deep trouble.

It's just a picture. He could've just photoshopped it.

Hotsome: Are you still there, SinDeRella?

What had gotten into me to use this username?

SinDeRella: Something came up. I'll chat with you when I'm free.

Hotsome: How about tonight? I really wanna know more about you.

SinDeRella: How would I know you're not some psychopath?

Hotsome: Then we should probably meet.

SinDeRella: Didn't I just ask why should I trust you? *insert sarcasm.

Hotsome: Lol. Am I too pushy? Let's talk sometimes then?

SinDeRella: Sure.

"Wow! Since when are you interested in online dating?" Katrya's voice from my back startled me.

I turned to face her. "Did I forget to lock the door?" I asked sarcastically. It was not that we should lock each other's doors. We knew our limits, and when I moved into this apartment, her first rule was no bringing of dates home.

"Your door is ajar, my dear. And I called you when I got inside, but you seemed so lost staring at that picture." She walked inside, locking the door behind her. "So, tell me. Are you going out with that guy?" She pointed out to the laptop that I already shut closed.

"You know I never did this before. I don't know, maybe or maybe not."

"I can set you up out on a blind date. I'll ask our new X-ray technician. He's single and kinda hot," she suggested, grinning.

I rolled my eyes. "The last time you set me up on a date, he canceled an hour before the date. So, no thank you." My self-esteem suddenly dropped freezing cold when it happened, and Kat apologized for like a thousand times even though it was not her fault. Still, she felt being played out. Besides, that guy was the one who asked her that he was looking for a date.

"I'm sorry, Are."

"I know. Don't worry, there's this one guy that I chatted earlier, but how will I know if he is not some jerk?"

"Then go out on a date with him. In a public area, and don't go to his place."

"I don't do that for a first date, Kat."

She snorted, "Really? The last time I checked your last date was your ex."

"Fine, but what I mean is, I will not go with him after our date. If he asks me again, then, I'll see if the first went well."

"And you know this dating thing, most people are not looking for a serious relationship, right?"

"I know, and I'm not looking for a relationship either."

"You are a big girl, Are, but make sure if you'll go out on a date he's hotter than your jerk ex. So, who is this guy?"

"Um, his username is hotsome," I answered reluctantly, grinning.

Kat stared at me for a moment before she burst into a laugh and threw her head back. Her straight, shiny, and raven black hair swayed gracefully. I was so jealous of her hair and fair freckled-free skin. Her mom was a Filipina and her dad was a Korean, but they were American citizens now. Kat was a nurse in our local hospital for three years.

"So, is he a hotsome?" Her dark brow raised, still smiling.

I chuckled and shrugged, then her mouth gaped open and raised her hand to stop me from saying. "I've never seen that look before. He's that hot, huh?"

My brows knitted together. "What look?"

She pointed finger at my face. "That sweet guilty look. Your face is literally blushing right now, Arella. Did you already have wet dreams over this hotsome guy?"

"Oh, shut up, Kat. I'm hungry. What do we have for dinner?" I stood up and ran my hands over my crumpled panda pajamas.

"You are the one who has no duty, Are. I should be the one who's asking you that." She rolled her eyes, looking amused. "What a lazy roommate I have."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I'll make up to you, I promise." I followed her out of my room. I was taller than her in a few inches, but she had a petite figure compared to me who gained some pounds after my divorce.

My ex-husband used to restrict my consumption of calories, and still, he called me fat despite my fifty-five kilos. I could say he was fit and never eat fatty foods. We both went to a gym and watched out our weight together. But, I stopped everything when I moved out of our house.

"You can make it up to me when you have a second date with hotsome." She winked when we both stopped in our small living room that only consisted of a long brown couch where I usually spent most of my time watching action movies on our flat TV. It had a small glass coffee table and the new dark brown rag we bought from the 50% off last month.

"I'm just glad that you're trying to give back some colors to your boring life. He moved on, Are. Now, it's your turn. He's not the only hot guy in the world. Your ex-husband is an asshole." She smiled, this time it wasn't sympathetic like every time she found me crying on this couch. But Kat didn't know some important details about my ex.

"So, should I consider dating one of those hot guys?" I smiled back.

"If they're hotter than Ed Skrein, then yes. It's time to make that drier than oregano vagina wet."

"Oh, my God! Your mouth, Kittykat. This guy looked familiar to me, but I don't think it's him that I used to know though because his eyes have different colors, and I don't think he's ever interested in this kind of thing. I mean he doesn't have to, you know."

Skip

THE CREAM stucco house came to view when the iron-wrought gate slid open. This had been my mother's house after her divorce from Dad. Dr. Everly Hynson never remarried and been promoted as the head of the Pediatric department in the local hospital last year. Back in London, Mum's schedule was the cause of most of their fights. She was still a resident back then. Dad was busy running our cosmetics and fragrances business while Mum was on call mostly at night. But her love over her job made her selfish in the eyes of my father.

The door swung open. Mum stood beautifully in front of me with her familiar smile. She was always curvy as far as I could remember. Her straight, blonde shoulder-length hair made her look younger than her late fifties plus she had her makeup on, and always had.

"Hello, mother!" I greeted, spreading a grin on my lips.

"My darling, Skipper. I thought you forgot your way back home."

Stepping forward, I wrapped my arms tightly around her. A feeling of breathlessness overwhelmed my senses. "I missed you so much, Mum."

"I don't feel that way, Skipper," she said with a laugh.

"Come on, Mum. We've been through this." I pulled away, staring at her beautiful hazel eyes. "I just want to prove something to Dad. When the time comes, I can stand on my own."

She closed her eyes and nodded. "I know, baby. And Mum is so proud of you." She kissed my cheek. "Let's get inside, shall we?"

Mum was a neat freak. This house still looked new and smelled clean and citrus. Everything was white from floor to ceiling, to furniture, decors, and even the grand staircases in the middle of the living room. But you couldn't find even a single living plant around. She was an environmentalist to the bone. She had this opinion that if she put plants in the house it was like cutting off their lives.

I followed her to the right corner of the house. One thing that caught my attention was the door to my right ajar slightly with a yellow light illuminated the entire room. There were racks made of woods and filled with wine bottles. Dad was right after all.

My chest tightened. I took a deep breath and pressed my lips together to stop overreacting. The family room was welcoming than the living room. My pictures and Clyve hung everywhere. I sat on the custom-made cream couch in front of the huge motion-sensor television I'd ever seen.

"Did you order that?" I asked, pointing to the TV.

"You mean if I till watch Grey's Anatomy?" She smiled warmly.

"I'm not judging you." I shrugged. "I mean how odd to watch medical-related shows when it's far from the reality? You've said that, remember?"

"I know, but Grey's Anatomy is closer to reality."

I looked down at the bear's skin rag under my feet.

"That's fake, honey. I know how much you all love animals." She sat beside me, leaning her head against my shoulder.

"I know why you're here, Skipper," she said softly.

"Of course, I'm here to manage the New York branch. And might stay here for good as well since Clyve loves his job at the CNC."

"I'm your mother, baby. I know Bradd is aware of my drinking problem."

"So, it's true then?" I lifted my head and watched her closely. Dad still cared about Mum, and I thought he still loved her and still talked from time to time.

She nodded slowly. Guilt plastered all over her face. "I'm seeing a therapist and attending some seminars."

"But you still keep alcohol in your house. Is that part of the therapy? How does it help, by the way?" I sighed with frustration.

"Don't judge me now, Skipper. You've never been here for me in the first place."

"So, is it now my fault, huh?" My voice sharpened.

My mother stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. Her feature remained calm, softened even. She was aware of why I had to leave her years ago. Not only because I had to work for my Dad, but she was all-out support of my decisions.

"So, how's your apartment?" That was why I loved her so much-she never pried. And I was not ready to rip the wound open as well.

"Thanks for helping me out, Mum. I like it by the way. The place is not far from the office, so I don't have to wake up early." I smirked.

She rolled her eyes. "You never change, do you? This is New York, Skipper, and I should have chosen an apartment far from for your office so that you have to force yourself to wake up early."

"You're mean, don't you know that? Why would I wake up early if I can manage my time just right?"

"It's not about time management, Skipper. Since you started high school you always skipped breakfast and just ran out of the house with an empty stomach. It is not right to just stop at the greasy food stand and eat from there? How are you even this fit?" She motioned to my body.

"Well, it runs in the blood, I guess. And my name is Skipper, right?" I arched my brow, smirking again. "I work out every day after my job, and it helps me sleep at night. I only eat a greasy breakfast, but I eat healthy at lunch and dinner."

"Why don't you stay with me instead."

A boisterous laugh erupted. I could even hear the echo of my own voice in the entire house, but Mum was not amused at all. "Who the bloody twenty eight years old bloke still stays at his mother's home?"

"I want to take care of you, honey." Her voice remained sweet and motherly.

I abruptly stopped laughing and stood up, pulling her into a hug. "Mum, I love you so much. Let's take care of ourselves together, but I don't have to stay here to do that. You can come and visit me anytime. We can cook a healthy dinner, then have some cuppa whilst watch Grey's Anatomy together every weekend, how does it sound?"

She nodded. "I love you, Skipper."

"I love you too, Mum."

"So, are you dating someone?" Mum noticed how my body went rigid.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, unable to find a word to answer her.

"So, you didn't come here for her."

"Mum."

"I know you are still close with Brett, Skip. And you probably heard what happened to her marriage."

My heart ached. Why did it have to feel this way? After all these years, it was just like yesterday. But she lied to me, and I could never forget that. It almost took years of my life away from my family.

I was beyond shocked to see her signing up at the dating site I co-owned. Didn't she know that his brother shared twenty percent of its profit? I knew I was a scumbag back then, and that was one of the reasons why I had to stay away. I was playing with fire-a fire that couldn't be ceased once I stayed around. I regret beyond anything, and worse was, I just stabbed my best friend on both sides.

Stalking Arella was probably the worse idea I came up with, but I couldn't let her go out with another man on a date. I guessed she had never been on a date since her divorce from her slag ex-husband. So, I called my internet engineer to make her profile unseen to everyone but me. We'd been chatting for a while now, and I was glad she didn't agree on meeting me, yet. Meaning, she was cautious and intelligent.

She changed a lot these years. Her slim figure was gone and became more hot and curvy. She changed her hair color as well, but those cherry full lips that I tasted once still looked luscious and sinful.

My face heated with embarrassments of what I did to my best friend's little sister.

"I have to go, Mum."

"I'm trying to let you open up, Skip. You two can still be friends?"

How can I be friends if I still in lust with her? I thought after all this time, it was going to lessen, but I was completely wrong. At least now, we were both adults and single.

"I don't think it's a good idea, but even so, I'll try to be nice."

"It's been years, Skip."

"I know, Mum, but she still lied to me. I have to go. I'll see you on the weekend?" I sounded like an arse to her, but I couldn't just talk about it right now.

"I'll visit your apartment. And please, no more socks on the floor, Skipper. You're near thirty for God's sake."

A soft laugh rumbled in my chest. "That I changed. I placed a hamper near the door where I could toss my socks."

I took a deep breath to lessen the ache in my chest. Mum walked me out to my rental car. "Thanks, Mum."

* * *

I SWIPED the screen to unlock my phone. My pulse raced as I opened the HeartRated app on my phone. It was totally all Brett's idea to create a dating app, forcing me to go out on a date. I'd met several girls using this app, but nothing serious other than hot sex overnight then bid goodbyes after that.

Hotsome: Hey, love. You up for a drink this weekend?

I'd been asking her for days, but she just gave me reasons. I was wondering if she found someone outside this app or I was completely not her type. Photoshopping my photo and my brother's was not exactly a good idea-it was like lying, but she did lie to me in the first place, so call it quits.

The chatbox bubbled.

SinDeRella: I have a weekend dinner with my family.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. I wanted to ask her again what was her purpose of signing up on this app.

Hotsome: Can I ask you something?

SinDeRella: Sure. As if I can stop you from sending.

Smartarse!

Hotsome: Did you find a date already?

SinDeRella: What made you say that?

Hotsome: Because you kept on turning me down.

SinDeRella: I'm nervous and I'm not good at it.

Hotsome: Just be you, love.

Seconds later...

A minute passed...

Hotsome: Still thinking twice? Fine, my Sinderella. I won't ask you again. Just send a message when you're ready.

I logged out. Disappointment swept over me. What if she hadn't moved on from her ex?