Owning Swan

By Carter Blake

One stupid bet
One beautiful woman
One night to make her mine...

He doesn't remember me. But I know exactly who he is. I shouldn't trust him. And I definitely shouldn't let him into my bed. But sometimes the worst mistakes have the happiest endings. 

A steamy, retelling of The Ugly Duckling with a guaranteed Happy Ever After. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carter Blake
• Release date: Jul 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393373360

Book preview

Chapter One

Quinn

All I’m saying is, you need to drop the moody shit and go out and have some actual fun, Derek says.

As usual, his advice isn’t welcome or helpful, but I nod along anyway because if I protest, he and the rest of my brothers will make me miserable for the rest of the night. I make use of the beer in front of me, and gulp down the contents of my glass in one swallow.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate their candor or doubt that they want what’s best for me. But as with most things, despite having their hearts in the right place, following their prescribed course of action would only give me grief.

Dude, seriously, Tate says, shooting up from his seat. He gets excited about things and then throws his full weight behind them. How long has it been since you’ve picked up a girl?

You’re gonna want to sit down before you ask dangerous questions like that, Killian says. He’s cradling this watered-down whiskey that he gets because he thinks it sets him apart from the rest of us, the simple beer-chugging folk. I bet it’s been long enough for his hymen to grow back.

They all laugh, and I grunt, throwing a look at them that would terrify most men.

Oh, Quinnie, come on. Killian pats me on the back. Your big brother made a funny. Get that chuckle out now. You know you want to.

If he laughs, Derek says, "then it’ll be like he agrees with you. And Quinnie is too proud for that."

Another round of laughter. This time, they’re giggling like fucking school girls.

And they question my manhood?

And you all wonder why I don’t come out with you more, I mutter, taking another swig. As it happens, the glass is empty, so I look even more like a jackass.

Let’s get one thing straight - I’m not a fucking virgin. I just don’t work the same way as the rest of them.

Here’s the thing about my brothers: they don’t process much more than the basic human needs. They get hungry, thirsty, hot, cold, horny - but that’s about it. And they address those needs when the situation arises, and then they’re back to coasting along. I come out with them at least once a month because they’re all I’ve got. Our DNA is as far as our common ground goes.

Derek is happily married, though you’d never know from hearing his locker room talk. Tate’s exhausted the town’s dating pool, and now he’s working his way up to the moms of the girls he’s dated - or just slept with, as is the case with most of them. And Killian - well, Killian might be talking this big game, but he keeps giving his phone furtive glances when he thinks none of us are looking. Some chick named Mandy has his undivided attention during those precious seconds.

But they do have a point. I haven’t been laid in months.

Well? Killian prods. Aren’t you going to answer? Defend yourself?

Against what, the opinion of a bunch of assholes? I say, taking his drink. I stand up because Killian’s five-ten stature is nothing to my six-foot-four inches. That gets a rise out of Derek and Tate, who live to see Killian lose his cool.

Killian is quick to his feet, trying to get his bottom-shelf crap back. Give that back.

Sit the hell down. I glare pointedly at his seat. After a few seconds of grandstanding, he does. Good boy, I say, taking a mouthful before handing his beverage back to him. It burns in my mouth, as only the cheap liquor Killian favors could.

Asshole, he says. You drank half of it. You’re paying for the next.

Killian, the owner of this dump is going to start paying you for getting rid of that shit for him. The bitter aftertaste sticks to my throat, so I look around the table to see whose drink I’ll steal next.

I’ve gotta side with Quinnie, that shit is foul, Derek says. Quinnie, go get us another pitcher, won’t you?

Get it yourself. But I’m almost doing just that. They’re all so lazy and entitled that they’ll wait it out - unless the thirst wins out, that is. As I said, they’re all driven by their primal urges.

I’ll tell you what, Tate says, a conspiratorial expression materializing on his face. We’ll lay off you if you go.

Nah, Derek says. Not worth it. I’ll get my own damn beer and keep making Quinn squirm-

Tate holds up a hand in Derek’s general direction. His eyes don’t leave me, that same wicked glint clouding them. I can tell that whatever he’s about to say next is going to cost me.

Damn it, I think. I should’ve just taken care of it before one of them saw and took the opportunity to bait me.

I propose that to buy his own freedom and dignity, Quinn has to go get the next round and agree to a bet. That gets a smirk out of both Derek and Killian. Let’s see…

Shit. We don’t wager bets with each other often, and we avoid Tate’s like the plague. He has a sadistic mind and will lay out something outrageous. He reserves his perverse sense of humor for the punishment if you lose a bet.

If I say no straightaway, it’ll only encourage Killian and Tate to do worse. If I participate, I’m almost guaranteed to regret it.

I know, Derek says, flashing me a devilish grin. Quinn here is going to break the virginal streak tonight.

Why didn’t I stay in tonight?

My knee aches and it’d been flaring up for a week. It always does when the weather turns cold suddenly. Or when it’s about to rain. They would’ve accepted that excuse, no problem. If there was one topic my brothers held sacred, it was my injury.

We aren’t in high school anymore. My sex life is none of your damn business, I snap.

It is tonight. Unless, of course, you mean to forfeit, Tate says, grinning. In which case, we hold the right to dole out punishment as we see fit.

For it to be a forfeit, I would’ve had to agree to the bet in the first place.

Quinn, just give up. Killian wolfs down the remainder of that disgusting whiskey of his, scrunching his face as it goes down his throat. We’re doing this for your own good.

It’s no use arguing with them. It really isn’t. In the past two years, I’ve stopped fighting things I can’t control. My knee getting in the way of my career. The fact that my brilliant future dulled considerably. The shitty prospects I had in town. The sinking realization that this - my life now - was it.

I’d continue on this path for another thirty or forty years and retire if I could afford it, or keep working my dead-end job until I dropped dead.

It’s easier just to accept things. Besides, maybe there would be a way out of the bet on a technicality or a loophole that wouldn’t make fulfilling it too much of a hassle. Or cost me any more of my self-respect.

I sigh. Fine.

Continue, Derek, Tate says.