The Five Brothers Next Door: A Reverse Harem Romance Read online

  I decide on a shorter, less angry message.

  Ava: I’ll pay you back.

  I don’t normally put a period at the end of my text message. I know it’s a small, passive-aggressive gesture Joseph will probably miss, but it feels good to type it out and send it.

  That little dot also helps me stop myself from sending another message—something immature like “screw you.”

  But this is enough, for now.

  Ava

  “Have a good weekend, Miss G,” a blonde girl says, grinning at me as she slings a backpack over one shoulder and exits the classroom.

  “You guys have a good weekend, too.” I grab the stack of test papers and square them up against the wooden surface of my big desk, making loud tapping sounds.

  “Got a hot date tonight, Miss G?” asks Ryan, a cheeky male student who’s asked me out twice already.

  “Yep,” I say.

  Technically, I do have something to do tonight. I’m having dinner downtown with my parents. That counts, right?

  Okay, maybe not. But I’m not about to admit my lame plan to Ryan, especially when it looks like he’d be eager to rectify the situation.

  My life’s not perfect, but I don’t think being imprisoned for inappropriate behavior with one of my students is going to improve it.

  “Oh man, I thought you broke up with your boyfriend,” he says.

  “Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I’m going to be sitting at home eating ice cream all weekend. My life’s brimming with excitement.”

  “Okay. I’ll try my luck with Miss L.” He laughs and shrugs as he walks away to meet his friends outside, who are waiting to give him consolatory pats on the back..

  “Miss Lake?” I ask.

  Jessica Lake has stunning red hair, full lips, and big doe eyes. I’m almost flattered that this boy is picking me over her, but then I realize how pathetic it is to get excited about that.

  “Yeah,” Ryan says, stopping in his tracks and looking back over his shoulder. “Wait a minute. Are you changing your mind, Miss G?”

  “No,” I say, laughing.

  “Oh, too bad. There’s this article online that says a girl’s more likely to go out with you if you make her jealous,” Ryan says.

  “Yeah, the people who write those articles, they have no idea how to get girls either. They just pretend they do so they can sell advertising space.”

  “Oh.”

  “And not to burst your bubble, but I doubt you’ll get a different answer from Miss Lake,” I say as I put the stack of test papers into my bag. “I mean, have you seen her boyfriend? Tough competition.”

  As the group of boys at the doorway laugh, Ryan goes, “Well, can’t hurt to try.”

  “Good luck. Let me know how it goes.” I give him a grin.

  These kids are alright, I think to myself as I hear their footsteps going down the hallway outside.

  I get along just fine with my students, and based on what my colleagues tell me, the faculty likes my work, too.

  There are parts of teaching that I like.

  It’s a privilege to have the power to shape impressionable young minds. I can turn these innocent kids into whatever I want, theoretically, if I’m good enough at my job. That’s pretty cool.

  On top of that, my parents approve of my profession. They think it’s a good career path for a woman. They tell me it’s good practice for when I have my own kids in the future. It’s supposed to make me more nurturing.

  I don’t know about that, though. I like my students, but I treat them more like peers than kids. I’m only twenty-one myself, so they’re not much younger than me.

  I mean, I care about them, and I want them to do well. I get excited imagining them growing up and doing things in the world, using the knowledge that I equip them with.

  Still, I can’t help but wonder if I would’ve chosen a different path for myself if it weren’t for my parents.

  Now that I’m living on my own and only see my parents about once a week, it’s hard to remember why their opinions mattered so much.

  But things were really different just a few short years ago when I was a high school kid myself, picking a major out of an overwhelming number of options.

  My parents have never been supportive of any decision that veers even slightly from what they consider to be normal.

  When I was nine and wanted to pick up skateboarding, they freaked out because I was starting to act like a boy. They made me see a shrink.

  When I was fourteen, I cried for days because the popular girls thought my shoes were stupid and made fun of me. My parents had me committed into a mental hospital for a few days, saying I had suicidal thoughts.

  So maybe I have to admit that I picked this job because of my parents? That sounds lame, though. It makes me feel so damn weak.

  But then again, considering the things my parents have put me through whenever I wanted to do anything out of the ordinary . . . I don’t know.

  I can always start over, though. It’s not too late. That’s how I usually console myself.

  I’m young enough to get another degree and start on a completely different career path. My parents paid for my education degree, so I don’t even have any student loans to pay off.

  On the other hand, I don’t really know what I want.

  I’ve lived here in Ashbourne my whole life. Everyone I know is here. I’ve rarely seen the world outside. I want to, but it seems scary to do it on my own.

  “Hey, Ava, got any plans tonight?” asks another male voice—an adult, this time. I twist to see Tony at the doorway.

  As usual, his blond hair is slicked back with a few stray strands falling over his forehead, threatening to poke him in his bright blue eyes.

  He’s wearing a crisp white shirt, a navy-blue knit vest over it, and a black blazer on top of that. Oh, and he’s also wearing a pair of green pants and a blow tie. That outfit shouldn’t work, but somehow he’s pulling it off.

  “Dinner with my parents,” I answer honestly. I’m okay with my co-workers thinking I’m uncool.

  Tony laughs. “Ditch them.”

  “I can’t. They’re not the kind of people I can just ditch. They’re the kind of people who are going to make me pay if I do that.”

  “Sorry.” Tony grimaces. “Childhood must’ve been rough, huh?”

  “Pretty much.” I shoot Tony a grin.

  “I’m meeting Jessica for dinner, and I thought you might want to come.”

  “Aww . . . You wanted me to come with you?” I ask.

  Nice. I just got an invite from the cool teachers. This second high-school experience is shaping up to be better than my first one. After the way Joseph isolated me from my old friends, I’m in desperate need of new ones.

  “Yeah, of course. We’re the only young teachers in the school. We need to stick together against the old farts,” he says.

  “I’ll take a rain check.” Quickly, I add, “Please ask me some other time, though. I swear I really do have a plan tonight.”

  “Of course,” Tony says. “I’ve been telling my husband all about you and he’s excited to meet you.”

  “Oh, he’s coming, too?” I ask.

  “Yeah. And Jessica’s boyfriend, too.”

  Actually, even though they call it “dinner,” the weekly meal with my parents starts at six and I’m usually home pretty early in the night.

  “I was thinking of joining you if you’re going for drinks after dinner, but now I don’t know . . . I don’t want to be the fifth wheel.”

  I can’t say this to Tony because it’s potentially offensive . . . but if his husband will be there, it’s going to be tricky for me to tag along with them.

  If I go, I’ll have to be careful not to let my parents know about us hanging out together. Also, I’ll have to sneak around behind their backs and make sure there are no photos posted on social media where my parents can stumble upon them.

  Like I said, my parents don’t tolerate anything outside the norm.


  “You won’t be the fifth wheel. We’re friendly and super inclusive, I promise,” Tony says with a teasing smile. “But unfortunately, there won’t be drinks. Greg and I have to go home before our babysitter’s curfew.”

  “Ah, too bad. Maybe some other time.”

  “Yeah. We’ll make it happen,” Tony says before he gives me a small wave and disappears into the throng of loud students in the hall, who are laughing, cheering, and high-fiving one another.

  It’s the weekend, and everybody’s having fun—everybody, that is, except for me.

  Mason

  I fucking love running my own business, especially when the money’s flowing in like water, now that it’s taking off.

  One big perk? I can be home early for Thanksgiving—almost two whole months early.

  And because my business partners are my brothers, all of us are home in Ashbourne right now—well, three of us, at least.

  The twins are coming tomorrow because it’s Friday and there are some clients they want to meet in person before the weekend.

  We’ve been working our asses off for years, and finally the business is stable enough for us to let our staff handle it for a while. The last few holiday seasons, our parents had to visit us in the city because we couldn’t get away from work.

  Ah, it feels like old times.

  Well, maybe not exactly like old times.

  As my brothers and I step out of my red, convertible Porsche in downtown Ashbourne, all eyes are on us.

  To be fair, we’ve always drawn some attention because the ladies have always loved us (and most of us love the ladies back).

  Right now, though, it’s not just the ladies who are staring at us. And they’re not just paying attention to the way we look but also at the things we have—like my luxury car, Ollie’s shiny watch, and Liam’s expensive camera.

  Another thing that’s different from the old times? We’re not sleeping in our old bedrooms in the house we grew up in. Instead, the twins and Ollie are staying with Mom, while Liam and I are with Dad.

  Like our parents, we’ve split up, but we’re still kind of together.

  My life’s going perfectly to plan. It’s always been my dream to start and build a successful business; I just didn’t know how to get here.

  But I found my answer in my brother. Who knew Ollie’s idea could turn all five of us into wealthy men?

  Honestly, when Ollie first mentioned “medical tourism,” I had no idea what it was.

  But now, I could probably teach a Medical Tourism 101 course, just using the information stored in my brain. No need for textbooks or anything. Those broke college students would love having me teach them.

  I’m not going to do that, though.

  Firstly, as hot as a professor-student tryst sounds, I don’t need to be on any campus to impress college chicks. My brothers and I are starting to gain some recognition in the media, and let’s just say we’ve been getting offers from women of all ages.

  And secondly, we have the secret to success now. We’ve found the pot of gold. The way business is going right now, I wouldn’t trade my knowledge for anything. This shit is better than alchemy . . . or winning the lottery.

  So why would I share our secrets, especially when college professors get paid peanuts compared to what we’re making?

  Besides, it’s not like just anyone can replicate our success. My brothers and I make the best team. Each of us has his own area of expertise, and we happen to complement one another.

  We’ve been working at this for five years since Ollie graduated college and could finally devote himself to our business full time. He believed in it so much he decided not to apply for a hospital internship after he graduated medical school.

  Even though Ollie’s our youngest brother, his faith in this business gave the rest of us the kick in the pants we needed to quit our jobs, too.

  Liam was a young lawyer at a prestigious firm at the time. I was a portfolio manager in a hedge fund company. The twins were consistently the top sales representatives at one of the biggest insurance companies in the country.

  It wasn’t easy to give up those jobs, but we knew we had to do it.

  We’d been talking about our own family business for years, as we were growing up. We’d gotten the idea from some movie that I can’t remember anymore now.

  Then, the idea had just taken a life of its own from there. We’d talked about it often—at the dining table, in the school bus, late at night when the lights had been turned off and it was time to sleep . . . And later, as one by one we’d gone to college, we’d continued to discuss the idea over the phone.

  Since we founded Hunter Meditour, we’ve gone through a lot of ups and downs.

  I’m not going to lie; there were days when I deeply regretted starting this business. There were nights when I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as anxiety gripped my heart like a vice. More than once, we suffered so many setbacks we almost lost our collective shirt.

  But we kept on working at it, and that’s how we got here.

  It feels like we’ve made the best decision ever, especially now that we’re home in Ashbourne.

  After the way these people treated my parents, after the way they questioned my parents’ fitness to raise children, there’s nothing I want more than to rub our success in their faces.

  All five of us are here to spend time with our parents as a complete family. But I may have an ulterior motive: I also want these people to admit, even if only to themselves, that they were wrong about us.

  Look at us. We’re the fucking one percent now. What was it that you said—something about how our parents were going to ruin our lives?

  Liam

  “Would you please stop grinning like that? You look like an idiot,” I say as we stroll down the main street of Ashbourne, which is lined with small retail shops on both sides.

  “That’s what you think. The ladies seem to disagree. They love me,” Mason says, ever the flashy womanizer.

  I hate to admit it, but Mason’s right. The handful of women, teetering on their high heels along the main street in Ashbourne, practically creamed their panties at the sight of his Porsche.

  “They probably just want a ride in your car.” I stop and let myself fall behind as Ollie and Mason continue walking toward the door of the liquor store.

  Admiring the architecture of the old building façade, I hold my Leica M9 with both hands, frame the picture just so, adjust the focus, and take a snap.

  Unlike other DSLRs, this camera requires a lot of manual adjusting to produce non-blurry pictures. But when everything comes together just right, every once in a while, I get a beautiful picture that I blow up to hang on the wall of my apartment in San Francisco.

  “Check out that hot piece of ass at two o’clock,” Mason says to Ollie in a low voice when I catch up with them.

  Nothing important was missed, apparently.

  “Yeah, she’s okay,” Ollie says.

  “Something wrong? You don’t usually sound so disinterested,” I say with a grin. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up like me. You guys are always teasing me about my so-called ‘dry streak.’”

  Ollie shrugs without providing any explanation.

  “That’s cool. More for me.” Mason’s still staring at the girl.

  I take a quick look at her. Shiny blonde hair with long legs—usually, both Mason and Ollie would be all over her.

  Luckily, even though they have a similar type, they’ve never fought over a woman. Like true Hunter men, they’ve come up with an out-of-the-box solution: just share the woman.

  Okay, it’s not just them. I’ve joined them, too, a few times.

  It’s a nice arrangement for the five of us because we’re always working, and we don’t have time for relationships. Red-blooded men like us have needs, and sometimes even I get sick of my own right hand.

  I see Mason wandering further and further away from us and I know he’s about to bolt, so I grab his arm and d
rag him into the liquor store.

  “We’re supposed to be back for dinner soon, remember?” I ask.

  “It would’ve taken me no time to get her number.” Despite his protest, Mason ambles into the store with me.

  “We’re here for two months. It’s only our first day. Pace yourself, for god’s sake.”

  Ollie’s already ahead of us, checking out the Australian wines on one of the shelves.

  “Fine.” Mason sighs.

  “Should I be worried about Ollie?”

  “Because he didn’t look at that chick?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s been off his game lately. He tells me it’s getting too easy,” Mason says, dropping his voice to a whisper.

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah.”

  We shut up as we enter Ollie’s aisle where he’s holding up two bottles and inspecting the labels. “I know you were talking about me,” he says.

  “Whaaat . . . ?” Mason acts surprised, but it’s unconvincing. I’m glad he’s practically a different person when he’s doing a presentation or negotiating with our partners and suppliers. Otherwise, we’d never get anything done.

  “We were just worried about you,” I say, ignoring Mason’s nudge in my rib cage.

  “Just because I didn’t ogle some girl?” Ollie puts one bottle back on the shelf and holds up the other one. “I think this is the one Mom likes, right?”

  Mason stares at the label blankly. “I have no idea.”

  “Yes, it is,” I say impatiently. “And yes, we were worried because you didn’t ogle some girl.”

  “I just don’t feel like banging some random girl right now. If I feel like it, it won’t take long for me to find someone anyway, so why look now?” Ollie asks, taking the bottle and walking toward the cashier.

  Mason and I share a look. This is unusual.

  “Besides,” Ollie continues, “shouldn’t you—Mason—worry more about the business expansion? And shouldn’t you—Liam—worry more about preparing the contracts for the expansion?”

  “I’ve got that under control,” Mason and I say, almost at the same time.