by Wendi Wilson
“I really don’t want to impose,” Lizzie murmured.
“Our parents will insist you stay,” Silas said, his expression hard. “But if you’re lying, if this is a trick of some kind…”
“It’s not,” I insisted.
Silas nodded. “We’ll talk to them when they get home.”
Everyone seemed to relax after that. We spent the afternoon just hanging out in the living room, watching television and talking. By tacit agreement, no one mentioned Lizzie’s past actions, my parents, or what happened with me and Beckett at the mall.
Little by little, Silas and Slade relaxed, chatting with Lizzie and even chuckling at a couple of her jokes. I caught Slade staring at her a couple of times, his eyes shining with interest. When he noticed me looking, he winked at me before turning his attention elsewhere.
Interesting.
Mr. and Mrs. Madsen got home within a half hour of each other and, after introducing them to Lizzie, their sons took them into the kitchen to talk to them privately. When they emerged ten minutes later, they graciously extended an invitation to her to stay as long as he needed. She accepted with misty eyes, grateful for their hospitality.
Beckett insisted that Lizzie and I take their room, and Jett and Wyatt agreed. They assured us they would be comfortable camping out in the living room and refused to listen to any of my arguments. Lizzie grabbed her duffel bag from where she’d tossed it in the corner and Slade showed her up to our new room.
“Are you sure about this?” I whispered to Wyatt. “There are three of you and only two of us. It makes more sense for us to stay down here since there are three beds in that room.”
“We’re sure,” Wyatt said. “Girls need more privacy than boys. Besides, aren’t you impressed with our chivalry?”
He struck a debonair pose and I laughed as I answered, “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Good,” he said. “Now stop worrying about us. We’ll be fine.”
“Savanna,” Mrs. Madsen called out, pulling me from my private conversation with Wyatt, “do you want me to make you a special birthday dinner, or do you have plans with the boys?”
“I, uh, don’t know, actually,” I said, looking at each of the Pattons for a clue.
“We’re taking our girl out for a surprise,” Wyatt revealed, smiling at me with a wink.
“At least, that was the plan before Lizzie showed up,” Beckett added. “I guess we could postpone.”
Jett opened his mouth, but Lizzie’s voice cut him off as she jogged back down the stairs.
“Nonsense,” she said. “I can find something to do while you’re out. I won’t let you ruin Savanna’s birthday on my account.”
“Lizzie can eat dinner with us,” Silas offered, surprising everyone, possibly including himself.
“Yeah, it’ll give us a chance to get to know her better,” Slade added as he came back into the room.
“Of course,” Mrs. Madsen said. “Do you like fried chicken?”
Lizzie nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That sounds delicious. Thank you.”
“Oh, such a polite girl,” Mrs. Madsen gushed, letting Lizzie’s southern charm work its magic.
“I should go change, if we’re going out,” I said, careful to keep the bitten side of my neck out of view.
“I’ll help you,” Lizzie offered before leading the way up the staircase.
We headed upstairs and into the cramped room. Lizzie closed the door behind us and turned, planting her hands on her hips.
“Okay, show me what you’ve got and I’ll help you pick out an outfit.”
“It’s not much,” I admitted. “We kind of left in a hurry.”
I went to the closet, where I’d been keeping my clothes even though I wasn’t sleeping in there. I showed Lizzie my choices and she grabbed the black skirt and flowy red top.
“These will work,” she declared. “As long as you’re not going bowling or anything lame like that.”
“It’s funny you picked these,” I said, rubbing the silky material of the shirt between my fingers. “My mom bought me two outfits to choose from to wear to your party that night. This was one of them.”
Lizzie fell silent, but I could see the regret in her eyes as she met my stare.
“But, anyway, I think you’re right,” I added making my voice sound chipper. “The boys haven’t seen me in this outfit yet. I think today is a perfect day to debut it.”
I headed to the bathroom to change. Lizzie and I were becoming friends, but we weren’t quite to the “getting naked in front of each other” stage in that friendship, yet. I put on the skirt and turned back and forth in front of the mirror.
“Yep,” I whispered, “just as short as I remember.”
Shrugging, I decided to just go with it and pulled the top on. Looking at my reflection, my face fell. I shuffled back to the bedroom and faced Lizzie, who was waiting for me on the bed.
Closing the door, I said, “This isn’t going to work.”
“Why not?” she asked. “I think you look hot as hell.”
I pointed to my neck, fully exposed by the off-the-shoulder cut of the neckline. The spot where Beckett had bitten me was on display, the skin around the wound purple with bruising.
“Wow. That looks like it hurt.”
“I guess it did,” I replied, “but in that moment, I wanted to feel it. Pleasure and pain were basically the same thing. I loved it.” My voice trailed off with those last words as I realized how much I was revealing.
“Oh, you’re kinky,” Lizzie teased, waggling her eyebrows at me and shaking her hips.
“Shut up,” I said with a laugh, picking up a pillow and swinging it at her head.
She ducked with impressive speed and held up both hands, palms out. “I surrender. Please don’t mess up my hair.”
I dropped the pillow with a flourish. “How do you get all the curls so perfect?” I asked.
“It’s a lot of work, trust me,” she said, smoothing a hand over it. “Come sit down and give me your makeup. I bet I can cover the mark so you won’t even see it.”
I dug my small cosmetic bag from my purse and handed it to her as I sat down. She dug through it for about two seconds before plunking it down on the bed with a sigh.
“Is this all you have?” she asked.
“I don’t wear much makeup,” I admitted.
“Well you can’t borrow mine, obviously,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
She left and ran down the stairs. A few moments later, I could hear here talking to Mrs. Madsen. I tensed, wondering what she was doing. She told her she wanted to do my makeup for me, but I was sorely lacking in product and asked if she could borrow some concealer for me. Mrs. Madsen told her we could use whatever we wanted and we were welcome to use her vanity in her bathroom.
Lizzie came back up the stairs, then poked her head through the doorway. “She said— “
“I heard,” I stated, cutting her off. “Let’s go check it out.”
When we walked into the Madsen’s private bathroom, my jaw dropped. Along one wall was a large wooden vanity made of dark wood with bronze metal accents. A large silver tray sat on one end, holding a dozen different bottles of perfume. Bottles and tubes of makeup were scattered across the surface next to a wicker basket filled with brushes and combs. A rack attached to the side held a curling iron, a hair straightener and a blow dryer. Mrs. Madsen had everything.
Lizzie pulled out the matching chair and motioned for me to sit. I watched her sort through various tubes and bottles, setting some aside and pushing the rest out of the way.
“Her skin tone is pretty close to yours, so this should work,” Lizzie said. “I’ll have to do your face, too, because that was the excuse I gave Mrs. Madsen.”
“Okay,” I agreed, feeling a little unsure. “Just nothing too dark or fancy.”
“Trust me. Makeup, I know.”
She applied liquid from a tube on my neck before smudging it with a triangular sponge. Then she applied what looked
like liquid foundation to the entire column before patting on some powder. When she was finished, I could barely see a mark, and that was just because I knew to look for it.
“Amazing,” I declared, my eyes wide.
“Now,” she said, “I’m going to turn you around so you can’t watch in the mirror.”
“What? Why?”
“An artist never shows her work before it’s finished,” she stated, motioning for me to stand so she could turn the chair around.
I groaned but followed her instructions. I managed to sit still while she worked, only flinching a little when she applied the eyeliner and mascara. Those, she pulled from her pocket, and I recognized them as my own products. She mumbled something about it being gross, using someone else’s eye makeup. I agreed with the sentiment.
“And, we’re done,” she said. “You can look now.”
I stood up, turning to look into the mirror. A small gasp escaped me before I could stop it. Staring back at me was me, only prettier and slightly more exotic. I looked at Lizzie in awe and she smirked.
“I told you. I know makeup.”
I looked back at myself. My blue eyes looked huge and bright, rimmed with black liner and accented with smoky eyeshadow. My cheeks looked thinner and well-defined and my skin looked as smooth as porcelain.
“You’re a master,” I proclaimed, looking back at her. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” she said, waving me off. “At least you have someone, or someones to look good for.”
Her voice held a hint of sadness. I wondered if she was lonely, then mentally kicked myself. Of course, she was lonely. She had spent all her time doing jobs for Dr. Patton and her parents instead of forming real relationships. Then I remembered what I’d noticed earlier.
“I think Slade might be interested,” I muttered, careful to whisper as quietly as possible so the Alts in the house wouldn’t hear me.
“What?”
“Shush,” I said, pointing toward the door and then at my ear. I leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “I caught him checking you out earlier and when he saw me watching him, he winked.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she whispered back. “Boys stare all the time. It doesn’t mean they like me. It just means they like the way I look. There’s a difference.”
“If you say so,” I relented, letting the subject drop.
I didn’t know those boys well, but I knew them well enough to know Lizzie had sparked Slade’s interest. And I’d bet a million bucks it wasn’t just her beauty that interested him. But I wasn’t the type to interfere or play matchmaker. They were going to have to figure it out for themselves.
Chapter Seven
The boys took me to a nice Italian restaurant, one with cloth napkins and lit candles on the tables. I’d caught each of them staring at me several times, identical looks on their faces, a mix of awe and something else. Desire.
“Do I have marinara sauce on my face or something?” I asked when I caught Wyatt’s stare for the bazillionth time.
He laughed. “No. Why?”
“You guys have been staring at me all night. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t sitting her looking like a fool.”
“You could never look like a fool,” Jett asserted.
“You just look so damn beautiful,” Wyatt added.
“You always look beautiful,” Beckett interjected before I could respond, “but tonight, it’s different.”
“It’s just makeup,” I muttered, feeling a blush heating my face.
“That’s part of it, yes,” Jett stated, reaching across the table to take my hand. “But there’s more to it.”
“You look…confident,” Beckett said.
“Poised,” Jett added.
“Like a woman,” Wyatt said, his voice deepening on the last word.
I wanted to say something flippant, ask if I looked like a man before, but I held my tongue. Intuition was telling me this was not the time for jokes. My boys were giving off some serious vibes and the tension was mounting—both in the air around us and inside my own body.
Without taking his eyes off me, Jett raised a hand to signal our waiter, who brought him the check. He paid with cash and they all rose from their chairs simultaneously. Beckett pulled mine out for me as I stood and placed his palm on the small of my back as they walked me to the exit.
As we climbed into the car, I asked, “Are we going home?”
Wyatt shook his head. “We have something else in mind, if that’s okay.”
I nodded. I wasn’t ready for the night to end. Other than hearing that Dr. Patton had plans involving my parents, it had been one of my best birthdays ever. I had three amazing men in my life, we were safe and happy with the Madsens and I possibly had earned my first best friend.
Jett drove through the city before turning off onto a side road that led to a residential neighborhood. The houses thinned out until we were in an area with new construction, the skeletons of future homes rising toward the sky. At the end of the street, he pulled into a small parking lot that bordered a small playground.
“A playground?” I asked, my lips forming a bright smile. “Didn’t I tell you guys it was cliché to bring a date to the park?”
“I believe you did,” Beckett said as he climbed from the car. He opened my door from the outside, helping me out.
Wyatt and Jett met us on the passenger side, matching smiles on their faces. Jett held out a hand and when I placed mine in it, he led me to the back of the car. He used the key to open the trunk, then pulled out a large blanket. My body thrummed with excitement as Beckett leaned in and grabbed his guitar case, using the strap to sling it over his shoulder.
“You’re going to play for me?” I asked.
He nodded and I couldn’t contain my joyous laughter. It had felt like forever since I’d heard him play his guitar and sing. Jett slammed the trunk closed and led me toward the big grass area near the swings.
“We found this place last week,” he admitted. “We were searching for something similar to our playground.”
“Something that would make you feel like you were home,” Beckett added from my other side as he took my free hand.
“We thought it would make you happy,” Wyatt said from behind me, a hand ghosting down my back.
I felt warm all over, despite the cool night air. I knew how lucky I was. Every single thing those boys did, they did with me in mind. My happiness made them happy, and it was the same for me.
Jett released my hand to spread the blanket on the damp grass. I kicked my shoes off before stepping onto it. Attempting to sit without flashing my goodies was a fun experience, and I ended up leaning on one hip with my legs folded behind me. Even then, the short skirt was riding up a little too high for my liking.
I could tell the boys didn’t feel the same way. They sat in a semicircle around me, Wyatt on one side and Jett on the other, with Beckett directly in front of me. I attempted to ignore their heated stares and surreptitiously pulled at the hem of the skirt. I gave up trying and clapped my hands lightly when Beckett unzipped his guitar case and pulled the instrument out.
He plucked lightly at the strings, the melody soft and slow and somewhat familiar. I lifted my head toward the night sky. A billion stars were visible that far out of the city, where no streetlights were nearby to obscure their twinkling glow. It was beautiful.
Beckett began to sing, and the chords he plucked took on a real country music feel. The words echoed inside me, making my heart pump faster and my breathing hitch. His eyes snagged mine, telling me that though he didn’t write the words, he meant every one of them. Words that swore every little thing I did amazed him. That he was blown away every time he looked at me.
My attention diverted to Wyatt when his voice joined Beckett’s. It wasn’t as finely tuned or accurate as his brother’s but the rough edge of his voice sent shivers down my spine. Fire sparked in the silver rims of his irises as my reaction registered and, as if unable to control himself,
he leaned toward me, pressing his lips to mine.
I lost every lick of sense I had at that point because I kissed him back as if my life depended on it. I vaguely registered that the music coming from Beckett’s guitar trailed off, but I didn’t pull away from Wyatt’s delicious mouth.
“Wyatt,” a voice said, so soft I barely heard it.
But he must’ve heard the meaning behind it because he broke off our kiss and leaned away, breathing hard. My own breaths huffed in and out roughly, my eyes following Wyatt’s gaze to Jett. He must have been the one who spoke.
He was staring at me, his eyes roaming over my face, down to my bare shoulder and up my neck, back to my mouth. They were filled with yearning and heat. The combination was too much. I was running high on emotions and need and I couldn’t resist touching him.
I leaned toward Jett, sliding a hand behind his neck to pull him forward. I pressed my lips against his and almost instantly his tongue swept out to meet mine. My heart fluttered in my chest like a million butterfly wings, only the butterflies were made of lightning that sent sparks to each of my extremities.
After kissing Jett for a few short moments, I pulled away, gasping for air and set my sights on Beckett, who had set his guitar off to the side. He still sat in front of me, so I twisted onto my hands and knees and crawled toward him. His lips met mine, agonizingly slow and tender as his fingers wound into my hair.
As much as I wanted them all in that moment, something didn’t feel right about it. I loved them all equally and doing… things with them in front of each other just seemed weird. And, somehow, wrong.
And absolutely no kinky… group… sexual things.
My mother’s words came back to me, so strong and clear that I could practically hear her voice. I pulled away from Beckett so quickly that my legs tangled underneath and I fell back onto my butt. My knees spread apart during my tumble and I scrambled to right myself. By the time I got everything covered, I felt like my face was going up in flames.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what…”
