by S. E. Harmon
My sly movements didn’t escape his notice. “You think you can make it to shore before I get you?”
“That I do,” I said smartly. I backed up even more. I was fairly confident in my swimming skills, but a smart person never turned down a head start.
“Last one there buys lattes tomorrow.”
Those were stakes I could appreciate. I stuck out my hand. “Deal.”
In a sudden blur of movement, he disappeared under the surface and I gave a surprised shriek. Buoyed into action, I went splashing for shore.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Early the next morning, my ill-advised bet with Jackson had me in line, waiting at the corner Starbucks. He’d trounced me soundly with too many witnesses for me to welsh on our bet. I maintained that if my arms hadn’t been worn out from paddle boarding, I could have taken him, those well-muscled, tattooed biceps be damned. I tapped an impatient foot as I waited, letting the smell of coffee perk me up.
It was a moment before I realized I was humming. Humming. I was humming to myself like a crazy person who actually enjoyed mornings, and it had nothing to do with the peppy music piping through the store’s speakers. I’d done the same thing a little earlier in the shower. Little things like that were letting me know that Houston, I’ve got a big problem. Not an engine kind of problem. More of an I’m-out-of-freeze-dried-ice-cream-and-still-two-months-away-from-Earth kind of problem.
I was rethinking my policy on casual sex. Rethinking it kind of hard. I didn’t need any empirical evidence to know that casual sex was a stupid idea and rarely worked out the way it was supposed to. I already knew that, and usually I was one hundred percent against it. I was the sensible one, the one people come to who cautioned them against this kind of crazy.
Take Julian, for example. He’d wanted to sleep with our supplier, the guy with the sexy tattoos and ear gauges. The one who gave us a great discount on iPad accessories? Well, I’d gently discouraged Julian from mixing business with pleasure. If you asked Julian, he might remember it a little differently, and claim that I used the phrase, “Don’t be such a hoebag,” but my point remains. When Art wanted to go to Vegas with a girl he’d known for a week, I’d gently cautioned against it. If asked, he might remember the phrase, “Stop being led around by your dick,” being used. But my point remains.
I was usually against hooking up. But then Jackson happened, all sculpted muscled body and twinkling eyes, and my body was going AWOL trying to convince my mind that we could make it work. And that even if we couldn’t, it might be worth the consequences.
I huffed out a breath, causing the guy in front of me to turn. He gave me a friendly smile that I tried to return, but wound up baring my teeth at him. He turned around pretty quickly.
My phone vibrated and I fished it out of my pocket. Where r the faceplates 4 the iphones? Julian’s text read. Nerds r demanding them. I grinned. So what else was new? The Nerd Herd was always demanding something. I texted a quick “which iphones” before moving up in line. The phone binged again as I placed my order with a barista so professional and fake that she still probably had plastic tab inserts on her arms. I glanced down at the screen again as he sent me the models.
When my phone binged again, I rolled my eyes and called him instead of responding. Even though I found texting ridiculously convenient, I wasn’t quite ready to replace four minutes of conversation with fifty texts. He answered with a harried “Yeah?”
“They’re where they always are. Second drawer in the storeroom.”
“I checked.”
“No, you didn’t.” I tucked my phone in the crook of my shoulder as I added cream and sugar to both coffees. “They’re in the second drawer on the left.”
There was a pause before he cursed. “Yep. There they are. Who the hell put them there?”
“You did,” I reminded him with a grin.
“No, I couldn’t have possibly… Wayne, I found them. Here. Take them. These are the right ones. Yes, they are. Yes. They are.” He finally sighed, and I heard a door close. “I’m back in my office. I’m taking lunch.”
“It’s nine thirty.”
“Well, the boss ain’t here, and I’m taking lunch. Spoiler alert—lunch is gonna be a little boozy.”
I laughed. “Isn’t it always?”
“Of course, but I usually try to hide it with breadsticks and salad.”
“Well, that certainly answers my question of how things are going down there.”
“I’m holding down the fort, babe,” he said saucily. “How’s it going on your end?”
How was it going? I slid into my car and stabbed the key in the ignition. The car turned over smoothly as I sat the coffees in the cup holder, and I tried to come up with an answer for what was, on its surface, a simple question.
It was going well, I decided. If “well” meant that I was pretty much afraid to be alone with his brother for fear I’d jump his bones. That a simple knowing glance from those pretty hazel eyes had my stomach going tight and my pulse going haywire. That every time we were near each other, I wanted to kiss him. That I couldn’t stop thinking about the last time his lips had been on mine. That I couldn’t stop feeling his body against mine, buttressed by the waves.
I struggled to think of a way to encapsulate how screwed I was in words, and came up empty. “Things are fine,” I finally croaked.
“Family driving you crazy yet?”
“No, everyone’s been on their best behavior. And considering the fact that my dad and Irene are getting married, that’s saying quite a bit.”
“Get out!” His high-pitched squeal made me grin. “Are you…okay with that?”
“Does it matter?”
“Avery, don’t make me come down there.”
As far as threats went, that was akin to strapping dynamite to my ass and striking a match. “It’s fine,” I answered hurriedly. “Really, it is.”
“How’re things going with Jackson?”
“Fine.”
“Avery Jane Winters, if you say fine one more time, I’m going to lose it. You’re fine, the family’s fine, your father’s upcoming nuptials are fine and Jackson’s fine. You want to give me a real answer for some of my questions?”
“Jackson and I…” I paused, trying to think of a way to explain what the hell was going on between Jackson and me.
My hemming and hawing turned out to be unnecessary. Whatever he read into my pause made him sigh. “Oh, jeez. Gross.”
“I didn’t even say anything,” I said defensively.
“You didn’t have to,” he accused. “I can practically hear the sexual tension all the way over here.”
I wanted to deny it. Really wanted to deny it. But I had nothing to offer in my defense.
Julian made a few gagging noises. “He’s my brother,” he said plaintively.
As if I didn’t know that. “Could you please be an adult for two seconds?” I demanded.
“As soon as I get some Pepto. Jesus. Thinking about the two of you doing…whatever ya’ll have been doing…oh God, I pictured it again. This is damn near turning my stomach.” He paused thoughtfully. “That could also be the iHop pancakes I had this morning, but I don’t think so.”
“Jules.”
“I mean really. Who on earth thought it would be a good idea to make blueberry cobbler pancakes?”
“Jules.”
“I’m pretty sure I needed an insulin drip after eating two of them.”
“Julian!”
“What?”
“I’m having a real issue here,” I said, wishing we were in person so I could smack him.
He sighed. “No, me having a stomach full of blueberry cobbler pancakes and trying to squeeze into jeans for my date tonight is a problem. What you’ve got is a situation. Have you talked to him about it?”
“He’s the one who brought it up.”
I fiddled with the lid of my pumpkin-spiced coffee, trying to figure out if I wanted to say anything more specific. I knew I was pretty lai
d-back when it came to manners and rules, but I was pretty sure it was bad form to talk about having a sexual relationship with your best friend’s brother. But I really needed to run my thoughts by someone who had no interest in getting in Jackson’s pants…which pretty much ruled out talking to myself.
Julian sighed. “Look, as much as it pains me to say this, why don’t you? You’re single, he’s single. Why not?”
“Because…I’m not looking for a relationship, Jules. I just got out of one, and they’re a suck fest.”
“Ah yes, I assumed you wanted to marry him and raise his kids in the Swiss Alps, all the while singing about a lonely goatherd.”
“That was a beautiful movie, Jules,” I said warningly. “The Sound of Music is a goddamned classic. Don’t make me come through this phone.”
“Well, you’re acting like the two of you have to get married just because you…oh God.” Jules made retching noises. “I just pictured it again.”
“Goodbye, Julian.”
“Bye. Let me know when you’re done stonewalling Jackson, huh?”
I hung up on his laughter as he celebrated his own clever pun. Bastard. I hoped he pulled something critical high-fiving himself.
My coffee was finally cool enough drink, so I took a cautious sip, staring out at nothing in particular in the parking lot. Truthfully, Julian was kind of right. Not about Julie Andrews, an American icon, but the other stuff. I was allowed to have no-strings-attached kind of sex. And even though my brain was kind of being a stubborn bitch about the whole thing, my body agreed sensibly. My eyes, those perverts, were telling me I’d regret not seeing him naked. My heart was suspiciously silent about the whole affair.
Sex wasn’t what ailed me—I had a vibrator for that. It was quick, efficient, and one hell of a stress reliever. My vibrator always left the toilet seat down and never told me I was taking too long in the bathroom. It was always available and since it had left that factory in Taiwan, it had never cheated on me.
What ailed me was that feeling of being connected to someone. Having someone to hold me. Touch me. Kiss me. Look at me like I was something special, and not just for a few moments of heated passion. It was sobering to realize that even though my relationship had ended only eight months ago, I’d been alone so much longer than that.
So after a long time of feasting on the lonely girl special, I deserved a little fun. The problem was deciding if that fun should be with Jackson. Being with him made me feel…alive. Wanted. Special. And that was kind of addictive.
I could fall for someone like that.
I blew out a breath and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. That might make things a tad awkward if things went south. Julian was my best friend, which meant we attended a lot of gatherings together. Any number of future gatherings at which it would be perfectly acceptable for Jackson to pop up. If he popped up alone, that would be bad enough. But what about when he showed up with someone new? I could see us now, awkward as hell, sitting around a Thanksgiving turkey and wishing it would spontaneously combust, just as a distraction.
Would he bring his newest main squeeze to the Fourth of July picnic? I could see them now, laughing, standing around in my backyard. I could even picture me bumping into Ms. Newest Main Squeeze, sending her flying into the patriotic Jell-O Julian always insisted on bringing. Worse yet? I was now old enough to use the term “main squeeze” in regular conversation.
Last year, Jackson had brought some chick named Lana. She’d had gorgeous red hair and she’d been some sort of orthodontist, if I remembered correctly. They’d stayed for the fireworks, sitting on a blanket under one of the trees in the backyard. At one point during the show, several fireworks had exploded at once, lighting up my darkened backyard. I’d happened to glance their way and saw them making out like a couple of horny teenagers, secure of their privacy in the near darkness. I’d put my head on Adam’s shoulder, determined not to look their way, but every now and again….
I bit my lip. I had to be honest with myself. Maybe I had been crushing on Jackson a little longer than I realized. But that just made my point that much stronger. Having sex with a crush was not a way to make things better. It would make me want him even more, and eventually would blow up in both of our faces. Now was sleeping with Jackson worth all that?
I pictured him the way he was this morning, rolling over and giving me that half-crooked smile with those soft, sleepy eyes. There was only one real answer to that question. One smart answer.
Yup.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sunday, we followed up another of Art’s fabulous dinners with a s’mores bonfire on the beach. Truthfully, I was pretty sure everyone was looking for an excuse to get out there again. It was one of the benefits of being home that I’d missed—going to the beach everyday if you felt like it. Needless to say, on early release days in high school, we’d been quite popular.
I sat in front of the bonfire, filtering sand through my fingertips, watching the flames dance. I knew it wouldn’t be home too much longer, but for the first time, that thought didn’t pain me. Only a slight twinge of nostalgia accompanied the thought.
I was glad we’d had those experiences at all. Many people didn’t, and I was pretty sure I had enough memories to last me a lifetime. Home wasn’t brick and mortar, but people. Us. Lane calf-deep in the surf with my dad, giving him a hard time about his paper-white legs—he stopped tanning right around his knees for some unknown reason. Home was Art helping Brit collect shells, and making up stories about where they’d come from. Home was Bree noodling around on the guitar, playing something haunting and acoustic. Home was…not Adam tending the fire.
That was one downside to bonfires—they attracted people like moths to flame whether they knew you or not. I sighed. Adam’s folks had also joined us an hour earlier and were now chatting merrily with Dad and Irene. While they were perfectly lovely people, they had also given birth to the devil’s spawn. There had to be consequences for that. I was thinking one of them needed to be sacrificed to the bonfire. Since they were such a nice couple, I was willing to let them choose. His mother made killer brownies, so….that made the choice rather in simple in my opinion.
I could also do without the random chick in the purple bikini who’d decided to meander by. Apparently, chatting up Jackson was a preferable alternative to joining the rest of her high-ponytailed squad in a game of volleyball. That kind of logic got people and their high ponytails stuffed inside empty coolers.
Luckily, I was the distributor of marshmallows around the campfire, which meant melty goodness was never too far. I stuffed another in my mouth, not bothering to put it over the fire first. If this didn’t qualify as a sugar emergency, I don’t know what would.
“It would probably ease everyone’s minds if you put that skewer down.”
I glanced up to find Adam looming over me, and then down at the skewer in my palm. I gave him a tight smile. “I might want more marshmallows. So I need to hang on to this.”
He plucked the skewer from my hand and dropped into the beach chair next to me. “Not while you’re looking at that girl like that, you don’t.”
I scowled. “That obvious?”
“Pretty much. If it’s any consolation, it probably doesn’t mean anything.” He shrugged. “Some people are natural born flirts.”
Jackson was not a natural born flirt. He was naturally beautiful and attracted a lot of attention. Naturally, that was making me lose my very tenuous grasp on my sanity.
When I finally formulated a response that didn’t involve profanity, I glanced over at Adam. He was already looking at me, a funny expression wreathing his face. With his head tilted like that, he looked like a slightly confused dog, which made me smile. “What?”
“I don’t think in all the time we were together, you’ve ever looked at me that way.” He shook his head, thinking. “In fact, I’m pretty sure of it.”
“What way?”
“Like you don’t want to share him with anyone
else.” His mouth quirked. “And like you want to rip that girl’s arms off.”
I scowled. “Wow, that citronella candle really isn’t working. Pests seem to be getting through the dragnet.”
“Cute. Doesn’t change anything though. Certainly doesn’t change the fact that he’s flirting with that girl.”
I had to remember to send Nicole a thank-you note. If I’d married Adam, I would have wound up in some sort of facility—mental or correctional, depending upon how bad he annoyed me. “This really isn’t any of your business, you know.”
“Look at that! It looks like she’s putting her number in his phone. Looks like flirting to me.”
Correctional facility. Definitely correctional. “He’s not flirting.” I chucked a marshmallow at him, which he caught handily and stuffed in his mouth. “Despite you wanting me to go all The Boy is Mine on her.”
“You could be Monica,” he said authoritatively. “She can be Brandy.”
“You’re such an idiot.” Of course that went without saying, but I figured I’d confirm it for him. After a pause, I gave him a poke. “If anyone is going to be Brandy, it’s going to be me. She had the sassiest parts of the song.”
“Anyway, you’re absolutely jealous. Practically green,” he said. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“I don’t know that you have a right to feel any kind of way about my relationships.” I cast him a baleful side eye. “And I’m not jealous.”
“What if I said I was?”
I tilted my head, staring at him. When I didn’t answer his question, his face started to color.
He finally scowled. “You have anything to say about that?”
I sure did. “Where’s Nicole?”
His cheeks reddened even further. “She’s inside, packing. She decided to go back home a little early. She was a little…concerned with the amount of time I’ve been spending around here. We had a little disagreement and she decided it would be best if we discussed it when we got home, away from my parents.”
