Flutter: The Nash Brothers, Book Three

by Aarons, Carrie

  She name-dropped Dad a couple times tonight, and I know she misses him more this week than anything. We all do, in our own ways. I may not be the most outward about my grief but losing my dad has been the single worst event in my life. He was my dad, for Christ’s sake … I’m not completely heartless.

  “He did get me my first computer.” I smile, nostalgically. “I tinkered with that motherboard for months, taking it apart and trying to improve it.”

  Mom chuckles. “He bought you that thinking you’d surf the Internet for a few hours. We had no idea you’d take the thing apart and make it better. I think that’s when we realized that we had no idea just how intelligent you actually are.”

  “Well, I wasn’t a sports star or a medical student, but I had my quirks.” I don’t mean for it to come out so bitterly.

  She sloshes the soapy sponge into a bowl with random specks of corn left in it. Without looking at me, she speaks.

  “Your father might not have known how to relate to you, but it doesn’t mean he wasn’t extremely proud of you. Forrest, you’ve painted yourself as some kind of family black sheep, and I’m not sure why. We love you just as much as your brothers … it was just difficult for your father, and for me, to understand your logic. Your brain works in such magical, mysterious ways. The first time your father got a cell phone, you figured the thing out in minutes. It took him months!”

  This makes her crack up laughing. “I remember him lying in bed at night, musing about what we would do when you built a robot to do your chores. You’re so smart, I think it shook him up. But he was such a fan of yours. Did you know that he tried helplessly to master that video game you designed when you were sixteen?”

  “The urban fantasy one?” My eyes pop out, a laugh bursting from my lips as I try to imagine Dad playing one of the early video games I’d designed.

  “Oh gosh, he was so hopeless.” She hands me a couple serving utensils, which I dry with the dish towel I hold.

  “I can’t even imagine it.” I chuckle. “It’s good to talk about him.”

  Mom’s eyes are sad when I glance over at her. “Yes, it is. I miss him every day. But I know he’d be the most proud of you, of the work you’re doing. You like to play this anti-hero, but you are saving people’s lives, finances, and careers every day. Don’t shake your head at me, boy … you do work that not a lot of people can, and you do it to protect innocents. No matter which way you try to argue it, that’s what you do.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say, because I can’t come up with anything better.

  We wash and dry in silence for a few minutes, the rhythmic repetition somewhat of a therapy.

  “It was good to see Penelope and the boys,” Mom says nonchalantly.

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  The corner of her mouth kicks up in a smirk. “You were always sweet on that girl. Glad to see you’ve finally acted on it.”

  I almost drop a plate. “What are you talking about? Did you have too much wine at dinner, woman?”

  Mom turns the sink off and gives me her full attention, a smart-aleck expression marking her features. “Forrest Nash, if you think I don’t know that something is going on between you and Penelope, you don’t know your mother very well.”

  “Is that why you invited her tonight?” I don’t exactly admit to anything.

  “Of course, it is. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t meddle? How do you think I got your brother to marry Presley? They surely weren’t going to put themselves on that Ferris wheel.”

  Her pot-stirring makes me laugh. “You’re a menace.”

  “And you’re in love,” she says matter-of-factly.

  That shocks me to my core. “Mom, don’t get ahead of yourself. And I’m not saying anything is going on, but you’re being awfully assumptive.”

  She shakes her head as if I’m the one saying foolish things. “Oh, son … I am not only your mother, but I am a woman. I know how a man looks at a woman when he’s in love with her. And I’ve seen you look at Penelope like that since you were a boy.”

  I decide not to respond. Not just because I don’t want to confirm that Penelope and I are … whatever we are.

  But also because her accusation wiggles itself under the hardened muscle of my heart like a splinter, taking roots and spreading until it infects my whole body.

  20

  Penelope

  Two days later, I show up at Forrest’s house for our first hookup since everything blew up in our faces.

  My hood is up on the sweat jacket I donned, and I parked around the corner as if I’m some kind of James Bond-type. In reality, someone has probably seen us by now and it’s just a matter of time until the rumors get out.

  As it is, Lily texted me last night to ask what Forrest and I talked about when he walked me and the kids out to the car. I’d feigned stupid, texting something vague like video games.

  “A morning wake-up better than coffee? I’ll take it.” Forrest grabs my waist, pulling me into him and past the threshold. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

  It doesn’t go unnoticed that he says you and not your body.

  “Next time, be ready by the door. Anyone could have seen me out there!” I complain with no real frustration behind it because he’s currently sucking the spot on my neck that makes my knees go weak.

  “Where are you supposed to be?” Forrest asks as he helps me out of my sports bra.

  “The yoga studio. Had my mother-in-law take the kids to the park for an hour or two so I could go to yoga. This qualifies, right? It’s a workout?”

  I let out a yelp of a laugh as he hoists me up, carrying me over to the couch. “Oh, I’ll work you out good. You haven’t been to the gym of Forrest in weeks, and I have a lot of new moves to show you.”

  “God, you’re cheesy. But show me the moves.” I tingle everywhere with anticipation.

  It’s only been like two weeks since my last Forrest-aided orgasm, but I’m buzzing with the need for release. The way his hands grab at my clothing, I can tell he’s just as addicted as I am.

  How did we end up here? As two people who couldn’t misunderstand the other more, but now can’t go mere weeks without being together.

  “Fuck, these are sexy.” Forrest bites his bottom lip as he peels my yoga pants past my hips, revealing a pair of red lacy panties. “You work out in these?”

  Is it wrong to lie and say yes? “No, but it would be fun to convince you I did. I put them on because I knew I was coming here.”

  He pushes me gently until I sit on his couch, and he kneels in front of me, pulling the stretchy material down and away from my ankles. Then this gorgeous man rocks back on his heels, gazing slowly from my head to my toes as I recline on his couch in nothing but my intentionally worn red lace panties.

  “Well, this will succeed in getting me hard every time I work out now. Even if you don’t exercise in these, this image will forever be imprinted on my brain.”

  And then he leans forward, bracing his lean but corded biceps around my thighs. In one smooth motion, he uses his right hand to pull the crotch of my underwear aside, and then dives in, licking his way from the bottom of my seam to the top of my clit.

  “God, yes!” I cry out, remembering how badly I need his tongue and lips and teeth.

  It has been too long, and my vibrator just hasn’t done the trick like I thought it would. My head hits the back of Forrest’s suede couch, and for a second my mom brain kicks in and worries about my come staining the cushions when he makes me explode in a minute if he keeps milking me the way he is.

  My body teeters on the edge of release for what feels like hours but is likely a minute or two. Forrest licks his way to the core of me, my fingers thread over and around my nipples, shameless in my pursuit of that elusive feeling. His dark head bobs below my waist and watching him on his knees distracts me from my own pleasure for a minute.

  I may have only had sex with Travis and one other partner but Forrest is, for lack of a better word, the best. We ju
st fit, and while he can be selfish in so many other areas, he’s exceptionally giving when it comes to sex.

  Three thick fingers invade me, stretching me with such a burning pleasure that I can’t help the moaning scream that rips through the silence of his house. It’s too much for a first touch, and yet, it’s like Forrest knows I need this rough and dirty.

  I come as soon as he places his tongue on my clit and flexes his fingers inside me, unraveling in such harsh waves that I begin to slide down the couch, slumping toward the floor.

  Forrest catches me, gathering me in his arms and riding out the orgasm with me as he grinds his pulsing cock into my waist.

  “Watching you come is my favorite sight in the galaxy,” he whispers, turning me around as he deposits me on the couch.

  I lean into it, boneless, curling my knees and sticking my ass up, knowing that he intends to take me from behind. And even though my ears are still ringing from the first climax, my breath comes out in ragged pants, anticipating that thick muscle pushing inside me.

  And then his warmth seeps into my skin, and I feel his cock pulsing into my core.

  “You’re so gorgeous, bent over and ready for me.” Forrest groans, seating himself deeply, all the way to the balls.

  I’m jammed up against the back of the couch, and there is no room to shrink away at the fullness. The pressure is both uncomfortable and exquisite, and God do I need it.

  “You’ve got that big dick energy.” I laugh, the end of the chuckle breaking off into a moan when Forrest strokes in and out in a testing motion.

  “And you love it.” His lips are right next to my ear, and the quiet words send a delicious shiver over my flesh.

  I do, I want to respond, but can’t. Because he starts with a punishing pace, one that causes my knuckles to go white as I grip the back of the couch. In and out, his cock pummels me in the best way possible.

  The noises we make are animalistic, our bodies speaking to each other with no uttering between us. Something clicks in my brain as Forrest pounds into my core, but I push it aside, not wanting to acknowledge the need for this familiarness. My heart beats double time, and I try to convince myself that it’s because of the physical exertion.

  But then Forrest loops an arm around my upper body, pulling my back flush against his front. He turns my head so that he can easily access my mouth, and as our lips fuse, we both fly apart, shuddering endlessly through our mutual orgasms.

  The connection is intense, one of lovers who have both a physical and emotional attachment. This time, it feels like more. Like this act wasn’t just sex … it had meaning and foreboding tacked on.

  My heart beats rapidly against the spot where Forrest’s hand falls over it on my naked chest, and I realize what I was trying to push away.

  That, against all likelihood, I have come to care for this man.

  How our decade’s worth of animosity led to a friends-with-benefits agreement, that has now led to me catching feelings? If you had told me about this at any point in my life, I would have cracked up in your face.

  But I’m not laughing now. No, I’m clinging to a man I refused to feel anything for, my heart beating into his hands.

  My heart beating for him.

  21

  Forrest

  A six-pack of beer sits two feet from me on the counter, and I stare at it like it might just ruin the world.

  This is Fletcher’s favorite beer, a local stout that I’ve seen him down an entire pack of in just two hours flat. It used to be a staple in Mom’s fridge before we all stopped avoiding the elephant in the room and drove him to rehab kicking and screaming.

  But now it’s sitting in my kitchen, and I damn well know I didn’t buy it. My twin claims he’s been sober for more than a year and a half … so what the fuck is this doing in my house?

  The toilet flushes in my downstairs half bath, and I’m not surprised by the unexpected noise. I may have just arrived home, but I knew my brother was here without having to call out to ask. We have that twin thing, the sixth sense where you could feel each other’s presence. It was freaky and frankly just odd, but I couldn’t deny its existence, as much as my brain leaned toward the logical.

  “What the hell is this?” I point accusingly to the six-pack as my brother enters my open-concept kitchen.

  My house is a total bachelor pad, with dark wood and a blue-gray color palette splashed over everything. I had the entire thing redone to my exact specifications when I could afford it, after my first big consulting job for a fortune five hundred company a couple years ago. I am a man who likes nice things, and sleek efficiency, and I designed my house accordingly.

  “I brought it for you.” Fletcher doesn’t flinch, and I don’t see a wave of guilt flash over his expression, but that doesn’t mean anything.

  Growing up, my twin was my best friend. We did everything together, had our banter and our secrets that we kept even from our older two brothers. We played pranks on teachers, back when we were younger and looked more alike than we do now. Fletcher and I were inseparable, and then high school hit and something happened.

  Fletcher matured faster, he had a better arm than I did in baseball, and computers took the forefront of my attention. I still remember the first time Fletch was invited to a party I wasn’t, and he came home with the stench of stale beer on him. That was when the change really happened when his addiction took over his body and mind like a virus that couldn’t be eradicated. For the next seven years, he’d drink himself to the bottom of the bottle, snort whatever was offered, and …

  I assume worse than that, although we’ve never specifically talked about it.

  “Fletch, if there is something you need to talk about, you know I’m always here …” I leave my statement open-ended because if he’s using anything again, I want to know.

  As his best friend, I won’t lie and say I wasn’t hurt when we brought him to rehab and I had no idea of how bad his addiction really was. Although, as his best friend, I’d turned a blind eye for many years in order to have his trust.

  A muscle in Fletcher’s jaw tics, and I see his annoyance. “So what? Because I’m an addict, I can’t ever touch a beer bottle again. Even just to bring my brother a gift? Jesus Christ, I saw it in the store and know you like this batch. I’m so fucking sick of everyone in this family looking at me like I might pull out a needle and shoot up at any given moment!”

  He throws his hands up and stomps across my first floor, then runs those shaking hands through his hair. His hands have had a tiny tremor ever since he got clean … but at least it’s a sign to know he’s sober.

  I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry, Fletch. I shouldn’t have—”

  He cuts me off. “No, you shouldn’t have. Especially you. Out of any of them, I trust you to be in my corner the most. Do you even know how fucking hard it is to stay clean and sober? Of course, I want a sip of one of those bottles. Of course, I don’t want to walk into the Goat, much less order a soda water. I know where all the hiding spots are in this town, who exactly to go to if I want to score. And I don’t. I don’t fucking do it, Forrest. So I’d appreciate not to be falsely accused.”

  I nod, trying to keep my cool. Because before he’d gone to rehab, he’d lie left and right to avoid being called an addict. And while I believe him now, our relationship was forever tarnished from what he’d been through.

  “It’s just … before you got sober, I didn’t know how bad it was. You didn’t tell me.”

  There is no way he can miss the note of sadness in my tone.

  “Just like you didn’t tell me you’ve been sleeping with Penelope?” He pulls that one out of thin air and my jaw nearly falls to the floor.

  “Wha … what? No, I’m not.” Now that sounded like the most unconvincing lie ever.

  Fletch gives me a look as if to say, really? “I’m your twin, moron. I know you guys have been boning since the night of Keaton’s wedding. Keaton and Bowen might be dense when it comes to this, but I’m your other h
alf. Plus, you two eye fuck each other practically every time you’re in the same room.”

  Shit … we were really that obvious?

  “And if that wasn’t enough, you walked her to her car at Mom’s the other night. You played video games with her kids … which is the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen you do. Not that it’s not awesome, but come on, brother … I’m not a blind idiot.”

  And apparently, I was shit at keeping my relationship with Penelope a secret. She wasn’t going to like that anyone knew, and we’d just started up again.

  I throw in the towel, knowing I’ll never pull the wool over Fletcher’s eyes now. “Are we that obvious?”

  He blows out a breath as if he wasn’t expecting me to admit it this easily. “Not to the others. But I know you better, and you’ve been off. Or maybe you’ve been happy. It’s always hard to tell with you and we shared a birth canal.”

  My face screws up in disgust. “Gross, dude, that’s Mom you’re talking about.”

  Fletcher rolls his eyes. “Anyway, am I right? Has it been going on since the wedding?”

  “It happened once before that, but she made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone or she’d cut my balls off.”

  He chuckles. “Sounds like Penelope. And it’s … it’s good?”

  We used to talk about hooking up with girls all the time as teenagers. But as adults, not so much. “I’m not telling you that.”

  “Come on, throw the man who’s been celibate for almost two years a bone.”

  That has my jaw dropping to the floor again. “Two years? Fletch, how are you even alive? You need to get some pussy, stat.”

  He shrugs. “They say you should try not to form romantic attachments during the first year of sobriety. I was so busy trying not to drink or snort that it wasn’t even an option to keep a love interest. And then I guess … I just kept it going. Forrest, there were times I did things with women when I was under the influence that … I don’t even remember it. I’m lucky my dick is even still attached to my body, much less disease free. I figure that the next woman I take up with will be the one I settle down with.”