by Serena Bell
“Or you could help out, if you were feeling generous.”
“It would be kind of hot, watching, wouldn’t it?”
It would be really, really hot, watching.
I glance at Brody again. I can’t help it; my eyes won’t obey my mind’s command.
The binoculars are still in his hands. His eyes are still on the shore. But I can’t help feeling like I have his attention, even so. Something in the set of his shoulders or the grip of his hands on the barrel of the binocs.
At the last minute, just as I’m about to look away, he turns.
It’s only a split second, but I see those green eyes, filled with interest and heat.
And even though he turns back almost instantly, I’m sure of what I saw, because my body answers instinctively.
It’s a heady feeling, and I’m afraid of how much I want more of it.
7
Brody
As the party winds down, Rachel tells the guests that if they leave a review for both Real Romance and Brody’s Boat, they can also enter a special drawing, and she gives them a card with a QR code so they can find the drawing online and add their review links.
That’s smart. I bet it’ll help with the review situation.
Damn it. I don’t need to feel absurdly grateful to her, on top of all my other complicated feelings.
Because obviously I’m going to tell her we can’t keep doing this.
Otherwise, I’m going to keep thinking about things I shouldn’t be thinking about. Like that goddamn Jack Buddy and whether Rachel thinks it would be hot to watch. Or all the places on Rachel the warming lube would make tingle. Or—
So many toys, so many possibilities.
I face-palm.
We pull into the marina, and the women hug Rachel, thanking her over and over again. Several of them program her number into their phones and tell her they want to grab drinks with her sometime. I can tell it surprises her, and I know from growing up around her that she was never the kind of girl who had a million friends.
Guess that’s about to change.
Rachel is the last one to step out of the boat. Her hair, which is pulled back in a ponytail, ends in a soft, dark puff I desperately want to touch. She smells like flowers, I’m guessing from all the lotions and lubes she handled tonight. I hold out my hand to help her, and she takes it. I feel that touch everywhere on my body. Her hand is small but strong and warm, and her eyes meet mine as she steps onto the dock.
We’re just a few inches from each other, and if I tugged on her hand, her mouth would pretty much fall onto mine.
“When will the order be ready?” a woman asks, breaking the spell.
“Ten days, give or take,” Rachel says. “If you included your cell number, I’ll text you when it’s ready; otherwise, I’ll email.”
“Thank you!” the woman says, and melts away.
Rachel and I are alone. I search for the right words. Needless to say, I don’t find them. Instead I say, “This is probably not a good idea.”
“Oh,” she says quietly, biting her lip. “Yeah. I get that.”
“I mean, it’s not you. You did—good. Like really good.”
She looks at me, startled, like a compliment was the last thing she was expecting. Like, who are you and what have you done with Brody?
“I really appreciate the giveaway thing. That’ll help a lot with reviews.”
I notice she’s doing it again. Getting that soft look on her face. I wish she wouldn’t, because that’s when I’m the most screwed. She can look hot for hours, but when she looks like Rachel, that’s when I fall apart.
I’m trying not to think about all the Rachels she has ever been.
The one who used to bring Connor and me food in the treehouse, and looked like she was going to cry the one time I asked if she wanted to stay and eat some, too.
The one who used to make muffins and hand them around the neighborhood, while Connor and I modified our nerf guns to shoot nails.
The one who used to play “library” and “school” and “wedding” on the far side of the yard while Connor and I burned shit to the ground.
Even then she knew exactly what she wanted, and I knew she was going to get it. I also knew that no part of her plan included someone like me, who by age nine already excelled at pranks, destruction, and it’s-better-to-ask-for-forgiveness-than-permission.
Rachel is still looking at me, soft and curious. And then she does a wonderful, terrible thing:
She licks her lips.
Just one quick swipe, tongue peeking out, the worst kind of tease.
It’s all I can do not to lean forward and taste the spot she licked.
When my eyes leave her mouth and meet her eyes, she’s watching me with her eyebrows up. And a smile tugging the corner of her mouth.
Rachel is no longer the teenager I spent years trying not to want. She’s all woman now, and I’m pretty sure her head is full of things I want to know about.
“Connor would kill me,” I say.
Am I talking about sex toys on the boat? Or Rachel and me?
Doesn’t matter; it’s true either way.
The speculative look is still on her face, like she’s wondering the same thing, but she nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t find out till last night that that’s what she was selling, and she told me you’d seen the website.”
“I was supposed to. I just didn’t. I’m not the best at following directions.”
That makes her smile for real, which feels like a hundred thousand dollar win.
That’s when I hear a truck pull into the parking lot several hundred feet away and look up to see Connor striding towards us, furious.
Oh, shit.
“Seriously? Neither of you thought to mention to me that Mom is selling vibrators? I had to find out from Jill at Oscar’s?”
My breath whooshes out of me. Luckily, not as loud in reality as it feels in my chest.
“Oh, God, Con, I’m so sorry!” Rachel says. “I swear to God I didn’t know you didn’t know. I thought of course you knew, but it turns out Mom’s quite the secret-keeper.”
“Brody,” Connor growls at me.
I hold both hands up. “Swear to God, Con, I was as in the dark as you. First I knew of it was when Rachel held up an eight-inch cock.”
Rachel snickers at that. Million dollars.
“Are you telling me you just sold a bunch of women sex toys on your boat and you had no idea that’s what you were inviting them here for?”
I’ve never been so relieved in my life to have been in the dark. “Swear it.”
Connor takes a long look at my face. It’s unnerving. It feels like he’s trying to read my guilt on my face. And there’s plenty of it, although not for deceiving him. For wanting his sister.
Just when I’m sure I’m going to blink first, he bursts out laughing.
“Holy shit,” he says. “I would have loved to have seen your face.”
I am so fucking thankful he didn’t.
I’m locking my truck in the parking lot of my apartment building when Connor pulls in. I wondered if he was going to chase me.
He hops out of his truck and heads my way.
I raise my eyebrows at him. “What’s up?” As if I don’t know.
“Look. As your friend. I’m asking. Don’t do this.”
I think about telling him to can it, but Connor is a good friend, and I don’t want to do that. Besides, I’ve reached the same conclusion on my own. There is literally no way I can be on that boat with Rachel and her merchandise without losing my mind.
“I’m not,” I say. “That was it. No more Booty-on-the-Boat.”
“Catchy, though,” he says almost regretfully. Then he pins me with a look that makes me want to disappear. “My point is, she’s off limits, Brody. She’s trying to put her life back together. She keeps talking about getting it ‘back on track.’ She doesn’t need to get distracted.”
“Jesus, Connor. I know that. And also, yo
u know that if she were here, she’d have a few things to say about how it’s the twenty-first century and her brother is talking total bullshit.”
He crosses his arms and glares, but he knows I’m right.
Still, I have to work hard not to feel like crap about this speech, about the part where she’s getting her shit back together and I’m a distraction.
Connor, who has always had my back, is explicitly calling me off his sister because she’s too damn good for me, and it stings.
Unfortunately, he’s right about everything he said. Part of what I love about Connor is that despite the misguided shit we did as teenagers, he’s a decent guy. What he said the other day about Rachel makes total sense. If she just got dumped, she’s probably on the rebound. Rebounds make you reckless, make you do stuff out of character. I could totally see a lifelong good girl like Rachel deciding now would be the perfect time to get herself some bad boy dick.
And that would be the shittiest reason in the world for me to blow up my friendship with Connor and risk hurting Rachel.
Not to mention, I don’t want to be Rachel’s bad boy dick.
“I won’t touch her,” I promise.
Connor’s shoulders fall with so much relief that my stomach plummets again.
He really, really doesn’t want me with his sister.
I know I shouldn’t be surprised by it—I’m no one’s prize—but it still hurts.
Connor sees me wince. “Hey, man. Look. This is for you, too. You’re not in a good place to deal with any woman’s rebound shenanigans. Zoë wrecked you. This thing with Justin—” He nods. “It would fuck up any guy with a heart. Just—give yourself a break and don’t do anything half-assed till you have some time to sort yourself out.”
He’s right, he’s right, I know he’s right.
But I can still see her, standing on my boat, clutching Jack Buddy in one hand, peeking over to see if I’m paying attention.
I am, Rachel, I am.
8
Brody
Several days after sex-on-a-boat, I have to go into the office to grab some paperwork. Not coincidentally, it’s lunchtime, which is the best time to show up at Wilder Adventure headquarters, because Amanda, who is a great cook, brings us lunch from her catering business.
I pull into the parking lot on my bike, remove my helmet, and sit there for a moment trying to get my head screwed on straight. I’ve been doing a lot of this—and also a lot of jerking off late at night—since that party.
My phone buzzes and I lunge for it. I’ve been doing that a lot, too, even though there’s no reason Rachel would call me, and many reasons she wouldn’t.
But this time it is actually her.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
She takes a deep breath, which she does when she has to do something that scares her—like the time Connor and I dared her to jump out of the treehouse.
Side note: She did it, and sprained her ankle, and Con and I got grounded for weeks.
“So. I know you said sex toys on the boat was a bad idea, and I totally get it. But my mom said it was one of her best selling-nights, and she really wants us to do it again.” She hesitates. “She’s trying to make enough money to bring my abuelita to Rush Creek.”
Rachel has two grandmothers, but only one gets to be abuelita. I get a strong flash of her, a small, soft woman with a big, strong hug.
“I love your grandmother,” I say, surprising myself.
“Oh,” she says softly. “Yeah. I almost forgot you spent a lot of time around her.”
“I want to help, but—”
But I can see Rachel standing in the boat with her small fingers around an eight-inch silicone cock and I can hear Connor saying, Don’t do anything half-assed till you have some time to sort yourself out.
“Don’t feel like you have to answer right away,” Rachel says. “Think about it. Text me later.”
“Okay,” I say, and hang up, feeling…
Way off balance.
A car pulls into the parking lot next to my bike, and Lucy, Gabe’s girlfriend and Wilder’s savior, hops out. “Hey, Brody!” she calls.
I pocket my phone and follow her. We stroll toward the Wilder offices, which are in a big, revamped barn building. It was originally part of a ranch, but before I was born, the ranch was sold off and turned into housing parcels. Our family home, where I grew up, was one of the houses that got built here. There was a barn on the land, too, which my dad made them leave up, because he knew it would be the perfect new headquarters for Wilder Adventures, which he’d inherited from his own dad. He and my brothers and I gutted the barn and built the new Wilder together.
I loved that, when we were all working on the barn together.
“How’s the boat biz going?” Lucy asks.
I know she’s asking because she’s friendly and supportive, but my hackles still go up a little, because fundamentally, she’s on Gabe’s side. I wonder if she’s seen the reviews. If she knows about the ultimatum. “Fine,” I say, and shrug.
I hadn’t mentioned to either her or Gabe beforehand that I was doing a girls’ night party with Rachel, figuring if it was a miserable failure, there’d be no need to bring it up, and if it was a success, there’d be plenty of time to brag.
It was a success, but at the moment, I’m too confused to feel triumphant. Plus I’m not sure how to bring it up.
I accidentally sold some sex toys in the Wilder name the other night feels like a lit firecracker.
Suppressing a sigh, I hold the door open for Lucy, and she steps into the barn.
There are offices at the far end of the room and a big conference table in the middle, with loads of equipment on shelves and racks and in bins around the perimeter.
I loved headquarters as a little kid. It felt loaded with possibility. You could grab an armful of stuff and head out into the woods, or onto a lake, a river, a ski slope. You could have any adventure you could imagine.
That said, since my dad died, headquarters isn’t my favorite place. For one thing, it reminds me of losing him—and of the pain of his choosing Gabe over me to run Wilder. I mean, not that I thought he’d give Wilder to me and not Gabe—but it hurt like hell when he didn’t ask us to run it together. Or even give me a hint that he wanted me to be Gabe’s partner. We were barely a year apart in age, but it had been clear for a while at that point that Gabe was the chosen one and I was…
Well, I was the screwup.
Welcome to my inheritance, which is feeling like the brother who didn’t make the cut.
“Are you working at Wilder this afternoon?” I ask Lucy, to distract myself from all the history and my dark thoughts.
She shakes her head. “Just mooching lunch.”
Lucy spends some afternoons at Wilder, because even though she runs her own marketing company from an office over Rush Creek Bakery in town, we’re one of her biggest clients.
And I’m sure the fact that Gabe’s here is a plus. Not to mention that Gabe’s house is just over yonder, and sometimes they both disappear for twenty minutes in the middle of the work day.
Lucy, who has taken a few steps away from me, suddenly turns back, phone in hand. “By the way,” she says, holding up her phone. “You’re a hit!” She hands it to me so I can see. It’s my Brody’s Boat page, and there are eight new reviews, one from each woman on the boat the other night. They’re all five-star, and they’re all glowing.
Wish high school sex ed had been this matter-of-fact and pleasure-oriented.
Best hours I’ve ever spent on a boat.
A great time in a gorgeous setting.
Every woman should take a ride on Brody’s Boat.
“Gabe, check it out!” Lucy says, before I can stop her.
Lit firecracker. Alert!
Like some kind of turret gun, Gabe’s attention, which had been on Easton, swivels to me. He strides across the room and, when I refuse to hand him Lucy’s phone because lit firecracker, takes out his own and star
ts scrolling.
Lucy is ecstatic. “There are so many amazing lines from here we can use!” she says. “I’m going to do a whole campaign around this. Seriously. How many of these parties can Rachel do? Find out. Really. We can fill them all.” She smiles at me. “You’re a super genius!”
I realize that Lucy knew what Rachel was selling. Lucy knew, which means Amanda knew, which means she stood there and let me have that conversation with Rachel at Gabe’s party and didn’t try to stop me.
I’m going to kill her.
“It was Connor’s idea,” I say, because I hate taking credit for other people’s shit. “And Amanda’s, too, I guess.”
“I appreciate your shout out,” Lucy says, “but you still get to take credit for recognizing a brilliant idea when someone brings it to you. You’re the business owner.”
Lucy has a way of making everyone feel great about what they’re doing, which is one of the many reasons it’s impossible not to love her, despite the havoc she’s wreaked. Plus, obviously, she’s a great complement to Gabe, since heaping praise on us is not one of his strong points.
I start to say I didn’t know the merchandise was sex toys when I agreed to host the parties, but I decide to shut the fuck up. After all, I did agree to let Rachel and her mom sell stuff I knew women loved. So maybe Lucy’s right. Maybe I deserve some of the credit.
If we’re giving credit, that is, which I’m pretty sure Gabe won’t be doing. Sure enough, when I look up, Gabe has an eyebrow raised. “Sex toys, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say, in a you-want-to-make-something-of-it? tone.
“Congratulations on the good reviews.”
I know him too well to get excited about the compliment. Plus, he’s still frowning.
“But a few good reviews are not a business model.”
And here we go.
“I have a lot of questions.”
“I’m sure you do,” I mutter.
“Is this sustainable? Can you keep bringing in attendees, or will the market get saturated? What if Rachel or her mother decide parties on boats don’t work for their business, then what? Can you convert these customers into ones who’ll pay for other experiences?”