by S. E. Hall
“Where’d the ice come from?” He notices immediately.
“Room service,” I smile too big and fib. “Now come watch the movie with me.”
Did I mention Zach’s a big guy? That means, when he snuggles right up against you on the couch—for the sake of room of course—you will wake up at some point in the night to try and escape the furnace that is his body heat.
But even though I’m suffocating, my innards being baked inside my body, I don’t dare budge an inch. Because I feel sheltered, feminine, as though this very spot, smashed against this giant, virile man was carved out specifically for me to fill.
“Quit thinking and go back to sleep.” His sleepy grumble rustles my hair, draped across his arm that’s tucked under my head as a pillow.
We’ve slept exactly like this so many times, I don’t know why I’m suddenly out of sorts, uncomfortable in my own skin. Maybe because the first rays of dawn, sneaking in through the flowing curtains, have brought some sanity back to the witch of last night. “I’m sorry I was rude to your date. I’ll apologize.” I mutter.
“No you’re not and we already discussed this. Stop. Go back to sleep.” He tugs me closer to his firm, raging inferno of a chest. “Sleep, B,” he whispers a kiss on the top of my head.
No sooner than I’d listened to him, relaxing enough to fall back asleep, I wake again, but this time it’s not because I’m roasting alive. No, this wake-up call comes in the form of an incessant banging on the door. And whoever stands on the other side of it better hope like hell they brought back-up, because they just interrupted one of the best dreams I’ve ever had.
A fantasy so vivid, my heart as involved as my body and imagination, I feel a bit guilty.
Among other things.
“Gotta be Presley.” Zach groans, rising to answer it. I already know he’s right. Princess P is known for her signature, unmistakable rapid-fire knocking. Kinda like Sheldon Cooper, except she doesn’t keep saying your name… cause then she’d remove all doubt it’s her, and is probably afraid after so many “cry wolfs,” we may not answer.
No, I’m just grumpy this early in the morning. We’ll always answer.
“Where’s Aunt B?” She’s so flustered, she somehow missed me… hiding out on the couch ten feet in front of her.
“You’re getting warmer, keep walking forward,” I razz… payback for being a dream crusher. “And you’d better be on fire!” Okay, now I’m finished.
“I need your help!” Her hair, so dark it’s reflective just like her Mom’s, is a tangled mess and the deep, purple bags under her eyes aren’t doing her any special favors.
I sit up and pat the cushion beside me, bracing myself for whatever predicament the most precarious of my nieces has now managed to find her way into. This girl is walking, talking proof that the Lord works in mysterious ways, because if she were any more like her father, with whom she shares not one scrap of DNA, they’d be a scientific study somewhere.
But don’t ever, and I mean never, let Sawyer hear you make a comment of the likes, even meant as a compliment. So much as a hint of an insinuation that Presley isn’t one-hundred percent HIS daughter will get you killed. And they will never find your body.
I admit, sometimes I get a hollow, unfulfilled despair deep in my gut, knowing I’ll never have kids of my own, well past my prime on that front. But then I remember how much my five Squad babies adore their Aunt Bennett, and I’m okay again. There’s not one of them whose diaper I didn’t change, or babysit multiple times, or take them out for our “just me n them” dates. Not to mention, I’ve sat front and center for more sporting events than I can count, and never, not once, did one of their multitude of different teams’ colors not look great on me.
I’m such a versatile Auntie.
“Here ya go.” Zach returns from the kitchenette and hands me a cup of coffee, one sip confirming he made it just like I like it, double on the cream and sugar, then sits in the armchair.
Oh yeah, he’s the male version of me to the kids, the childless, impartial, “cool uncle,” so there was never any question that he’d be joining in on this conversation.
“You guys,” Presley titters and shakes her head. “So good with advice, unless it applies to the two of you.”
“We banging on your door at the ass crack of dawn?” Zach calls her out with a flicker of one brow, to which she immediately shakes her head. “That’s right, so enough with the sassin’. Now, what’s up with you, P? No wait, can I guess?”
Her beautiful face blushes, violet eyes doubling in size. “This is probably gonna make me feel worse. If you get it right, that means it’s obvious. And if it’s obvious, then you’re probably not the only one suspicious. But okay.” She wrings her hands together. “Let’s hear it.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “That Ryder kid’s taking shit for no reason because he’s your beard for Blaze.” Zach says with a crooked smile, triumph pulling it up and worry weighing it down. I tap the end of my nose, ding ding ding, because he just nailed the answer on the head using less words than even I could have managed.
And as much as I hate to detract from the victory of his Spidey senses in any way, in order for us to be an effective outlet for the kids, I gotta keep him up to date on urban lingo. Can’t have him bringing down the “street cred” of our duo.
Especially since Presley’s covering her mouth with her hand, so he won’t see her laughing… at him.
I lean over and lay a hand on his bicep, a very nice bicep indeed, and frown playfully. “It’s only called a beard if someone’s same-sex oriented and using said ‘beard’ person to pretend not to be same-sex oriented. That applies to no one in this little fiasco. Ergo, no beard. But good try.” I give him a chin knock to soften the blow. “Presley just knows Daddy would go hella more apeshit over bad boy Blaze than pretty frat boy Ryder. Which he very well may still do. May take him a minute, but your Daddy doesn’t miss much.” I narrow my gaze at her, “so I’d quit laughing.”
Zach blows out a heavy breath, smoothing a hand over his jaw that’s decorated deliciously with morning stubble, making an oh-so-sexy scratchy sound. “Shit Presley, what the hell are you thinking?”
“I know,” she wails, flinging herself on her back. “Help! Blaze wasn’t even supposed to come, but he thinks I’m ashamed of him, it pissed him off, so he showed up! And I’m not ashamed of him, not even a little bit! I’m absolutely crazy about him! But he’s not the kinda man who’ll wait around for you to let him know you’re with him, and on the other hand, I refuse to ruin Skylar’s wedding with my drama. So what do I do now?”
“Um, you missed a key part of the problem,” I throw out, then mosey to the bathroom to brush away the horrid combination of morning and coffee breath, giving her time to try and figure out what I’m hinting at for herself.
“What do you mean?” She calls after me. She didn’t even try.
“Think about it,” I challenge her and start brushing, letting her ponder a little longer.
“B, please,” she whines. “My brain already hurts! Just tell me.”
I rinse, and cave. “The more you fake cozying up to Ryder, the closer you come to hurting Brynny.”
“Brynny? What’s she—?” The light bulb finally goes off. “Ohhh,” Presley drawls. “Well crap!”
“Jesus.” Zach moans, head tilted to the ceiling. “You kids set out to weave a web, you sure do a damn good job. Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. Presley, be friendly to Blaze, so he stays pacified. But not too friendly, so your father stays as sane as we can hope for from him. And lay off Ryder. No way is Brynn getting hurt in the crossfire of all this bullshit. In the meantime, I’ll try to figure out something better. Now go so we can get ready.”
“Get ready to what?” She snickers.
“Watch it, young lady.” He tells her, droll, but resolute.
“I just think it’d be cool to start calling you guys Zennett, or may Bach.” she laughs.
“Quite the imagination yo
u’ve got there, P.” I try to laugh dismissively, but it comes out choppy and harsh. In other words- fake.
“You’re a brat, and no longer my favorite. Now get out.” He smacks a big kiss on her cheek before the front door shuts behind her.
I scurry back into the bathroom and lock the door, taking my time to get ready, wondering the entire time… are we really that transparent to everyone but ourselves?
And then I hear the door close for the second time, but this time, it’s with a slam.
Game(s) On
Our walk down to join everyone else on the beach is made in an uncomfortable, very unfamiliar silence. Ben and I never struggle for easy conversation, until now. She’s a few steps in front of me, that delectable ass of hers that’s barely covered in lime-green bikini bottoms swaying out a taunting rhythm, my cock taking appreciative notice. I share a bed or couch with the girl all the time; this shouldn’t be affecting me as much as it is.
But boy, is it ever.
I thought the two of us were clear on what “we” are, and I had reached a point where I was okay with that. I still date, I still fuck, and I still always put our friendship first. Bennett’s more important to me than anyone else in the world. But what I’m not okay with is being the target for her passive-aggressive, horny-lonely, bait and switch head games. The hot and cold, the ridicule in her voice when blowing off Presley’s harmless comment, the expression on her face morphing as though the mere thought of an “us” made her nauseous… she knows me too well to think that shit’s gonna fly.
Just thinking about it has me so frustrated, that by the time we reach the spot our group’s sequestered on the shore, I throw everything I’d been carrying like her damn servant boy on the ground.
“What was that about?” She glowers at me, head and hip both cocked. If she had any idea what her “angry” looked like through my dick’s eye… she’d stop doing it. Which is why I don’t tell her.
“Don’t know what ya mean. It was heavy.” I shuck my shirt and sandals, leaving her standing there in all her pissed off beauty as I head for the water.
To find an even bigger shitshow.
Since when did the Crew, and its second generation, become so awful at communication? Am I the only one who notices sweet lil’ Brynn, our “baby,” sitting under a tree, all by herself, reading?
I’m well aware that she loves to read, everyone is, seeing as how she’s been doing it since she was about five… but I’m pretty sure that can wait until she’s not on the beach, on vacation, and maybe twenty feet from the boy she has a crush on.
“Zach attack.” JT comes splashing over to my side, the crazed hormones in his eyes flashing like beacons. “Check that out.” He nudges me, nodding toward the bridesmaid girl, whatever her name is, bobbing in the water like every young boys’ dream. “That Macie, damn. Gonna need to take that Bugatti body for a test drive.” He rubs his hands together, grinning like the Devil.
This is the part where I should give him the whole “respect women” speech, verse him on the meaningfulness of a true connection that grows from a slowly built, shatterproof foundation, but he’s got a dad for that. Plus, I’ve got no “lead by example” to offer up. I mean, look at me and my fucked up situation.
But I love the kid and have a vested interested in the kind of man he becomes, so that instinct wins out and I give it the ole’ college try anyway. “Just be smart about things, Jefferson.” There, I used his full, real name. That implies superior wisdom, right? “You have a lot to offer to a young lady, besides what you’re thinking. Nice and easy buddy. Slow and steady wins the race.” I scrub his head and wade away. Best I got for him right now with this weird mood I’m in—several meaningless clichés strung together. Awesome job I did there.
“Hey baby girl.” I walk over and sit down by Brynn. “Whatcha’ reading?” Now this one, I can help all day, no matter my mood. I know, I shouldn’t play favorites, and I try really hard not to, but Brynn is such an exceptional young woman, exceeding and disproving any and every stigma attached to someone of her age, that I sometimes can’t help myself. She’s just always held a certain place in my heart, reserved only for her. And much like her Mama, she was born with a soul aged well beyond her years. She’s… fascinating, inspiring… bottom line.
“Hey Uncle Zach. Just a romance.” She flips it around to show me the cover. And I immediately wish to hell she hadn’t. What the? I quickly cover her eyes with my hand… seeing as how I’m on such a roll today and this solution somehow makes sense to me, like she somehow missed already seeing the cover to the book she’s reading. “Brynny, you’re killing me, baby girl. You need a good book to read, I can help. Have you ever checked out ‘The Gifts of Jimmy V’ or ‘When Pride Still Mattered’? Both excellent choices!“
She leans her head on my shoulder and lets out a precious giggle. “You know I have. You read them both to me when I was little. One of the reasons you were in my top favorite babysitters.”
“Just makin’ sure you remembered.” And hoping you’d want to stop, right this very second, reading whatever the hell that is in your hand and revisit one of them. I kiss the top of her sweet head. “So Ryder, huh? He’s the one who’s caught my girl’s eye?”
“Oh, my God.” she groans, covering her face with both hands. “Does anyone in this whole family know how to keep their mouth shut? No wait, yes, I do! I didn’t say anything to anyone, so how do you, I mean, uh, why do you ask?”
Lil’ angel, I adore this kid. “Your Aunt Bennett may have had a hunch. Doesn’t need anyone to tell her, you know she’s attuned to you kids with that freaky sixth sense of hers.”
“That she is. Eh, doesn’t matter anyway. He hangs out with Judd and Sky’s crowd. Older than me, glamorous, grown-up girls that go to all the parties. Ya know?”
“Why do you think your Daddy wanted your Mama so bad?” Her cute lil’ face is filled with hope and curiosity as she stares at me, just waiting for me to spout off the golden answer to life. “Because she was different, Brynn. She had a natural beauty that radiated off her from the minute she woke up in the morning. She was confident in her own skin, and no one could take that away from her. Didn’t hurt that she’s as pretty as you are either.” I smile, giving her a playful nudge. “You’ve got something special, Brynn, rare. And the right guy will be able to see it straightaway.”
She snorts, also adorable. “What will he see, a quiet nerd in a dirty uniform with freakishly large arm muscles?”
“Do you love to play ball, pitch?”
“You know I do,” she answers my question more with the wistfulness in her tone than the actual words.
“Then that’s what he’ll see. That passion, dedication, drive. And being toned isn’t a bad thing, baby girl.” I laugh. “Neither is being smart. And only speaking when you have something to say. Contrary to what most guys your age may think now, babbling airheads are far from attractive.”
“You have to say all that, you’re my family,” she mutters.
“I don’t have to say anything. And being family, I’d also be the first one to be honest with you when needed. Which is exactly what I’m doing, being honest with you. You’ve got it Brynn, and I’m pretty damn happy you think of it as a secret. Lets me know the wrong guys haven’t been able to bullshit their way past what you know, deep down, is true, and the right guy’s still out there. Now look.” I point. “They’re setting up a beach volleyball game. Ain’t a girl here that can out do you at sports, and I know that even you know that’s no secret! Come on.” I stand, reaching down and pulling her to her feet. “Brynny’s time to shine!”
“You two in?” JT asks as we walk over.
“Hell yeah we are, Brynn’s on my team!” And I’m not just saying that for “the cause,” I’d pick her on my team any day; girl’s a hella athlete.
“Nice try, old man. It’s Crew versus Squad. Me, Judd, Ryder, Blaze, Brynn and Macie against... well, you better find five of the other grand elders brave enough to join you.”<
br />
“Dane, tell your son I’m about to make him eat sand.” Laney comes walking over, rolling her neck in preparation for battle.
“Mama!” JT feigns hurt, hand over his heart.
“Your mama is nowhere on this court, boy.” Laney points two fingers from her eyes back at him. “Bring it, Squad. Beckett, Evan, get your asses over here! Time to teach these little punks a lesson. Bennett, you make six girl, leggo!” Notice she picked Bennett, with a hurt foot, over Whitley or Emmett. And it was the smart choice, as sad as that is.
It’s on now. Laney got a whiff of competition and is out for blood… even her own children’s. And you gotta love the irony. The most athletic of her three kids, Brynn, stays cool as a cucumber on the mound or in the batter’s box. Not a single outward sign of aggression or bloodthirsty competitiveness to be found. Eats Laney’s ass every game; priceless.
“We serve,” Laney states, snatching the ball from JT’s hand.
“No, we volley to see who serves,” he argues. “You forget the rules?”
“No,” she mimics him, “we thank our mother for pushing our huge head out of her body and let her team serve.”
“I thought my mother wasn’t out here?” JT zings right back. He definitely inherited her quick wit, and often one ups her; also priceless.
“Oh, he’s got jokes. Hope he has next semester’s tuition money?” Laney quirks one eyebrow, shit-eating grin spread from ear to ear. “No, nothing else to say? Imagine that. Anyone else have any objections?” She asks the rest of his team, all shaking their heads frantically and backing up. “Great!”
“Emmy, you know I need my warm-up jams! Hit me!” Sawyer hollers to his wife and within seconds, the notorious opening of “Thunderstruck” starts playing right on cue and Beckett’s head starts bobbing. “That’s the one, Shorty.”