by Susan Ward
“Since we’re doing teams this round, I get Dillon on my team,” Khloe exclaims. “And you, Avery, are stuck with Ethan. Be prepared to lose because Dillon and I are unbeatable.”
What?
I search the game area to find Avery leaning against a pool table, cue in hand, her eyes locked on mine, and a sexy smile on her face.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Ethan”
On the scale of being driven crazy not understanding my family, finding Avery smack in the middle of our fun night in less than twenty-four hours isn’t as bad as coming home from college to discover Tara married to Eric and unexpectedly a member of the household, but it’s damn near close. That it shouldn’t surprise me doesn’t take the bite out of her looking like she belongs.
Sure, it’s not completely unexpected that my siblings included her. For kids raised by somewhat emotionally disabled and paranoid parents, as a group we’re remarkably well adjusted and friendly—Eric excluded. It isn’t that I haven’t imagined this: having her part of my family, fitting in, and loving me while she does it. But suffice to say, seeing it without being who made it happen is giving me mental and full-body whiplash.
I do my best to shove all my thoughts of her into the dark hole where Tara exists, or in the very least, relocate her to the section of my brain where the rest of my ex-girlfriends reside, but Jesus Christ, how she looks makes it impossible to evict her from the annoyingly large and unresponsive portion of mental space determined to do nothing but think of her.
I do a fast once-over from her flirty reddish-brown curls dangling over her shoulders, to those long bare legs ending in open-toe heels that I’m positive she borrowed from one of my sisters. No way she owns shoes that make a girl’s ass pop like that.
What the fuck is she wearing? It’s more of a postage stamp than a skirt, and what’s up with displaying her boobs when she’s hidden them for six fucking years? My body would have been very appreciative of the Birkenstocks and the loose ripped jeans right now, and hell, we’re shooting pool so why isn’t she in them?
“Ethan, grab a cue,” Khloe’s voice blasts, thankfully managing to crash through my preoccupation of how sexy Avery looks. If I didn’t know better I’d say she was a girl who dressed for a guy this evening.
I drag my gaze that doesn’t want to go to my sister. “Do you always have to be so loud?”
She shrugs. “Sorry. Inherited gene. Besides, the bar’s noisy and you look lost in space. Or were you lost in something else, Ethan?” Her blue eyes flash in a way that tells me that my baby sister’s going to be obnoxious, and without being told I know how Avery’s decked out is Khloe’s handiwork.
Something touches my arm, and I turn my head to run smack into Avery again. “If you’re going to be on my team, you’re going to need this,” she says, holding a cue for me. “I have no intention of my winning streak ending.”
The way those impish brown eyes smile up steals a grin from me, even if I can feel tension between us that isn’t all mine. “Been kicking ass and taking money tonight?”
She does a cute nod. “Yes. I’m thrilled. I’m up twelve dollars.”
The way she says that makes me laugh. “Quite a haul from this crowd.” We don’t play high stakes, though how competitive we are would make a casual observer think there were thousands riding on each rack. “You must have won every game before I got here.”
She smiles until it lights up her face, and no matter how I fight it, I’m lost in her. She’s happy Avery from head to toe, and I didn’t expect that. Or to find her a bit loose and flirty from alcohol. Christ, how long has she been here? Been here looking like that?
“All but one. Sammy had a killer break and that was it,” she laments.
“Can’t beat a good break.”
“No, you can’t.” Avery moves away, to my disappointment, to grab a drink from the waitress’s tray.
I bob my chin at my oldest nephew, Kaley and Bobby’s nineteen-year-old son, Sammy. He’s a tall, muscled, black-haired, blue-eyed professional surfer who’s graced more magazine covers than I have. “Nice job. What’s wrong with everyone else? Not bringing home the bucks for the family?”
Sammy, eyeing Avery, leans into me and whispers, “We’ve all had a pisser of a night. Well, the guys in the room have. You’re lucky you’re on her team, E. Pure torture when she takes a shot. Is she a free agent? Can’t tell if she’s available or not.”
Blinding rage shoots through me. It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Say that again and I’ll put a fist through your face.”
His eyes flare wide, startled. “Jesus, Ethan, what’s up with you lately? Dude, give me some credit. Whoa. Calm down. I didn’t know it was like that. If I’d known you were interested, you’ve gotta know I would never have said that.”
“Shouldn’t matter if I’m interested or not.” My gaze bores into him. “Don’t say shit like that to me or I’ll forget we’re family and wipe that smirk off your face.”
“OK, boys, getting loud here. What’s happening?” Damn. Kaley heard and has me locked in her burning black stare.
“Nothing, Mom. It’s all good,” Sammy says, shaking his head at me as he moves around the table to where his dad is holed up talking.
Kaley slowly arches one black brow. “Why were you barking at my son?”
The hold of Kaley’s stare is unwavering. She wants details, and nope, not doing it. I’m far enough in jerk land as it is. I shrug. “Guy shit, Kaley. It’s no big deal. It’s already in the rearview for Sammy and me. Move on.”
“Works for me, Ethan,” she says, but I can tell I’m not back in her good graces yet. Biting off the head of her kid isn’t a winning way to start this family fun fest.
I run my hand across the back of my neck as I pretend to check how straight my cue is. Christ, is it hot in here or just me?
“Do you want to take the shot or should I?” Avery asks, and I realize we’re shooting to see who breaks.
“You can do it,” I say. Her brows pucker, confused, and I feel like I’ve been reprimanded again. Only this time I don’t know why. I can’t read her anymore, but then again, maybe I never could. The Eric thing completely blindsided me.
I order another drink and settle on a stool that has the advantage of a clear view of where she’s going to bend over the table. I’ve mentioned I’m a glutton for punishment, haven’t I? But, fuck, I want this fantasy to go with the collection. I sure as hell didn’t need Sammy jeering how great it would be for me to want it. It was damn near the only thought in my head from the moment I saw her in that skirt and heels.
Her upper body lowers slowly and up goes the hem. The kid was right. Torture, and I’m close enough I can smell her. I swallow dryly, remember her mouth on mine, and curse myself for not getting across the goal line with her yesterday. What was I thinking? I should have blown off the Bowl and gone straight to bed with her. Eric didn’t have a problem doing that. Avery didn’t either. Only the chump on the stool with the dick like an iron bar did.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“It wasn’t that bad of a shot,” Avery protests, then frowns. “Maybe I should have let you take it?”
Shot? What’s she talking about? Oh, the ball. Near the cushion, but a hair behind Dillon’s.
I shrug. “You got stuck with me on your team because I’m not any good. Better that you take most of the shots.”
“I plan to,” she says in her flirty take-charge manner, her body dangerously close to mine.
“Probably a sound plan if you don’t want to lose that money you’ve won.”
I’m wrought with muscle-curling tension even before she turns in the space between my legs and brings her body close. “Good. Khloe already gave me a heads-up this isn’t your thing. That you’re going to bail first and early.”
I hear Dillon break the rack, but I can’t move my eyes from Avery’s face to see where the balls have landed. “Pool cue is definitely not the stick I’d prefer to be using tonight, for s
ure.” My voice is strung tight and I’m unaware of what I said until Avery’s eyes grow enormous and her cheeks warm.
“We could quit now and leave with my winnings. Find somewhere quiet to talk”—her brows lift—“and things.”
My mind spins.
Is my hearing malfunctioning?
That sounds like a hookup line.
Or did I want it to?
Damn, I’m unsure if she’s serious or teasing. Her eyes are shimmering at me in that way that leaves me always unsure.
Fuck it, I don’t care if I’m reading this right or wrong, or even if it violates the I don’t fuck Eric’s leftovers rule. Not with how she looks tonight and sure as fuck not with the ache she’s giving me. I swallow and my throat is parched. “I’m game if you are.”
She bites her lower lip before doing a little suck. “I’m very game. I only joined them tonight because I knew you would, too.”
My pulse jumps. “Beach, or we could slip out, grab an Uber to my house, and be gone before the bodyguards notice. That should be good for at least one night alone.”
Her index finger zigzags across my shirt, leaving—I don’t doubt—blisters where she’s touching my chest. “Beach. Then Uber. I want you so much it drives me crazy.”
That one came in loud and clear. I gaze into her eyes and the fire inside me is going to incinerate me before we can get out of here. “Take your shot. Put down the cue. Slip out the door behind you. I’ll follow and catch up with you at the beach.”
And yeah, that was to make sure this is what I think it is, and save a sliver of pride if it isn’t. If she doesn’t duck out I can act like I wasn’t serious, too.
Her lips part and I want to slant my mouth over hers in the worst way, but she touches her lips to my jaw and my heart slams against my chest. I’ve craved this. Waited for this. Need this. Oh fuck it, if it’s not right. It feels right.
“Go take your shot. Fast,” I order, my gaze drilling into hers.
She catches her lower lip in her teeth, flashes me a sexy look, and shimmies over to the table. I can feel her watching me as she slowly bends—wanting to know if I’m watching her, and, hell, of course I am.
Light stroke.
Slow roll of ball.
Near the side pocket, but thank fuck, not in.
She groans, lying on the table to peek at me from beneath her cloud of curls. “Damn. I can’t believe I missed that. They’re going to run the table on us.”
“Watch and weep,” says Dillon before focusing on studying the arrangement of balls on the green velvet.
With my eyes, I motion her to leave, and my dick jumps when she slyly slips from the room. I wasn’t sure she was going to. One by one Dillon sinks the balls. From across the table, Khloe looks at me, gloating.
I set my cue against the wall, grab my beer, and inconspicuously take the path out of here that Avery did. When I push through the back exit, a cold blast of ocean air hits me and some sanity returns.
What the fuck am I doing?
I can’t go to the beach and get busy with Avery.
Even if she wants me to—and she does.
Even if I want to—and God, I do.
Even if it feels right—fuck, it isn’t.
As for talking with her—no, I’m not ready for that.
I don’t want to know why she picked Eric over me. She may have picked the wrong twin for a relationship, but I’m no fucking consolation prize now that he’s gone. Nope, won’t be that for any girl, not even Avery.
Turning on my heels, I go back to the game room to find Khloe thrilled over beating Avery and me. I fish in my pocket for a bill to toss on the table to pay off our loss, realize I don’t have any money, and ask Dillon to get me the hell out of here.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Avery”
A harsh knock on my door causes me to jump. “Yes?”
“Open the door.”
Damn. After two days of hiding in my bedroom from Ethan after the humiliation of waiting on the beach for a guy that didn’t show, Khloe has decided it’s time to poke her nose in my playground. Frankly, I’m surprised it took her two days. She doesn’t seem to be a wait-around–to-see type of person.
“Can we talk later? I’m in the middle of something.”
Which isn’t a lie, because I’ve been rummaging Craigslist for cheap rooms in the area to rent. As nice as it is in this house, I need to get out of here and to find someplace better than Emmy’s to bounce. Living with her after the colossal mess I’ve made with Ethan would only be a shade better than moving home with my dads.
Khloe rattles my doorknob. “No. We’re talking now. Unlock the door, Avery. We’re going to the spa for a little girl time, and you’re going to tell me why you haven’t been out of your room in two days and why my supersweet, always cool brother’s being a dickwad.”
I grimace, since her bluntness is something I’m still getting used to. Even my sister isn’t that direct—or pushy. “I’m not a spa kind of girl, Khloe. Thank you for the invite, though, but I’ve got work to do.”
“Nice try. Not taking no for an answer. Avery, you’re coming with me. A girl doesn’t leave another girl drowning when she can stop it.”
Drowning? That’s a bit extreme. Is that what she thinks? Jeez, runaway imagination must be a family trait. I’ve kept a distance from the family to work on my book, to make some good come from being here. It’s certainly not benefiting my love life.
“Even if you’re not into the mani-pedi therapy—and how your nails look tells me you’re not, without you saying it—it will make you feel better. So will telling someone what my brother did to upset you. I’m a very good listener.”
Fuck. That she’s connected the dots that my staying out of sight with the family has something to do with Ethan isn’t a revelation I want.
Christ, have I grown that obvious?
The memory of rejoining them in the game room at The Cove makes me cringe. First realizing they discovered I’d slipped out in mid-game. Second, no doubt, what they saw on my face when I discovered Ethan had gone while leaving me hanging on the beach.
Awkward silence all around from the entire family, followed by people I barely know trying to make it better for me.
Yes, I’d been obvious.
Openly a Gigi for the entire world to see. No way I’m leaving this room any time soon.
“We’re going, or I’m going to sit in this hallway and talk to you through the door where anyone can hear.”
Something lands with a thump against my door, and I can tell that’s Khloe setting up shop to meddle in my life while sitting on the hallway carpet and shouting at me.
“Which isn’t a bad idea because if Ethan’s stepped out of line with you, you should shout it from the rooftop and shove it in his face. If you haven’t noticed, treating a girl bad doesn’t go well in this house and I’m sure my sisters—”
“Fine. Stop. I’ll open the door.” Wowza, that girl has nerve. I have no doubt she’d do it and drag her sisters into the fray. And no way is being sucked into chick world something I’m going to let happen.
Such an anti-feminist thing, the girl posse of dating groupthink. Spas are anti-feminist, too—the mistaken belief that being pretty helps anything. Yes, Avery, but so is hiding in your bedroom from a guy for going cold after screwing you.
Crap, time to pick a poison and move on.
Spa it is.
Groaning, I click send on the e-mail I just finished and close my laptop. I swing the door wide. “I’ve gotta change. I really was working.”
Khloe looks up at me, smiling, from where she’s sitting against the wall. “Don’t have to change. Not for us. And never for the spa. See, I’m in my pj’s, too. I want to be comfy because we’re not leaving until you explain what the hell is going on with you and Ethan.”
It’s not worth pointing out that even in her cheetah-print shorty bottoms and tank top jammie set, no makeup, and hair in a knot on her head, Khloe still looks supermod
el stunning. That look, any look, works for her. Some girls have it and some don’t. I fall in the latter category.
“I’m not going anywhere dressed like this.”
She springs to her feet and, against my protests, grabs my hand and tugs me down the hallway behind her.
We stop at a set of doors. “What’s this?”
“The elevator. Hasn’t anyone shown you where they are? There’s a dozen of them. Go down, it’s the garage. Go up and it’s the girl wing of the house, the gym, the theater, and the spa. If you go to the east wing of the first floor there’s my parents’ bedroom and the recording studio. Some other rooms, too. But they’re boring. I’ll show you that later, if you want to—the record studio, that is. You’ve already been in the master suite your first night here.”
I gawk at her. “You mean the spa is in the house?”
Her eyelids flutter wide in a graceful, dramatic duh. “We have everything. Mom never has to leave the house if she doesn’t want to. Which she doesn’t. Not very often.”
I’m frowning as we step into the metal box. Interesting comment, and one worth following up on later for the chapter about Chrissie in my book. The woman’s a mystery for sure; brilliant songwriter who can barely get coherent sentences out of her mouth when she talks, with a happy marriage following tragic years of steamy relationships, and a woman I’m nowhere near understanding.
As the elevator moves upward in silent smoothness, I lean against the wall, staring at our reflections in the mirror. Damn, this is about the nicest elevator I’ve ever been in. Clean as a pin, smells great. Smooth ride.
“It must have been pretty amazing growing up with all this.”
Khloe shrugs. “It’s just home. Not any different to me than what yours is to you. Things don’t change people. You are what you are anywhere, in spite of what you have, so you better learn who you are so you can be that person anywhere. Everything other than knowing who you are doesn’t matter.”
My eyes go wide. That’s a surprisingly insightful comment given Khloe seems more like a Kardashian than a Manzone.