by Emma Salah
Silence.
“That is actually pretty good advice,” Zac admitted.
“I know,” Dean said smugly. “I am after all the guru when it comes to the ladies.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re Casanova and Don Juan rolled into one.”
“That’s what all the girls tell me when I have them flat on their backs screaming, ‘oh, Dean! Right there, Dean! Oh yes, Dean!’”
Zac hung up on Dean’s manic laughter.
He leaned against his breakfast bar that separated his kitchen from his living room. Show her all the things that would be wrong with dating. Zac could do that. Who knew Reagan better than he did? And when she finally saw that anything romantic happening between them didn’t live up to the fantasy, she would be dying to break things off with him.
He smiled.
Reagan Thomas won’t have any idea what hit her.
Chapter Seven
Reagan tapped her fingers idly on her steering wheel. She sat at a traffic light, right in between the pharmacy and the grocer’s in Carter Springs, the town she grew up in. The clock read 5:00 pm. Outside her window, it was still bright, with the sun high in the sky.
It was too damn hot, and her blue shirt stuck to her skin. I should just open all the buttons and sit here in my bra and jeans. But she couldn’t be bothered to undo more than the top ones. Reagan tried to turn on the air-conditioning in the car, but it was busted. She should have fixed it in the winter, but she had used the money to get the best new, luxurious mattress money could buy. Great. On top of being nervous, she was going to arrive all sticky and sweaty. Not that it should matter; her brothers wouldn’t care and Zac, he knew who she was. A hot mess.
She had spent most of the morning and afternoon driving out of the city to try and work through her nervousness, but she was still anxious. Project Make Him Fall in Love with Me had seemed like such a good idea when she’d been on the phone with Letty, but now that she actually had to put actions to her words? Not so much.
The light changed and she drove down the main street and took a left. It had been a week after the “incident” with Zac—that was what she was calling it, at least in her mind—and she had spent that time trying to figure out a plan to deal with him. But so far Project Make Him Fall in Love with Me was going nowhere fast. Rather than thinking about the future, she kept reliving that night over and over again. Especially at night. With her hand between her thighs. Bad, Reagan.
She had known sex with Zac was going to be explosive, but she could never have imagined just how delicious it had been. And now that she knew, it was hard to concentrate on anything else. She hadn’t seen Zac yet. He was probably avoiding her, but he wouldn’t be able to avoid her tonight: their monthly dinner at her dad’s house. There were only three reasons why you missed family dinner: one, you were dying. Two, you were about to die. Or three, you were in a game—not at a sports game, but in the game—since all her brothers were athletes.
Reagan pulled up to one of the picturesque suburban homes at the end of a cul-de-sac, parking right behind a red BMW, a black Lexus and a green Jeep. The garage was closed and she knew it was probably full. Their cars alone took up half the street. She turned off the ignition and got out. Okay, breathe, Reagan. She shut the car door and walked up the driveway to her father’s house, gravel crunching beneath her Converses.
She only had one goal for Project Make Him Fall in Love with Me tonight: act cool, calm and collected. She wasn’t going to let Zac know that he’d ruffled her. She was going to pretend everything was normal—for now—and then step by step, she was going to make him see what he was missing. If she tried to push him too hard too fast, she’d lose him quickly, like when she had tried to get Zac to play games with her at the arcade. At first he had refused as a joke, but now he wouldn’t play on principle. Sneaky was the way forward, to bombard Zac with the little things, like turning up to all of his games or getting him all the gummy bears he liked—especially the green ones. That’s the plan anyway.
Reagan knocked on the large, white door and barely had to wait a few seconds before it was thrown wide open to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man. Her father’s eyes were the exact same shape and shade of brown as her own. While her skin was closer to that of Gabrielle Union (yeah, but no way was she actually comparing herself to Gabs), his was the color of midnight and onyx rolled into one, like Mahershala Ali. His black hair had begun to thin at the top, but there was still a lot of it. He held a cane in his right hand, but it did nothing to lessen his imposing figure. The man was six foot six after all and as big as a bear.
“Dad,” Reagan greeted with a smile on her face.
Lincoln Thomas opened his arms and she went into them willingly. He enfolded her in his embrace. She breathed him in deeply, that musky smell of wood that was uniquely his. He didn’t say a word and that wasn’t surprising since her dad wasn’t much of a talker and neither was Callum. Dean and Reagan were the aberrations—you couldn’t get them to shut up.
She knew her father was ready to end the hug when he shifted back. Reagan let go. She wanted to hold on for longer, but there was no point. No matter how much she needed her dad, she knew how painful it was for him to even be in her presence. It hurt her that she was hurting him and that she didn’t really exist as just herself, as just Reagan. Like now. He stared at her for a moment too long. His eyes going blank, looking beyond her. She tried not to tense, because you would think a girl would be used to having her dad see through her to only remember his dead wife who lay beyond. But she wasn’t used to it at all. It still cut her up deep inside, but she didn’t lose the smile on her face when he finally snapped back to reality.
“Sorry, did you say something?”
She didn’t bother telling him that she hadn’t said a word.
“How are you?” Reagan asked him as they stepped into the house together.
“I should be asking you that, baby girl.”
Reagan blinked. “Why? I’m fine.”
“We’ve barely spoken,” her dad reminded her.
“We speak every day and I’ve been busy. With work and stuff.”
“Mm,” he huffed.
Before she could ask what that meant, they turned from the hallway into their open and large living room. Reagan had been born and raised in this house and mostly everything stayed the same year in and year out, except for the TV. Growing up with four older brothers who played and loved sports and a dad who was equally enthusiastic meant that they needed one that was usually bigger than anything else they owned. Their plasma right now took up most of the wall, with couches and armchairs in front of it.
It was an open-plan space with the kitchen melding into the dining and living room. A dining table that could house eight people was directly in front of her and beyond that was the kitchen. It was much smaller, because let’s face it—they were not a family that cooked very often. Only Callum could actually cook and enjoyed it, while Malcom did it out of necessity. The rest of them avoided it like the plague.
Aidan and Zac stood on opposite sides of the counter, talking to each other, not noticing her arrival. Reagan stopped in her tracks, forcing her dad to stop beside her. Oh god. She was helpless to do anything but stare.
Zac was leaning against the kitchen cabinets. Dangling in one hand was a beer. His dark blue short-sleeved top was stretched across his chest and his arms, showcasing his large tattoo. A series of writing that ran from his elbow up his forearm. It read: “Take one’s adversity, learn from their misfortune, learn from their pain, believe in something, believe in yourself, turn adversity into ambition, now blossom into wealth.” He’d gotten the quote from Tupac’s poem the day he left Sheriff Jeremy Quinn’s house and it was the only tattoo he had. Zac always said it was the only one he needed since it represented everything about who he was and who he was planning to be. She loved that about him.
Zac brought the bot
tle to his mouth and took in a deep pull of the beer. His throat convulsed as he swallowed. She tried not to let a moan slip out of her mouth. She followed the little droplet that leaked out the side of his mouth and the way his tongue licked it right up. Her nipples tightened with want.
Yeah, this was a bad, bad idea.
Zac chose that moment, when she was burning up with need for him, to turn his head and look at her. Even from here she could see his body stiffen. And the way his eyes darkened. Exactly the way it had before he kissed her, touched her and fucked her. Reagan wrapped her fist around the hem of her shirt and tightened. Zac placed his beer on the table, his eyes never leaving hers. Be cool, calm and collected. That was what she’d told herself on the ride over. Where the hell was this coolness and the supposed calm? She was panicking. She was absolutely panicking. Everyone in the room was going to be able to see what they had done. And Zac was going to want nothing—
Reagan’s meltdown was cut off when someone stepped in front of her and blocked her view of Zac.
“Short-stuff!”
She barely had time to register who it was before arms wrapped around her and lifted her off the ground. Only one brother greeted her this enthusiastically and openly. Dean. Dean was all about creating the madness and seeing just how far and wild you could take things. He was one of her favorite people in the world.
Reagan forgot about Zac for a moment and laughed as she hugged Dean back.
“Put me down, you goon,” she said.
“No, the goon would be Aidan,” Dean joked as he set her down onto her feet.
His black hair was growing out and looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in weeks. He was wearing an oversized football jersey—his of course—blue jeans and his customary grin.
Reagan saw Aidan shoot him the middle finger from where he stood.
“Anyway, why are you acting like you haven’t seen me in years?” Reagan asked. “We talk more or less every day.”
“If you count one sentence as a conversation, then yeah, baby sis, we talk every day. You suck at long-distance communication.”
She gasped. “I do not.”
She looked around the room. Everyone was nodding, even her dad. Traitor.
“Reagan, you texted me the same thing every day the whole time I was away at training camp the first year I joined my team: ‘good luck,’” Aidan pointed out.
“Even Callum speaks more than you do and I’m pretty sure that boy is mute,” Dean said.
Reagan frowned. She didn’t mean to do it. She just didn’t want to get in their way too much. She constantly had to remind herself that although some of the people in her family liked to talk, they didn’t talk. She missed them with such a fierce passion that if she let the floodgates open, she’d bombard them with so much their heads would explode. And it was so hard to not be frustrated that they thought she was the problem since it was totally them, not her, but trying to have that conversation again with them would probably not end well.
“Sorry. I’ll try and call you guys more often.”
“That’s what I want to hear.” Dean grinned as he threw an arm around her shoulders. “Now, let’s get you a beer.”
He pulled her towards the kitchen. Her dad went in the opposite direction and settled himself into his armchair in front of the TV, where of course a game was playing.
Aidan hugged her. Aidan looked exactly the same as he had a week ago. His hair was again curly on the top, with the sides shaven and a light gray pullover and jeans. He smelled lightly of some typical men’s cologne.
“What’s going on?” Aidan asked when he pulled back.
He was wearing a frown as his eyes searched hers.
“What do you mean?”
“You disappeared from Steven’s party a week ago and stuck me with Letty.”
Oh shit. Reagan forced herself not to look at Zac, who she could feel watching them. She frantically racked her mind. What can I say? What can I say? Oh sorry, Aidan, I had to leave because I just got fucked into oblivion by your best friend and my heart was breaking since I wanted more and he didn’t? Nope, definitely can’t say that.
“Why? Did something happen?”
Dean handed her a beer, which she took gratefully. She gulped down half the bottle in one go, ignoring the burn. Liquid courage and all that.
“She asked me why do we say ‘sleep like a baby’ when a baby gets up every few hours? And then somehow we ended up talking about how we have to pretend to go to sleep before we actually go to sleep.” Aidan shook his head in confusion. “It was the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.”
Reagan smiled. “Letty loves her random facts. She has this app that sends her a new one every day.” They liked to spend morning coffee breaks laughing at how ridiculous but true some of them were.
“Aww, little Aidan is all grown up and having actual conversations with girls, is he?” Dean said, pinching Aidan’s cheek.
Aidan slapped him away, and Zac sniggered, which made Aidan glare at him.
“Don’t look at me.” Zac held up his hands. “If you took a minute to actually speak to Letty, you’d realize how tame that convo was.”
Dean nodded. “She once asked me why blueberries weren’t blue. But then again, why aren’t strawberries made of straw?”
Everyone groaned.
“Still tame,” Reagan said. “I just learned that you can use your penis to unlock your iPhone if you set it up to think it’s your finger.”
Dean hooted in laughter. “Fuck me, I might have to marry your BFF if she keeps on giving me these kinds of ideas.”
She turned towards Dean, who had come to stand beside her.
“You fuck my best friend, Dean, and I will castrate you,” Reagan threatened.
Dean and Aidan both winced.
“Reagan, why did you have to go and say it like that?” Dean whined.
She smiled sweetly at him. “We’re all adults here so suck it up.”
Her eyes shifted and caught Zac’s. His eyebrows were raised and she could read his expression perfectly: you dare to chastise Dean when you fucked me only a week ago? Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?
Or something like that, with less Victorian words and more swear words probably. She didn’t bother replying to his nonverbal question. Cool, calm and collected did not dignify things like that with a response.
“Anyway, where is Malcolm and Callum?” she said, changing the subject.
“Malcolm is—” Dean began.
“Right here,” someone interrupted.
Reagan spun around. Coming out of another door into the open kitchen was Dean’s identical twin. Malcom’s hair was kept neater than Dean’s and pushed back out of his face. He wore a maroon T-shirt and jeans tucked into big boots. She smiled as he walked towards her.
Unlike Dean’s exuberant hug and Aidan’s tight squeeze, Malcom put his hands on her cheeks and watched her carefully. A few seconds passed.
“Have I passed your inspection?” she asked, only half-joking.
“You look good, sis,” Malcolm said, quietly. “And I agree with Dean though. You do suck ass at long-distance communication.”
She lost her smile as all the boys hooted with laughter. She knocked his hands away.
“Bitch, bye. You’re all such bullies,” she grumbled.
This is what happened when you grow up in a household of brothers: they found it fun to gang up and tease you. But she wasn’t twelve anymore. Not that it stopped them from treating her like that or for her to act like it sometimes.
“And Callum got delayed,” Aidan answered her earlier question. “He just flew in from San Francisco and should be here in about an hour or so.”
Callum was a professional baseball player and currently the only brother in the middle of his season. But even if he wasn’t really busy it was still hard
to see him since he lived so far away. Aidan, Zac and Reagan were the only ones to live in Scarlet, the city near their hometown, while Malcolm, Dean and Callum had been recruited to teams all over America. She missed them a lot, but she was kind of used to it at the same time. They hadn’t all lived under the same roof for over ten years now. And she couldn’t be anything but happy since they were all living their dreams.
Malcolm moved around the counter and came to stand shoulder to shoulder with Zac.
“How’s training going?” Zac asked Malcolm, abandoning his half-drunk beer to fold his arms across his chest. Reagan noticed his abs contract and wished she could see his six-pack without the top in the way. The only time she ever got to see him half-naked now was on a billboard advertising shaving just like the rest of America. And how sad was it that he had been inside of her and she still hadn’t seen him fully naked?
Malcolm shrugged. “It’s going as well as it can be.”
“Well, my training is going fan-fucking-tastic. I can’t wait until we face off,” Dean said, with a wicked grin aimed at his twin.
“Don’t expect a different outcome,” Malcolm said, mildly.
The twins were both football players but on opposing teams. Malcolm was a linebacker for the Paramount Tigers and Dean a defensive end for the Ravanna Seagulls. Whenever their teams went up against each other, like they had last season, the world went nuts for it. Brothers playing against each other, and identical twins at that? Yep, it made for an entertaining and highly competitive game. Last year, Malcolm’s team knocked Dean’s team out during the playoffs, going on to the Super Bowl before they too were unfortunately defeated. Reagan had literally been on the edge of her seat during that game. She had shouted herself hoarse by the end of it, screaming so much for both of her siblings.
Dean blew a raspberry. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll see.”