“It’s okay. Lauren was happy, Brendan was happy, I was happy enough. Especially when I thought about you. Afterwards, though, it hit me like a truck, the way it always did: I’d never have you.” He squeezed her hand, shaking his head. “And Lauren was like, ‘what came over you? You turned into a beast back there. I know you like it a little rough, but damn.’” Ian stopped and looked at Diana. His ears were completely red now. “This is way too much information, isn’t it. I know you’re curious, but I’ll stop now.”
“That’s fine. I do have a poem about you — just you,” she added quickly.
“Oh yeah?”
“I started it yesterday.”
“Gimme.” Ian sifted rapidly through the creased and torn pages.
“It’s still in my journal.” Dammit, she was supposed to be in charge here. “It’s on the last page, and it’s not ready yet.” She grabbed his hands. “It’s totally rough.”
His face lit up. “That’s what I like to hear.”
“I mean, it’s a rough draft,” she said hastily. Ian looked at her with a knowing smile. “I haven’t revised it yet. It’s still in the terrible stage. It’s really bad.”
“Then I want to hear it. I want to know everything bad about you, Diana.”
“Okay.” She scrabbled for control again. “Not here. In a bed.”
Ian’s eyebrows shot up. Since they’d gotten together, everything had happened in her backyard or his Jeep. “Whose bed?”
She thought fast. “Yours. You said you’re the best at sneaking into your own house.”
“You got it.” He was already snatching up the poems and stacking them in a pile. She joined in.
Soon, her journal bulged again, her tote bag hung over her shoulder, and she and Ian were hurrying to the front of the bookstore, holding hands.
“Pick something out,” Ian said in her ear.
Her heart was pounding now. “What about you?”
“Nah, just read me your terrible, rough, awful poem. That’ll be enough for me.”
“Thanks.” Diana rubbed her forehead against his shoulder. Did Ian realize how much it meant, showing her poems to him? She scanned the displays near the door and reached for a journal. “This. I’m on the last page of my old one.”
Ian frowned at the red leather binding. “That’s exactly the same as the one you have now.”
“That’s the point. Things are changing. And that’s good, it’s great, but I want something that’s the same.”
“Nothing stays the same.” His voice was low in her ear. “And no two things are ever exactly the same.”
Heat poured over her body. “I know that.” She locked eyes with Ian. “But I like that these are the same on the outside. They’ll be different on the inside.”
Ian raised an eyebrow at her, but he took the journal from her, brought it to the register, and paid.
*
When the Jeep pulled into the O’Brians’ driveway, the sun had set. Orange fire still streaked the sky. Her own house was dark, but the lights in the O’Brians’ house were on.
Ian didn’t seem concerned about anyone seeing the two of them. He met Diana on the passenger side, put an arm around her, and sauntered up to the front door. He made no effort to be quiet as he turned the key in the lock and flicked the light on in the entry hall.
When he led her into the O’Brians’ long kitchen, Diana expected him to hustle her upstairs in the dark. Instead, he dropped a quick kiss on her lips.
“Wait here.” He disappeared through the swinging French doors. Feet thudded up the stairs.
Okay. She’d wait. Ian seemed to be making a habit of telling her to stay put while he ran off to do God knows what. Brushing her bangs off her forehead, Diana looked around the kitchen.
Everything was in place. Plants lined the windowsill above the sink, the granite counters shone, the ceramic cookie jar with the broken lid sat on top of the fridge, and a large photo of the twins, posing in basketball jerseys, hung by the doors.
The last time she’d been in here, she and Ian had just confessed their love to each other, Brendan had gotten rid of two dozen pool party guests and given them his blessing, and the three of them had cleaned up the gigantic party mess. Everything had felt easy and right and uncomplicated.
Tiptoeing to the doors, she peered into the dining room.
“Brendan?” she murmured. He probably wasn’t home. Other than their good-morning hug ritual and the one conversation in the Jeep, she hadn’t seen him around.
The fridge hummed. She remembered how the stainless steel had felt against her back, with two pairs of male hands slipping inside her bikini.
TV sounds came from the den, along with Mrs. O’Brian’s laughter. Eyeing her black and white polka-dotted dress, Diana tried to adjust the straps, tugging in an unsuccessful attempt to hike up her neckline. No way around it: her dress showed off her breasts.
She wandered over to the fruit bowl on the counter and picked up an apple. The blush of red on green deserved its own poem.
Had her cheeks been that red the first time Brendan kissed her? Had her face burned that bright the first time she’d asked Ian to fuck her? Or had she been too loosened up with alcohol, too swept away in living out her fantasy, to turn crimson at all? Had she been as flushed as her tight red dress when the twins had taken her to the club and she’d ended up in a stranger’s incense-scented bedroom? Would a time come when absolutely nothing made her blush?
She reached inside her tote bag, still hanging on her shoulder, to thumb through the loose pages of her old journal. Then she dropped her tote bag on the table, along with her plastic bag from the bookstore.
Ian reappeared with a stack of books. She caught a couple of the titles — Business Fundamentals, Organizational Behavior — before he tossed them on the kitchen table with a resounding thump.
“Hey guys, I’m home,” he called carelessly. “Diana’s here. Come say hi.”
The TV sounds stopped.
“What?” she hissed. “What part of this is sneaking?”
“Watch and learn,” Ian said out of the corner of his mouth.
Mr. and Mrs. O'Brian came through the swinging french doors. Their faces brightened.
“How wonderful to see you, dear!” Mrs. O’Brian exclaimed, giving her a hug. Diana returned the greeting, her stomach doing flip-flops.
“It’s been too long.” Mr. O’Brian added. “Ian here can always use your civilizing influence.”
“Diana's here to help me catch up on my business classes.” Ian gestured at the pile of books on the table. “You know the ones. We’re gonna study in my room.”
“Well, that's great.” Mr. O'Brian looked surprised. “Very nice of you to help Ian out, Diana. We know you’re busy. Your mom’s told us all about what you’re up to this summer. Very impressive.” Two pairs of eyes went to the plastic bag on the table.
“You went to a bookstore?” Mrs. O’Brian asked. “Together?”
“We needed to prepare.” Diana kept her voice off-hand.
“Yeah, Diana had to teach me how to read first.” Ian slung an arm around her shoulders like he just needed a place to rest it, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. “All better now. See, Mom?” He grabbed the top book off the table and pointed to the word Fundamentals. “That says ‘cat.’”
“Ian, your situation is not something to joke about,” Mr. O’Brian began, but Mrs. O’Brian did laugh.
“It's so good to have you over again, Diana,” she broke in. “And Ian home in the evening? That doesn’t happen too often.” She bustled to the fridge. “We haven't seen you with the twins for a couple weeks! Ian, where's your brother?”
“Doing Brendan stuff.”
“Really? I would have expected him to be here too.” Mr. O’Brian’s voice was hearty, but Diana didn’t blame him for being confused.
Ian shrugged. “He doesn't need the academic support.”
The silence that followed was so short, Diana wouldn't have caugh
t it if she hadn't been paying attention.
“Would you like something to drink, dear?” Mrs. O'Brian asked brightly. “Soda, lemonade? We have cherry Coke. I remember how much you and the twins loved that when you were kids.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” she began, but Mrs. O'Brian was already rooting through the fridge.
“I can’t tell you how much we’ve missed having you over. You and the boys were so close when you were little.” Bottles clinked. “I never thought we’d see you with just Ian, though. You always wanted Brendan too.” Mrs. O’Brian smiled over her shoulder. “Dennis, remember when Ian broke his collarbone falling off the roof?”
“Do I ever.” Mr. O’Brian shook his head.
“Diana came over with a plate of M & M cookies that she’d baked. I’ll never forget it. She felt so bad that Ian was grounded, she even tried to argue that it wasn’t his fault. And you wouldn’t take no for an answer, either,” she added to Diana, pulling a can from the fridge. “But when I told her Brendan was down the street getting Slurpees, she refused to come in! She just gave me the cookies and ran back to her house. It was the cutest thing.” Mrs. O’Brian looked down at the can of cherry Coke in her hand. “Ian, get Diana a glass. Be polite.”
“Already did.” Ian nodded at the counter. Startled, his mother picked up the glass waiting there. “First I’ve heard of that little story.” He smirked at Diana. “You ran away, huh?”
She flushed. “You got the cookies, right? So what’s the problem? Thanks for the Coke,” she added, accepting the glass.
“You're welcome to study at the kitchen table.” Mr. O'Brian looked meaningfully at his son. “Lots of light out here.”
“Nah.” Scooping up the books and bags on the table, Ian put a hand on Diana’s back, guiding her toward the swinging kitchen doors. “Too distracting, right, Diana?”
Her heart was pounding again. “Definitely. I know I’d just want to raid the cookie jar.”
“Yep. You’d eat them all too, and you wouldn’t share. Thanks, though,” he added to his father as an afterthought.
“Dennis.” Mrs. O'Brian's voice floated out as they walked through the darkened dining room, though she was trying to whisper. “There's nothing to worry about. You know how the twins are about Diana.”
“I know how Ian is about women,” Mr. O’Brian grumbled. “And I know when the twins were in high school, a lot of girls went through that bedroom. Even with Brendan trying to keep him on track.”
“Yes, but this is Diana.”
Chapter Six
The trip upstairs was quiet. Ian switched on the hall light at the top of the stairs. When Diana took his hand, he gave her a squeeze, his warm palm sending flutters through her body as they walked along the polished wood floor. The door to Brendan’s bedroom stood open a few inches, darkness beyond.
“Where’s your worse half really?” she asked.
“Making mayhem.”
“Seriously?”
“Probably. I don’t know what’s up with Brendan anymore.”
Worry curled through Diana’s stomach. “That’s not right. I get that you don’t want to be attached at the hip, but this is Brendan.”
“Sweetheart.” Ian stopped in front of his closed door and looked down at her. The light above him was burned out, and his face was shadowed from the side. “Aside from us getting together, the biggest thing that came from sharing you was Brendan learning to mind his own business, and me learning I didn’t need him in my business.”
“But—” she began.
“But what?”
“Remember what you said, when you climbed in the window and made me guess who you were? He knows I always have his back, and I know he always has mine. That isn’t something you just walk away from.”
Ian’s lips flickered in a half-smile. “How would you know?” His hands circled her waist. “You’re an only kid.”
“All the more reason why you don’t walk away from that. I was so grateful for you guys being my big brothers when we were kids, even though you gave me a hard time. I’ve always wanted a brother or sister.”
“I know,” Ian said quietly.
“How?” Diana stared at him. “It’s not like I was spilling my guts to you while you were dumping ice down my shirt. Brendan always looked out for me, but I didn’t open up to him either.”
“A long time ago — say, me and Brendan were nine. So you’d be seven. Little.” Ian smirked at her. Diana glanced toward the stairs — the TV was back on — and blew a loud raspberry into his neck. He laughed. “Your mom was yelling across the yard for you to come home and clean up your room ’cause your cousins were coming to visit. You were so excited, you were jumping up and down. It was so cute. When you went home, I was like, ‘Awww. Poor little baby Diana. Sucks to be an only kid. Must be why she hangs around our house all the freaking time.’ I was being a jerk, but Brendan got it. He looked at me, all serious, and said, ‘Okay, we’ll be her brothers. We’ll always be her brothers, no matter what, for the rest of our lives.’ And we shook on it. It was one of our agreements.”
“You never told me.”
Ian shrugged. “I figured we didn’t need to, because you’d know. I heard you say we’re like your brothers.”
“But for the rest of our lives— If you make agreements that involve other people, it’s nice to let them in on it.”
“Sometimes.” Ian gave her a crooked grin. “But me and Brendan, we’re done with agreements.”
“Completely?”
“As far as I’m concerned.”
“Does he know that?” she asked softly. “Or is that last agreement a one-sided one?”
Ian opened the door to his bedroom. “He knows. Let’s talk about something else, baby.”
Moonlight came through the open windows. As they walked in, Ian dropped his business books and her bags on the desk. He shut the door behind them.
Posters plastered the walls and ceiling, like she remembered. Sports, heavy metal, punk. On the low bed was the shape of Ian’s sleep: sheets half-pulled from the mattress, blankets hanging off, pillows scattered everywhere. When he pulled her close, she pictured him dreaming: one sleek arm flung out, the other hugging a pillow, muscled legs tangled in the sheets.
“Fine. New subject.” She ran her palms up his chest. God, Ian felt good. Warm, solid, right. “Should I be insulted that your parents don't think you see me as sexy?”
Then she gasped when hands brushed her breasts.
“What was that, Diana?” A tongue traced her ear, and she swallowed a moan. “You were saying something.”
Heat trickled down her neck, from her earlobe to her breast. Ian was working his hand into the cup of her bra, rolling her nipple between his fingers. His other hand tugged the zipper on her dress.
“I was saying—” her voice fizzed out.
“You were saying, can anyone think I don’t see you as the hottest, most delicious, most fuckable girl in the world?” He licked her collarbone, driving a moan from her mouth. Heat swirled through her body. She thrust her fingers into his hair.
“Maybe not,” she gasped.
Oh. Oh. Yes. Ian’s pinches on her nipple were driving her crazy. Blood rushed to the sensitive skin. Her lips ached to kiss him, and fire licked between her legs.
But going straight to sex after that discussion of agreements outside Ian’s room — she pulled back, gripping Ian’s hair.
“Your pinup girl is watching us.” Across the room, the curvaceous brunette frolicked by Ian's bed, one figure amid the posters up and down the walls and across the ceiling. Faces and words everywhere.
“Oh, her? That 'cause you're turning her on.” A hard bulge brushed her belly. Her dress gaped open in back, held up only by the straps. Ian's fingers were unbearably exciting on her nipple, rubbing and pinching it into taut need.
“And all your posters,” she breathed. “We're not alone.”
“Mm-hm.” Teeth nipped her neck. She muffled a yelp as a warm tongue soothed her
skin. “They all want to see you get fucked 'til tomorrow.”
“Ian,” she moaned, trying to keep her voice down. “I have an awful poem to read you. I’m supposed to help you study. If you take my dress off, none of that is going to happen.”
He laughed softly. “Who said anything about studying?”
“You did. I know you weren’t joking about your college classes and catching up.” She was probably ruining the mood, but she pressed on. “Your dad said something about your situation—”
“Right.” When Ian pulled her sleeves down her shoulders, she stifled a cry of need. “You know everything, baby, but do you know about business fundamentals? Because trust me, you don’t want to.”
“If you give me the book to read, I’ll understand it,” she insisted. “It’ll take me one night.” Ian moved back, startled. “I’m just being honest. I can help you.”
“No, babe.” His voice was low in her ear. “It’s not your damage. It's mine. I'll handle it.”
“Fine.” She caught the surprise on his face, her dress half-off, and twined her arms around his neck. “What, you thought I'd keep pushing? You just said you'd handle it. I believe you. Also, it sounds boring.” She scratched his bare arm.
“Fuck yes, it is. So let’s not talk about it anymore.” He shook his head like he was flinging off water. A demanding mouth met hers. “Can you read me your poem naked?”
“We can try.” She pushed him back, nerves surging through her body.
When she let go of Ian, her dress fell around her hips. He eased the polka-dotted fabric down, squeezing her full curves. One finger slipped into the waistband of her panties. She couldn’t stop running her palms over his chest.
“Pink. Lacy. Hot.” He tweaked her panties, pulling the silky material away from her body. “You want to read your poem to me with these on, or off?”
“On,” she said, on an impulse. She’d be naked enough, reading her rough draft out loud to him. “But I want you to strip.”
Ian yanked his shirt over his head and unbuttoned his jeans with one flick of his wrist. His zipper parted, revealing a plaid waistband. He held her gaze as he shimmied his jeans and boxers down together.
The Girl in Between Page 8