“I’m not sure what that could accomplish.”
“I’ll tell you what Penny said about Frank’s cock.”
“She didn’t tell you anything about his cock.”
He’s quiet for a long moment.
“Ryan?”
“I’m making a face. You can only see it if you look at me.”
“You don’t make faces.”
“I don’t have facial expressions?”
“That’s not the same.”
“You want to see, you have to look at me.”
Fine.
I force myself to turn around.
He’s sitting there—now in black jeans, only black jeans—his piercing blue eyes fixed on me.
“She did not say anything about Frank’s cock.”
He nods.
I shake my head.
Again, he nods.
“We’re going in circles.”
“Yeah.”
“What did she say?”
“He’s not bigger.” His lips curl into a half smile.
“I knew you cared.” My gaze fixes on the hollow of his neck. His bare shoulders. His chest. His stomach. Those soft hairs beneath his belly button. “You’re such a guy.”
“And you’re apathetic?”
“Totally.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“Because…”
“You want to know why she left.”
“How could anyone leave you?” My cheeks flush. “I don’t mean…” Yes, I do. I don’t understand how anyone could leave Ryan. But I can’t admit that. “I… I saw you together. You were good to her.”
“Her story’s different.”
“What? That’s ridiculous.”
“Parts of it.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not with you drunk.”
“I’m not drunk.”
He motions to the half-empty bottle on the dresser.
“It wasn’t a fresh bottle.”
“How many shots have you had?”
“Not enough to be drunk.”
“This is a sober conversation.”
“Then just go.”
“Fine.” His shoulders tense. “You can sleep this off.”
“With Dean?” I bite my tongue. I’m better than cheap shots to make him jealous. Even if his envy is thrilling—it means a part of him wants me.
His jaw cricks, but he shakes it off. “I have an exclusive on coming in this room.”
“That’s selfish.”
His eyes light up as he chuckles. “Guess I should say, nobody can come in this room unless I’m here.”
“You know you’re daring me to masturbate in your bed.”
He arches a brow would you.
“Dare me again. See what happens.”
“Is it still masturbating if I’m here?”
Tug at this blanket. Untie my bikini. Demand I fuck myself for your viewing pleasure. Please. “It depends.”
“On?”
“If it’s giving you sexual gratification.”
“You really think I could watch you come without—” He shakes his head. “You’re insane.”
Every part of me goes warm at once. “You don’t mean…” I swallow hard. I can’t stomach a no. Better not to ask. “Was that all she said?”
“You’re drunk, Leigh.”
“Not that drunk.” Not drunk enough to forget how much I want him. How much that hurts.
“I didn’t need her to tell me I’m bigger.”
“Oh.”
“Dean was right.”
“That’s a scary sentence.”
He nods.
Oh.
It clicks. Dean was right about how massive cocks run in the family. He’s… Uh…
Ahem. “How do you know about Dean’s—”
“You haven’t seen it?”
“No. Why would I?”
“He used to fuck chicks in the backyard all summer. I wish I’d never seen him.”
“And he… he’s seen you?”
“He walked in on me and Penny a few times.”
“Oh.” I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. The thought of Ryan naked sends heat to my fingers and toes. But the thought of him naked with her steals every ounce of my warmth. “Was that all she said?”
“He’s not a better lay.”
“Is that actually comforting?”
“No.”
“What if he was a better lay?”
“I don’t know.”
“You should say hard to imagine. I’m just so good.”
He laughs as he lies next to me. “I don’t brag.”
“You’re right. Show don’t tell. That’s the first rule of a good story.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Are you generous?”
“Stop it.”
“What? Talking to my best friend?”
His hair falls in front of his eyes as he shakes his head.
“Ryan…” My fingers curl around his wrist. I’m not sure what I’m asking for, only that I want it.
His voice is soft. “You look miserable, Leigh.”
“But hot?”
“You’re wrapped in a blanket.”
I unpeel the layers of cotton and polyester. Let the comforter fall at my sides.
His eyes glide over my body. Slowly. Like he’s savoring every inch. He takes in my breasts, my stomach, my hips, my thighs, my calves, my painted red toenails.
Then he works his way back to my eyes. “I lost one relationship because I didn’t understand what a woman wanted.”
“Oh?”
“What do you want me to say to that?”
“Whatever you’re thinking.”
“You know you look good.”
“But I don’t know what you think.”
“You’re my best friend.”
The four words are an explanation. You’re my best friend. It wouldn’t matter if you were the hottest woman in the world. I can’t look at you that way.
I press on anyway. “But you want to fuck me?”
“You’re drunk, Leigh.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Yeah. You are. And you’re pissed at me and I don’t have a fucking clue why.”
I shake my head.
His eyes bore into mine. “She said I didn’t talk to her.”
“Did you?”
“I thought so…” His gaze goes to the string lights. “But maybe I didn’t.”
“Oh.”
“You think I talk to you?”
“A little. But not really.”
Understanding fills his eyes. “I listen?”
“Yeah. But I don’t talk.”
“You trust me?”
“Of course.”
“But not about Mr. Powers.”
“Ryan. God.” I grab a pillow and hide behind it. “We were starting to get somewhere.”
“We weren’t.”
“Maybe not.” I hug the pillow to my chest. Look up at him. “I’ll prove I’m not drunk.” I bring my finger to my nose. Raise my right leg.
His fingers curl around my ankle as he pins my leg to the bed.
Fuck, this is so, so close to where we need to be.
Just slide these bottoms to my knees. Unzip those jeans. Forget about talking and show me what you’re feeling.
“You want me to go?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Then tell me why you’re crying in my room.”
“I can’t stop picturing you together.”
“Leigh—”
“Not like that.” Okay, not just that. “You’re still in love with her. And I hate it. I hate that she gets any of your heart. I hate that you’re giving her the chance to hurt you again.”
“This was your idea.”
“Maybe it was a bad one.”
“You want to call it off?”
“No. Do you?”
“No.” He lies next to me. Looks up at the stucco ceiling.
“I’m not in love with her.”
“At all?”
“There’s a Penny shaped hole in my gut, yeah. But I don’t want to fill it with her.”
“But…” I swallow hard. “The way you looked at her. You… Are you sure?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t have a fucking clue what it’s supposed to feel like, loving someone. Not anymore. Not after that.”
“After what?”
“The look in her eyes when I caught her.”
“Guilt?”
“No.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Relief.”
Chapter 17
Leighton
Moonlight flows through the windows. It casts soft highlights and shadows over the stairs. Melts into the yellow glow of the den’s fluorescent bulbs.
The house is quiet except for the sizzle of a pan.
It’s late. The party’s over. It’s just me and Ryan.
My feet pad the plush beige carpet. Then the slick equally beige tile.
Oh.
That isn’t Ryan.
Dean’s standing at the stove, in jeans and a t-shirt, his attention on a grilled cheese sandwich, his back to me.
He turns from his spot at the stove. His blue eyes meet mine. They’re so much like Ryan’s. Lighter. Brighter. Filled with playfulness instead of frustration.
He folds his arms over his chest. “What the fuck did you do to him?” His voice is teasing, but it still feels like an accusation.
I try to make my response playful. “I sucked him off.”
“No offense, babe, but you need to work on your technique.”
“Is that right?”
“You did something wrong to put that look on his face.”
“Okay. I admit it. He likes it rough. I got carried away.”
Dean shakes his head in your dreams.
“How do you know?”
“I know what a satisfied woman looks like."
“Maybe you don’t.” I grab a blanket from the couch, wrap it around myself like a cocoon. “Maybe they’ve all been faking it.”
“I know faking it.” He turns back to the stove. Flips his sandwich to one side. “You want one?”
Bread and cheese are the perfect antidote to my pounding headache, but I want to eat with Ryan. “No thanks.”
He shrugs suit yourself.
“What time is it?”
“Time for you to stop drinking your feelings.”
I fake laugh. Flip him off.
He returns the gesture.
“You know, I could have sucked him off and refused to let him make me come.”
“You get off on making up this bullshit?”
“No.”
“Then stop wasting your time.”
“How do you know—”
“You didn’t get anywhere near his cock.”
I take a seat at the dining table. Pull the blanket tighter around my chest. “How are you sure of that?”
“You look desperate.”
“Fuck you.”
He turns to me. Unbuttons his jeans. “Sure. Let’s go. Right now.”
I roll my eyes.
He motions to the couch. “Fifteen minutes of anonymous sex. Nobody has to know.”
“You’re not even offering seriously.”
He shrugs. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.
“You aren’t.” I feign disgust. It’s a game Dean and I play. He pretends he wants to fuck me. I pretend I find him revolting. I’m not sure how it started, but it’s our regular routine.
Dean doesn’t want me. He did once—he offered to “let me ride Prince Albert” a dozen times. Until, one day, he stopped offering.
Well, he stopped offering seriously.
He laughs. Buttons his jeans. “Yeah. But don’t get your hopes up it means I respect you.”
“I don’t want your respect. How disturbing.”
“What the fuck did you do to him, Leigh?”
I’m not sure if I want to smack Dean for the implication or hug him for finally looking out for his brother. “Nothing.”
He turns the stove off. Slides grilled cheese onto a ceramic plate.
“Where is he?”
“On a run.”
My eyes go to the time on the microwave. Nearly midnight.
“That means you fucked with his head.”
“And Penny?”
“I saw his face after he talked to her. Then again after he came downstairs. You did something to him.”
“Maybe he should take some responsibility for his mood.”
“Maybe you should take some responsibility for lying to him.”
That’s a fair point. But what’s Dean doing on a high horse?
“I’m not gonna tell you to be responsible or honest or some shit like that.”
“Good.”
He takes his plate, brings it to the table, sits next to me. “I told him to be careful with you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Guess the devil gave back some of my soul.”
My anger fades to something warmer. Dean is being earnest in such a Dean way. It’s sweet. Weird. But sweet.
“Thought that was my only concern.”
“Are you admitting to having feelings?”
He shoots me a look. Get real. Offers me half his sandwich.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re drooling.”
“Because I’m thinking about Ryan naked.”
“Yeah.” He leaves the half in front of me, picks up the other half, takes a monster bite. “But that’s a constant thing for you.”
I laugh. “True.”
“I thought he was still in love with her.”
“He isn’t?”
“I don’t know. But I know the look on his face after he left you alone in his room.” He takes another bite. Chews. Swallows. “Something hurt him.”
“Was she still there?”
“Yeah. They had an awkward goodbye. She left with Mr. Khaki Pants.”
I laugh. “I call him Boat Shoes.”
“Fuck, that’s better.”
“Thanks.”
“What could anyone see in him?” he asks.
“A six-figure salary and a white picket fence.”
“Ryan makes plenty.”
“How do you know?”
“We’re partners. We all make the same.”
“How plenty are we talking?”
He laughs. “Enough for a white picket fence.”
“And all the boat shoes you could dream of?”
“And then some.” He finishes his half of the sandwich. Licks his pointer finger clean. “It wasn’t her, Leigh. It was you. Something you did. Or said. Or something he thought about you.” He licks his middle finger clean. “I wasn’t worried you’re gonna hurt him—”
“I’d never.”
“I know. But you are.”
My teeth sink into my lip. “That isn’t fair.”
The front door swings open. Rubber soles squeak against the tile foyer. Then the soft pad of socks on tile. On carpet.
Ryan steps into the dining room/kitchen/den. His brow furrows as he surveys the scene.
Dean and I are eating together.
We’re trading secrets.
I know how it looks.
But it’s so not that.
I place the half grilled cheese on Dean’s plate. Push myself to my feet. “Good run?”
“You were gone forever,” Dean says.
“Needed to clear my head.” Ryan’s blue eyes fix on me. They bore into me. Beg for an explanation for my proximity to his brother.
I know he struggles to trust people.
I get that.
But there’s no way for me to explain without giving myself away.
“I just got up.” I unwrap the blanket. Drape it over the dining chair. “I need to move.”
He gives me a long slow once-over. His pupils dilate. His tongue slides over his lip.
But there�
�s something else. Something that isn’t sexual.
Like he’s trying to decide if I fucked his brother.
Hurt flares in his blue eyes. He blinks, and it fades into confusion.
His brow furrows. His lips press together.
“I’m gonna go for a swim.” I motion to the sliding glass door. “Join me.”
Ryan looks to his brother. Stares at his expression like it holds all the secrets to the universe.
Dean looks to me. Raises a brow. You see what I’m talking about.
I do.
But I still don’t know how to fix this.
Cool water rushes past me. It presses my hair against my cheeks. Tests the straps of my bikini.
Swimsuits have an unwritten rule: you can choose cute or practical, but never both. Four years on the high school swim team filled my quota for one-pieces.
I can live with my boobs threatening to pop out of my bikini.
I press off the shallow end of the wide lap pool. Cut through the water to pull my arms to my sides. My fingers slice the surface. They glue together to push water behind me, propel me forward.
My feet hit the surface with a light tap. But it’s enough my legs and ass burn.
It’s been forever since I’ve really swam.
It’s as comforting as it used to be.
But it’s too familiar. I squeeze my eyes closed, blocking out the aqua sheen, saving my retinas from chlorine.
And there it is—the image of my mom at a swim meet, smiling at my coach, sipping from a flask she kept in the front pocket of her blazer.
My coach’s concerned stare the next day. Her hand on my shoulder as she lowered her voice to that you can trust me, really tone and asked if things were okay at home.
My squeaky lie. Yes, of course.
Mom, on the couch, sleeping off her drunken stupor, empty bottle of vodka next to her.
Like mother, like daughter, I guess.
If I keep running from my feelings, I’ll end up like her.
That isn’t happening.
I guess that means I have to woman up and face my shit.
I blink my eyes open as I surface to breathe. Night falls over the backyard, casting the concrete in a beautiful, dark blue.
The kitchen glows with yellow light.
The tiny white string lights lining the backyard shine with a ghostly glow. They make the pool look haunted.
Maybe it is.
By all my baggage. And all of Ryan’s.
Maybe Dean’s right. I should tell Ryan the truth. Let him decide if he wants to stay or walk. Let him decide if he wants anything to do with a Leighton who’s crazy about him.
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