Holy cow. Is this really me? Is this really happening? Because if Matt Morgan’s going to be living next door all summer … then I’ve got a lot of sweet dreams ahead.
CHAPTER TWO
Matt
Being the youngest of seven brothers means people often forget your name. I get called Trent-Sam-Ford-Matt-Goddammit a lot. Or sometimes I get called Pete, our dog’s name. It’s all good. With so many of us underfoot, you learn to let things roll off your back.
But none of my bros are home just yet. It’s me and the Morgan parents, together in the kitchen.
My mom has made her delicious and world-famous strawberry crepes this morning, along with bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, and biscuits. When there are seven dudes in a household, you learn to make way more food than the average person might consider ingestible.
“Theesh are sho tastee,” I mumble around the huge wad of goodness stuffed in my mouth.
Maddy smiles and tells me not to talk with my mouth full, like I’m twelve or something. As I swallow, a hand claps me on the back and I nearly choke.
Dammit, they’re here early.
I glare at Tim and Will, my nearest-aged brothers and twins. They’re both a couple of inches shorter than I am, but with the same black hair and blue eyes that we got from our dad. Heartbreakers are what the twins are often called. Or assholes.
They load up their plates and plop into kitchen chairs. Meanwhile, Maddy exits, waving at us.
“Sweethearts, make sure you eat healthy okay? All three of you. I don’t want my boys downing only bacon and pancakes. There’s yogurt and fruit in the fridge,” she calls, stepping outside. “I’ll be back later, after book club!”
And we nod, waving.
“Bye Ma,” I manage through another mouthful of pancake.
“Bye Mom,” chorus the twins as they squirt syrup everywhere. Not just on their pancakes, but on their toast, the berries, and even into their yogurt. Damn, that’s gross, but we’re all grown men. I’m not going to comment.
So instead, I turn to Will and Tim, one eyebrow raised.
“How’s it going?” I ask. It’s kind of a lame question, seeing that I work with them every day, but hey, sometimes you gotta spew niceties just to survive.
“It’s going,” Tim says with a shrug.
“Yeah,” Will agrees, “It’s goin’,” he repeats. “Money’s flowing like water, this shit is amazing.”
I nod. We started the business a couple years ago, and it’s a dream come true. You know how there are fourteen year old boys on your street selling shit on-line to the tune of a million dollars a month? Multiply that by seven, and that’s us. Seriously, cash is popping out of our ears right now.
But there are more important things too. Because any time off from our business is serious. That shit don’t work unless we’re on it.
“How much time are you taking off?” I ask casually.
“We’re not,” answers Tim. “Not really. We’ve got a good office manager and we can do a lot remotely. It’s no big deal.”
I grunt approvingly. Good, because I want to keep the money machine going.
“What’s up with you anyways, baby brother?” Will asks. “Still writing the great American novel?”
I’m supposed to be the creative dude at the office. My job is to sell our product, writing catchy text and designing compelling advertising campaigns. But I also want to do my own thing, therefore the questions about my book.
“Working on it,” I say. “It’s going.”
“Great,” the twins remark. “Look forward to reading it.”
Yeah, right. Those fuckers haven’t cracked a book in years, they were never good students. Which makes the company’s success even more crazy. But the thing is, we were never dumb guys. Sure, we didn’t get good grades, and Will was practically kicked out sophomore year for fighting, but it’s not like he got hit in the head or anything. We got smarts, just not book smarts.
I change the subject. That’s enough about work. The hours we put in are insane already, so another topic is welcome.
“Dating anyone?” I ask.
The twins don’t even pause.
“We had a widow for a while. What was her name again? Milly?” Will asks, looking to Tim to jog his memory.
“Lilly,” Tim snorts. “Fifty-two, body like a Kardashian.”
“The curvy Kardashian, not the skinny one,” Will interrupts.
“Giant bubble butt,” Tim continues, ignoring him. “So hot. In great shape for her age.”
Will leans in, voice low although Mom’s not around anymore. Although it’s not a big deal. I’m pretty sure Maddy’s totally aware that her boys are a bunch of horndogs, she’s not blind or stupid.
But Will leans forward confidentially, like this is top secret information.
“And, cha-ching! Lilly loves the twin sandwich shit, taking it from both ends. Or in both holes at once,” he smirks.
Fuck, how nasty. But the thing is, I’m not exactly innocent either. Because my brothers and I often share women. I realize, it’s not the norm. I mean, two or three cocks at once? What girl wants that?
But surprisingly, a lot of ladies love it. They act all shocked at first, but when three cocks come out, they’re hungry as shit, spreading their legs, begging us to put it in. I often pass as the third triplet, and we’ve done some depraved shit that should qualify for the Guinness Book of World Records .
But it’s all good. So long as everyone wants it, there are no problems.
“So what’d we miss since you got home?” Will asks, wolfing down another egg sandwich. Man, that guy puts down like a bear, inhaling calories.
“Well,” I say casually. “There’s someone next door.”
The twins barely hear, busy stuffing their faces. Finally, one looks up, disinterested.
“What, that little girl? What was her name? She was twelve the last time we saw her.” Tim glances at his phone, already starting to text.
Just then, the curvy Macy Jones wanders out her back door, brown curls bouncing. Holy shit, she’s got an apron on, and it shouldn’t make her look sexy, but it does. The cloth’s cinched tight, highlighting her tiny waist, before skimming over thick thighs to graze her knees. Fuck, did Jessica Rabbit look so good in an apron?
And my brothers’ eyes about pop out of their heads. Will lets out a low whistle.
“Hot fucking damn,” Tim says.
“Yup,” I say as we all watch her fuss with the lawn chairs for a moment.
“Curves for days,” Will says.
“No shit,” I repeat. “And she’s coming this way.”
“Quick, put the newspaper over your boner,” Will grinds out.
“You put the newspaper over your boner,” Tim answers, jabbing him with his elbow. “I’ll be putting mine to use.”
As Macy knocks on the back door, we all scramble to our feet, desperate to be the one she sees first. I open the door as we line up. Macy’s eyes go wide when she sees us.
“Oh, um,” she stammers, her cheeks turning pink as she blushes. “I thought there was only, um, one of you? I mean, I only saw one of you yesterday at the party?”
We all laugh. Will holds out his hand and Macy shakes it, the blush spreading to her chest. I have to bite my tongue to keep from groaning like a teenager.
“I’m Will,” my brother says. He jerks a thumb back at his twin. “This is my twin brother, Tim.”
“And I’m Matt,” I say. “We met last night.”
She nods, eyes as big as saucers in her beautiful face.
“There are four more of us coming,” Tim tosses off. “You know there’s seven total.”
Macy keeps nodding, clutching a little notebook to her chest so that her beautiful breasts squeeze up and out. Shit, does she even know that’s happening? Is she aware how the valley between those tits beckon, how much I want to lick right there and then fuck my dick between them?
“So what’s up?” I ask, eyeing that juicy form, not even both
ering to hide my interest. “What’s going on?”
“I, um,” she says again, biting one of her lips. “I’m thinking about writing a cookbook.”
“Matt here is a writer,” Will says, pushing me forward a step.
She gives me a shy smile and looks at the ground. “Well, I don’t need help writing, exactly. Because actually I’m a cook. I thought maybe, since there’s so many of you, you might be good taste-testers? I wouldn’t want you to be stuffed too full,” she says quickly. “Taste testing can get really overwhelming sometimes, there’s so much food.”
My brothers and I all share a glance.
“I think we could help out,” comes my low growl.
Are you kidding? We eat like rhinos on a rampage, entire birthday cakes at once.
But Macy has no idea. She relaxes her shoulders and lets out a breath.
“Oh, that would be so great, thank you,” she says gratefully. “I’ve got a ton of dishes to try out and as much as I love to eat, it might all go to waste if it’s just me. Plus, I need objective opinions. Maybe I might like something but everyone else thinks it’s crap, but is too nice to tell me.”
Holy shit, is this true? Free food, probably real good food too, and a sense of humor? This girl is everything we want and more.
Evidently my brothers feel the same way.
“Naw, no worries honey,” drawls Tim. “Happy to help.”
“Food is our business,” growls Will. “We can eat it all.”
She blushes, giggling a little, her cheeks again turning that magical shade of pinky-peach that makes me think of sherbet. Which, of course, makes me all the more eager to lick her in places I doubt she’s ever been licked.
But the twins are on it.
“When do we start?” grunts Tim.
She purses her lips for a moment, thinking.
“Well, would now work?” she asks, eyes hopeful. “I have some stuff on the stove right now, so if you’re free, maybe we could do a sample. And I’d like to pay you for your time,” she adds in a rush. “I don’t expect you to work for free, your time is important.”
Holy shit, really? This girl has no idea what she’s getting into.
“We don’t need your money,” I growl.
The twins grunt in assent.
But Macy shakes her head stubbornly.
“Well, I’d like to do something to thank you,” she says, chin firm. “You’re professionals, and professionals get paid.”
Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Shit, this girl is asking for it. Because sure, there’s a way that she can pay us. There’s a real good way, one that’ll make us all grunt with pleasure. Because Macy is curvy and innocent … and we’re gonna show her exactly what to do.
CHAPTER THREE
Trent
I let myself into the house. My mom said she was off to her tennis lessons at the country club and that a temporary nurse would be at the house when I arrived. That’s good. Someone to hold down the fort, medically speaking.
Because as a doctor, I’ll be overseeing my dad’s recovery process. Strokes aren’t my specialty, I practice internal medicine. But it’s fine. I know enough, and besides, Dad needs help, so here I am.
Lugging my suitcase upstairs, I toss it into my room before checking in with the day nurse. She’s somewhat cute, but way too skinny. I’m not one for the thin chicks, and this girl’s gotta put on at least fifty pounds before reaching my ideal weight. But there’s no harm in flirting right? Especially if she treats my dad better. So I rattle off a compliment or two, leaving the nurse swooning and mooning, dreaming about Prince Charmings and happily ever afters. See? Easy as fuck-all.
Famished, I hustle downstairs. The kitchen windows are open, and a nice breeze blows through, bringing with it the most delicious smell. Holy shit! What’s going on? This is literally the best thing I’ve smelled in ages. It’s savory and tangy and like a sniffing dog, I follow my nose.
Stomach growling loudly, my feet take me out the back door, moving as if in a trance. Pretty soon, I’m at the Jones’s gate, walking like a zombie towards the back.
Of course, my rational side reminds me that it’s super weird to just show up at someone’s house and ask to eat whatever they’re cooking. But fuck, it smells really good and I’m goddamn hungry. Never come between a man and his stomach.
Looking inside, this is definitely the right place. Because not only does that food smell amazing, but there’s a young woman at the stove cooking. Who is that? My mind runs furiously. She’s curvy and dark-haired, and three of my brothers are practically salivating in their seats at the kitchen table, their boners about to bust through their shorts. Seriously, who is this chick? A body like a babe, wielding a spatula like a pro? Wet dreams do come true.
Quietly pushing the door open, I let myself in. And suddenly lightning strikes my brain. Holy shit, it’s little Macy Jones. Squinting, I look at the female again. Yep, it’s gotta be. Back then, she was scrawny like a twig, more like a boy than a girl.
But damn, have things changed. Because she’s got an ass that’s definitely not boy-like, with a rack that could make grown men weep. In fact, my dick’s practically dripping now, taking in the delectable sight.
And my brothers are on the same wavelength. As I step into the kitchen, their heads barely turn, eyes glued to the girl.
“Yo,” says one of them. The other two don’t even bother to speak, staring at our beautiful kitchen goddess.
“Yo,” I grunt in return.
The three look lot alike, same as when they were younger. Hell, we all look alike, with the same dark hair, blue eyes, and massive builds. It’s the black Irish blood.
But that doesn’t interest me right now. What interests me is the girl at the stove.
“Hey, I’m Trent,” I say. “You must be Macy.”
She turns, startled.
“Oh I didn’t even see you,” she murmurs. “Did you knock?”
I growl.
“No.”
She blushes.
“Well, we’re all neighbors here,” she says quickly. “And you have to be one of the Morgans.”
I nod. Like I said, our family resemblance is astonishing.
“Yeah, I’m related to these fuckers. Their big brother. Trent.”
She looks at me and blushes again.
“The doctor?”
“Yep, that’s right,” I drawl. “Here to take care of Daddy-O, he’s sick,” I say, brows lowering. But this isn’t the time or place to get into a long, drawn-out conversation about the specialized care my dad needs. So I change the subject.
“And what are you up to Macy? What’s goin’ on, hanging with these losers?” I nod at my brothers. “Last I remember, you were a pigtailed, soccer-playing tomboy.”
One of my bros busts in then.
“Macy here’s a cook,” drawls Tim. “And we’re her taste-testers.”
I guffaw. Seriously? These guys would eat anything, they don’t qualify as taste-testers. Literally, you could feed them slop and they’d gobble it up like pigs.
But clearly, an opportunity’s at hand, and I don’t want to fuck it up.
“It’s all good,” I drawl casually, sliding into a seat at the counter. “So what’s this taste-testing about?”
The brunette blushes again before looking up.
“Well, I just finished my freshman year at State,” she says. “I don’t have a major or anything, I’m still undecided. But I wanted to write a cookbook in the meantime, just self-published,” she says quickly. “Any real publisher wouldn’t be interested, not at first.”
I shoot her a glance.
“Have you talked to Matt?” I ask, nodding at my bro. “Mofo here has the writing itch too. He’s writing a book too.”
She turns to look at my brother.
“Oh really? What about?”
Matt, to his credit, looks embarrassed.
“A bunch of stuff,” he grunts. “I haven’t had a ton of time to work on it lately, these fo
ols have been taking up a shitload of my energy.”
The twins don’t look guilty at all.
“Yeah, but you get a salary,” Tim retorts. “A real nice one I might add.”
This is where I butt in. Because actually, our family’s loaded. The company that the twins started has taken off like a fucking rocket, and the cash comes in waves now. In fact, they’re even trying to recruit me to be the company doctor. But I make a shit ton of money at my practice, so it’s gonna take at least double that to make me switch.
But we live a normal life despite being rich as Midas, and there’s no sense in giving it away. People would be envious, wanting what we have when they can’t get it.
So instead, I change the subject.
“Tell me more about the cookbook,” I say smoothly, shooting a warning glance at my brothers.
Macy colors happily, although she looks at Matt with empathy.
“It’s nothing big,” she says shyly. “I’ve always loved to prepare food, and it’s something that I want to do more of. Thus, the taste-testing,” she adds simply.
I drawl again.
“Honey, I’m sure it’s gonna be amazing. And we’re more than happy to be your guinea pigs. But do your parents know about this cookbook thing?”
She colors.
“They know, Jim and Marsha absolutely know,” she says slowly, puttering away at a simmering stew. “They don’t want me to do it, they want me to be an accountant or something,” she says, nose scrunching. “But I can’t see it. Me and numbers? It’s like saying it’s going to rain in the Sahara,” she says with a deprecating smile.
I nod in appreciation. Hey, understanding your weaknesses is just as important as understanding your strengths. My respect for her grows because at eighteen, she’s already light years ahead. When I was that age, all I thought about was girls, boobs, and butts, in that order.
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