by S. Love
The sun’s still high, golden yellow and not a cloud in sight. After I’ve skimmed the pool and swept the deck and patio, I stretch out on one of the lounge chairs, bending my knees against the sun’s glare. Afternoon heat caresses my skin, and it isn’t long until drowsiness liquifies my limbs.
Staring blankly at the bursts of sunlight glittering on the pool’s surface, I surrender the battle to keep my eyes open. No one’s home, so there’s no harm in a little downtime.
The enclosing murmur of voices reaches its crescendo, until I can no longer ignore the intrusion and darkness is ripped away from me, iridescent light bursting through the cracks in my heavy eyelids.
The groggy haze clears, two silhouettes at the opposite end of the pool taking clearer shape under the glare from the sun.
Falcon and Ozzie.
Falcon’s sitting upright on his sun lounger, legs spread either side of the upholstery as he looks down at his phone in concentration. Ozzie’s lying on his back, hands folded behind his head. He’s wearing sunglasses, but I can feel his gaze as hot as the sun above me. His face is an unreadable mask, his mouth flat and his body relaxed.
I stare into the black reflective lenses covering his eyes, knowing somehow that it’s important not to let him win.
Win what, exactly? I haven’t worked that out yet.
My gaze coasts to the left, and Falcon’s looking right at me, slanting brown eyes shielded by generous black lashes. “Did we wake you?” he asks. I detect the humor in his voice even without his smile.
I shake my head, hastily glancing back at Ozzie. “No.”
Swinging my legs over the side of the sun lounger, I try not to dwell on how long I’ve been asleep. Or how long I was being watched. There’s low risk of either of them telling their mother they caught me slacking. They’ve made it painfully obvious they like her no more than they do me. Or, Ozzie has.
Pretending they aren’t out here with me, I connect the garden hose to the outdoor tap and wash down the deck and patio. I pay no attention to what’s going on behind me, holding the spray of water to the ground as I bend down to turn off the tap, the flow decreasing.
“Bring that over here,” a voice calls out.
I look behind me. Ozzie’s in the shallower end of the pool, water rippling up to his waist. Falcon observes in silence, and everything about this moment feels entirely wrong. The hairs on my arms raise and my chest thumps.
Abandoning the good sense I was raised with, my feet carry me to the pool, the hose trailing the ground like an obedient but wary snake.
“Why don’t you get in?” Ozzie’s hands skim the water’s surface, his body edging closer to where I’m standing. When he’s directly below me, he says in a low voice, “I dare you.”
I’m squeezing the neck of the hose, too stubborn to just walk away. Maybe I’ll turn it on and blast him in the face with a freezing dose of reality. “Dare me to what?”
Ozzie’s smile is too slick for my tastes. “To take off that kinky-as-fuck inform and slide in here. With me.” His snicker is fire blazing down my spine. “Look away now, Con.”
“Cut it out, Oz.” Falcon rises from the sun lounger, black crepe shorts bunched around his upper thigh muscles. “Leave her alone.”
Ozzie faces his brother, the sun catching in his light-hazel eyes, intensifying the green. “So, this one’s yours now? You are paying her for overtime, right?”
Falcon’s steely gaze meets mine across the pool, and before he or I can say anything, Ozzie gives a half-roll of his eyes and presses his hands to the lip of the pool, pulling himself out of the water. He pushes one hand through his wet hair, eyeing me from head to toe as he walks past me and into the house, dripping water all over the marble floors so I’ll have no choice but to wipe it up.
I drop the hose, walking back to the tap to disconnect it like I should’ve done to begin with.
“Leave it,” Falcon says, picking up the hose from the ground.
I take my hand away from the gold tap. As I straighten, I smack into Falcon’s chest. His hand covers my stomach, his front shadowing my back. He steps forward, his legs either side of mine, taking me with him. Before he pushes me into the gray brick wall, he spins me around. It’s like I’ve floated up out of my body as his fingers loosen the top button on my dress, the trim of my no-fuss white cotton bra peeking into view. My breasts rise as I suck in a vulnerable breath, and Falcon holds my gaze in his, treating me as a flight risk ready to bolt any minute.
The second button loosens, then the third. Two more and the capped sleeves dust my arms, the dress succumbing to gravity and exposing most of my chest.
“What if Cindy comes home?” Rough heat from the brush of falcon’s fingers licks at the underside of my bra, and I suppress the unwelcome shiver that comes with it.
The corner of his mouth curls in contempt. “She won’t be back tonight.”
“She only went to a book club.”
“That’s what she wants you to think. Don’t worry about it.”
I am worrying about it. “I could lose my job.”
“About that.” Falcon comes closer. He hasn’t touched me any more, but the intimacy isn’t any less intense than if he had. “How about a question for a question?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, let’s get to know each other. There’s no need to be afraid of me. Think of what we’re doing as roleplay. Preparing for our big scenes. So, Lyla…?” One eyebrow lifts as a slow smile stretches his mouth. “…What’s your last name?” he says when I don’t pick up the tail end of his question on my own.
“Oh.” I can’t think with this much of my body on display in such an open area. Anyone could come home, walk out here and see us. And it could only end badly for me. “Teixeira.”
Falcon nods, his smile deteriorating. “Nice. Suit’s you. Where’s a name like that come from?”
“My dad’s parents are Brazilian.”
He looks impressed. “Any brothers and sisters?”
“One sister.”
The blunt edges of his white teeth show through the slip of a smile. “And what’s she like?”
“She’s older than me, just started her first year of college.” I throw him a question. I’m giving and getting hardly anything back. “Aren’t you in college?” I’m pretty sure he isn’t.
“I’m taking a year off before I go into Osborne Platinum Developments and suit up for the nine-to-five. Twelve months of surfing and bumming on the beach in exchange for the professional grind.” Falcon’s weak smile is surface level. Not the same smile as seconds ago. “I’d say I got the shit end of the deal, but somebody’s gotta keep the business in the family. Unfortunately, I’m the family.”
“Then maybe you should try out college. Talia couldn’t wait to leave St. Charlotte for Bellmont. It’s not too late, you know.” Hearing myself speak, I sound like I’m hustling on behalf of the administrations board.
“She as pretty as you?” Falcon asks, his smile lost completely now.
“Who?” I ask.
“Your sister.”
I roll my eyes. “Not even you can come off as that cheesy.”
“Answer the question.” He scratches his jaw, and his eyes haven’t veered from my face once.
“Talia could’ve been a model. Her hair’s naturally light brown, with these golden blonde highlights. My mom’s from Los Angeles, so Talia gets that California girl look from her.”
I wonder if I’ve imagined the flex in Falcon’s jaw. The flash of darkness that sprints across his features.
I’m sure it isn’t my imagination when he erases the space between us, backing me into the wall. His hand slips to the back of my neck. “Are you and your sister close?”
Flurries hollow out my stomach, his fingers at my neck weakening my ability to function on a normal level. “Very,” I croak, my mouth dry.
“Don’t mention me, okay?”
“Why?” I’m surprised I can still speak.
“Yo
u aren’t the only one who wants something. This stays between me and you and no one else. Can you do that?” He strengthens his grip on my neck, commanding all my attention. “This is bigger than Garrett. Keep your sister and anyone else you’re close with out of it. Tell them we’re seeing each other or nothing at all.”
My back stiffens with defensiveness, that hollowed-out feeling filling with something more like cement. “I’m not some blabbermouth.”
Falcon’s fingers trail from my neck to my jaw, his thumb sweeping the corner of my mouth. “I’ll take your word for that.” He glances at the plain bra that’s covering my small breasts. I know my nipples are hard because I felt them tightening. “Button up your dress. We’re having a party tonight, and G’s been invited for a change.”
Chapter 9
No outfit’s good enough. Everything I’ve brought with me is boring and basic. I’d call Talia for her advice on what I should wear, but she’ll only pressure me not to go to the party. Tell me to stay in my room and keep the door locked until morning. Her message had been clear: don’t get involved with the Osborne boys. She wouldn’t warn me without reason. Waiting on them at the country club for the past two summers has obviously left a lasting impression, and not a promising one.
But I have to show my face tonight, and the whole point is for Garrett to notice me. I’m not sure exactly what Falcon’s plan is, I just hope it isn’t too over the top. I’d like for Garrett to want me again, not think I’m in an exclusive relationship with another guy. A guy who’s bigger, older, and richer than he is. And Falcon isn’t showing he has many boundaries when it comes to fighting dirty. There are moments he’s even got me fooled, and I’m supposed to know better.
Since my party clothes are lacking, I choose my least-worn cutoffs and a T-shirt, and try not to dwell on not fitting in. Garrett was never with me for the cutting edge I have on fashion.
I’d planned to hide out in my room until people started showing up to the house, but my bedroom door opens after two light raps, and Falcon sticks his head through the small gap.
His gaze dips into an intrusive, head-to-toe sweep. “You look nice.” He walks into my room uninvited, closing the door after him.
“Thanks.” I pick up my Chucks from the side of the bed. “So do you.” A pale blue tee stretches and molds to his torso, and his black jeans look freshly plucked from off the rack. But I know the label will say otherwise.
He pulls out the stool at the vanity table, sits down and leans his forearms on his thighs, fingers interlacing as he cracks his knuckles. The pop of his joints goes right through me.
I give him a questioning look. “What do you want? I’m fully capable of dressing myself, if that’s why you’re here.”
“I’m just checking in with you. Making sure you’re still cool.”
How sweet.
“If you don’t push me too far, I’m cool. It’s no secret you’re more experienced than me. The last thing I want out of this charade is for Garrett to believe I’ve become more experienced—and not with him.”
A gradual smile lifts one side of Falcon’s mouth. “Now I’m intrigued.”
“Don’t be.” I sit on the bed, wedging my hands between my knees. “Has Garrett actually said he’s coming tonight?” If he doesn’t show, I’m not spending my time with people I don’t want to be around. There’s no forgetting I’ll be the one cleaning up the mess in the morning.
“There was no RSVP card.” At my frown, Falcon says, “It’s an open house. He’ll show.”
“And what about your girl? Will she show?”
“It’s unlikely.”
Now I’m intrigued. “Why is it? You tell me nothing about her, no name—”
“She has no name to you,” Falcon interrupts, his gaze carving to impenetrable steel. “You’ve got your reasons, I’ve got mine.”
My back is instantly up from Falcon’s frosty treatment. “How do I know you aren’t setting me up?”
“Setting you up for what?” His mood shifts in the wrong direction, tainting the air.
“How should I know? But I wouldn’t put it past any one of you to try and make me look dumb just for the hell of it.”
Falcon’s icicle grin should be enough to send me running for the hills. The razor edge in his already sharp jaw; the glint in his eyes that screams not to get too close yet draws me in at the same time. He’s trouble with a capital everything, but I don’t question Garrett isn’t worth it.
“Believe me,” Falcon says, in that complacent tone shared by too many members of this household, “you aren’t important enough to pull that childish shit on. Your value to me starts and ends here, and the same goes for me. I know what I want, and I’ll burn the fucking world down to get it. You should ask yourself if you can say the same. And if the answer’s no? Don’t bother showing your face tonight.”
I’m fuming when Falcon leaves, my skin heated with a sticky residue of sweat, the frigid air from the ceiling fan having no impact on my boiling temperament.
When thunderous music starts up and the noise level from the collective, raised voices doubles and then trebles, I pull my shit together, scoop my hair over my shoulders, and yank open my bedroom door to go downstairs. I may clean this house that costs more than my life is worth, but I’m beneath no one, and a certain Osborne brother is about to see that.
Teenagers spill through the front doors and into the foyer two and three at a time. I meander through the crowd of strange faces, clocking stray, empty Solo cups, bottles, and cans of beer, gathering what I can carry in two arms.
Bending to stack a cluttering of cups from one of the glass-top end tables, fingers envelop my shoulder from behind, the tips squeezing my skin.
Straightening, I turn around, my gaze colliding with graphite gray eyes flecked with silver under the chandelier’s bright light.
“You didn’t reply to my message.” Garrett lifts his hand from my shoulder, his gaze leveling on the cups in my arms. A frown slants his brow. “Is there somewhere else we can talk?”
The word “yes” bounces around impatiently on my lips, but Falcon appears from nowhere, the weight of his arm spanning my shoulders.
But when I look up, it isn’t Falcon standing beside me, it’s Ozzie. Boasting a pretentious smile and holding a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle by its long neck.
I shrug from his grip but his forearm flexes, the thick bottom rim of the deep amber bourbon jamming into my chest.
“G.” Ozzie draws out the letter with one narrowed eye. “You aren’t over here poaching someone else’s property, are you? I thought you were smarter than that.”
Garrett ignores Ozzie and looks at me. “Lyla, what the hell’s going on?”
Frustrated with Ozzie latching onto me like a leach, I say to Garrett, “I’ll come find you later?” I flash him a look that’s intended for his eyes only, and Ozzie regards us with the same intensity you would a Russian spy. He’s obviously been drinking longer than this party’s been going on, and it’s only the beginning of the night.
Garrett throws Ozzie a rushed glance, and then mutters, “Fine,” before shouldering through the foyer, the other bodies swallowing him deep into the mix.
I wrangle myself from under Ozzie’s arm. “Why are you such an asshole? And what was that about? I’m nobody’s property, and I’m especially not yours!”
I stalk to the kitchen with the prickly feeling I’m being followed. Self-satisfied laughter trickles under the collar of my T-shirt and skids up my spine, bunching my muscles. I find an unopened roll of trash bags in the utility room and I tear one from the seam, prizing it apart to chuck in the cups and bottles. Ozzie’s behind every step I make, taking healthy swigs from his extortionately priced bourbon whiskey.
“Who said I wanted you as my property?” My wrist is snatched up in Ozzie’s hand, and he draws me in under his shadow, the stench of whiskey floating over my skin in a rush of heat. “If you expect any of these idiots here to buy into your fake as shit hookup with my br
other, you might want to try not drooling over other guys. It makes Falcon look like a fucking pussyhole.”
I tug my arm away, only for Ozzie to reel me back in. “What’s my hookups got to do with you?”
“I’m linked by association. You make him look like a dick, we all look like a fucking dick.”
Laughter blurts from my lips. “You don’t need me for that. You’re doing it so wonderfully on your own.”
Ozzie’s smile is wolfish, his head and his gaze lowering until I’m consumed by him, and he’s all I see in a room swarming with people. He leans in to bridge the gap from my mouth to his, the inches eaten away in slow, agonizing seconds. My breath catches in my throat, and I’m about to tell him where he can shove it when he takes the trash bag from my hand and tips it upside down, emptying the contents all over my feet and the floor.
He snickers, my wrist dropping from his hand. “Better pick that up.”
Biting the inside of my cheek to contain myself, I crouch down on the balls of my feet as Ozzie saunters up to two girls and takes them with him from the kitchen like he owns them.
Seizing a deep breath, I let the air out through my nose while I pick up the trash that’s spilled across the floor, stray ribbons of beer coating the veined marble.
I suck in air. One.
I let it out. Two.
My eyes close. Three.
The toe of a white canvas sneaker kicks at one of the crushed cans. Topher crouches down in front of me, picking up the can and tossing it in the bag.
“What’s Oz’s problem? You say something to him?” The intimation of blame sails distinctly through his voice. If given the chance, I’d like to slice open his skull and see if it really is empty or if his level of airhead is, ironically, a clever act.
“Yes.” I shake my head at Topher’s insolence. “Because he need’s provoking, he isn’t just awful on his own terms. Honestly”—I rise to my feet with a snort—“I don’t know what’s wrong with your family, but I’m guessing a dissociative disorder is crying out for diagnosis.”