Flutter: The Nash Brothers, Book Three

by Aarons, Carrie

  I feel like I’ve been transported to the twilight zone, that’s how fucking weird it is for my twin to say the words woman and settle down in the same sentence.

  “Well … the sex is fucking great. Best I’ve ever had, obviously, or I wouldn’t keep going back.” I shrug, throwing him the bone he wants because shit … I’d die if I went two years without sex.

  “And obviously because you’ve had a crush on Penny since we were kids,” he says as if it’s the truest fact on earth.

  “Pssh, I’m not a child, Fletch. This isn’t some unrequited bang session because she turned me down as a teenager.”

  He holds up his hands in surrender. “Not saying it is. Because clearly, it’s much more than that.”

  My eyebrows lower in annoyance. “We’re just hooking up. No strings attached. And if you utter a word about this to anyone else, I’ll give you so many purple nurples, your nipples will fall off.”

  Fletcher’s hands fly to his pecs, over his shirt, and he gives me a look of mock offense. “Your secret is safe with me, under threat of nipple damage. But you do have feelings for her, you can’t lie about that. Enjoy the beer!”

  he yells the last part as he flies out of my door, probably in fear that I’ll sucker punch him in the arm for saying that. Which isn’t unfounded, because I was getting ready to wind up.

  22

  Forrest

  My life has two sides these days.

  The one where I’m Forrest, the man my family knows and the guy who rearranges his schedule to be at Penelope’s every beck and call. And the side where I hunt for the cyber thief plaguing the businesses of this county.

  “What do you have for me, Nash?” Captain Kline answers his phone, his gruff voice taking on its typical no-nonsense tone.

  It’s been about a week since I’ve been into police headquarters because it’s useless for me to go there. The technology I have in my office is far superior, and I prefer working alone. It’s not like I can consult anyone else on this case, because of Kline’s explicit instructions, nor would I usually do that.

  “He’s struck two more businesses, so the total is about seventeen with a stolen sum of about two hundred and fifty thousand.”

  “And why haven’t you caught the bastard yet? I thought you were the best … do I need to rethink my strategy on this?” He’s pissed, I can tell.

  But not as pissed as I am that I haven’t nabbed this asshole. “No, I’ll get him. He’s a slippery fuckwad, but I’ll get him. I’m close. I traced the transactions back to a holding account offshore, somewhere in the Middle East. It should supply me with some answers, I was about to—”

  “Don’t tell me. I can’t know about your illegal methods of finding this prick. You have one more month, and then I’m going to the state department for help.” Kline doesn’t even give me room to argue about the timeline.

  “Understood,” I grudgingly answer, and we both hang up without a goodbye.

  Flexing my hands so that all of my knuckles crack, I roll my head in a circular motion to pop the muscles in my neck. Sitting in front of my computer, I begin to flit from one screen to the next, chasing the suspect’s actions all over the virtual globe.

  Why would he re-route this money to an account in the Middle East? Who else in the state of Pennsylvania was crafty enough to do this, anyway? I thought it was just me.

  And then my tracing software pings, and I know I’ve got something on my line. The fish wriggles, but I chase it, my eyes switching so quickly between screens that I might give myself a seizure.

  I’ve caught this fucking thief. I can’t wait to bring this asshole in, for the cops to get their hands on him.

  “Gotcha, you bastard.” I smile a smug grin as my fingers fly across the keyboard.

  It takes a few minutes, but I track down the location …

  To the address of Keaton’s office on Main Street.

  “What the …” I trail off, my brain working faster than my fingers can compute.

  I fly from screen to screen, window to window open on my desktops. I have three in my office at home; the screens are the best quality and biggest you can order.

  My search leads me from lines of code to geographic tags, and I’m chasing this guy through the Internet. I can practically taste his demise, that’s how close I know I am.

  And then my vigorous typing stops. Because I found what he wanted me to. The cunning trap he set up for me.

  The trail he left for me from Keaton’s online business records goes to one other system only.

  Bowen’s point-of-sale software.

  There is obviously no way that one of my brothers is stealing from the other, neither of them are tech-savvy enough to pull that off. Nor would they ever be disloyal. And the way that this is hacked, it’s definitely the perp I’ve been chasing through the interwebs.

  Which means he knows who I am. Who would leave a trail of breadcrumbs, incriminating my brothers, and then stealing from them if they didn’t know it was me trying to find them?

  Now, it’s personal.

  No one stole from my family and got away with it. And the prick is now taunting me, challenging me. He’s me, four years ago. Causing cyber destruction in his wake and not caring who suffered the consequences.

  Mom said I wasn’t an anti-hero, but she was kind of wrong. I was the anti-hero, but I just played for the good guys now.

  My doorbell rings and I physically jump. Is he here? Of course, he isn’t here, what a moronic thought to have. I’m losing my damn mind.

  I go downstairs to open the door and find Presley standing there.

  “Hey, Forrest,” she greets me, pushing past me into the house.

  “Can I help you?” My tone is rude.

  My sister-in-law doesn’t seem to mind and smiles jovially at me. “I came to pick up that extra electric razor you promised Keaton?”

  Shit, I’d forgotten she was coming by. My saint of a brother is hosting a charity cut-a-thon this weekend. Supposedly, the residents of Fawn Hill are going to come and either shave their head or, more likely for the women, cut their hair. The organization he’s working with uses the donated hair to make wigs for cancer patients, and now Keaton is even more of the perfect guy than he was before.

  But it’s a good cause, and Bowen is doing a lot of the cuts, so I agreed to donate my top of the line razor my older brother suggested I buy a year ago.

  I grab it off the kitchen counter where I’d left it yesterday and go back to hand it to Presley. “If Bowen or Keaton breaks this, they’re buying me a new one.”

  “It’s always so pleasant to see you.” Presley smirks at me.

  I hear something chime from my office, probably something on my monitor, and it reminds me about the information I just uncovered about her husband’s business. And now, it’s all I can do to not tell her about it.

  Not only would Captain Kline be pissed if he knew I was diving deeper into the case after finding this dead-end trail to my brother’s businesses, but it would also be against the law to tell my family to watch their finances.

  But I can inquire because I have one more family member who owns an establishment in this town. “How’s the studio?”

  She beams, probably satisfied that I’ve asked her a personal question. “It’s going great. Two years in and I’d say the residents of this town have solidly been transformed into yogis.”

  “But what about your finances?”

  Presley looks a little confused and shocked that I’m asking about her profits. “We’re doing just fine, Forrest.”

  “Do you use an accountant? QuickBooks?” I need to know if this thief could gain access to her software.

  “I use both, though I’m not sure—” Presley crosses my living room, her eyes sticking on the hoodie sprawled over my couch, the words sticking in her throat.

  I can feel the question on her tongue, and my heart freezes faster than ice in the Arctic.

  For a moment, everything in the house stops, not even th
e ticktock of a clock can be heard. Because on that couch is a hoodie we’ve both seen Penelope wear a hundred times, and there is no good reason it would ever be slung over the back of my furniture.

  Except for the truth, which is that she left it here after we hooked up a couple of days ago.

  And then, my sister-in-law turns. “Well, I have to get going. Thanks for this, I’ll make sure Keaton gets it.”

  And even if she doesn’t say it, I can tell in her eyes that Penelope and I have been found out.

  23

  Penelope

  “You’re sleeping with Forrest.”

  Presley stands in my doorway, a wet rag dangling from my hand after she interrupted my post-bedtime dish washing.

  “Um …” I am so shocked, I can’t even come up with a quip denying her allegation.

  “I knew it!” she shouts, bursting into my foyer without an invitation.

  “Will you be quiet? I just got the boys down!” I admonish her.

  “Oh my God. I can’t even believe this! How is the sex? I thought you hated each other? Can you—”

  I cut Presley off as I motion her quickly into the kitchen. She’s rambling, loudly, and I don’t even want to be talking about this in the first place.

  “Pres, control yourself. Your head is going to pop off.”

  She takes a deep breath, looking at me sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s just so … exciting.”

  “Exciting? Not the word I thought you’d go with. Weird, strange, ass backward, yes. But exciting, well, you’ve caught me off guard.”

  She shrugs, sinking down onto a stool at my kitchen counter. I splash the soapy sponge onto the last pan left in the sink and turn my back to her, still freaking out that she knows about Forrest and me.

  “Honestly? I think it’s great. More than great. You need a good release now and again.”

  “Nice pun.” I crack up, and I hear her giggle behind me.

  I use the dish towel I’d answered the door with to dry the last pan, put it in the drying rack and then turn to face her. My elbows slide over the cool countertop, my body squaring off with Presley’s across the island.

  “How the hell did this happen?” Her expression is full of wonder, and the promise of titillating gossip.

  Sighing, I know I won’t get out of this conversation without spilling all the beans. So I go to the cabinet, grab two wineglasses, and pour us each a glass.

  “Let’s go sit in the living room,” I tell her, and she follows.

  We snuggle into my couch, and I take a hefty swallow before starting. “First off, no one else knows about this, understand? It’s bad enough you found out … wait, how did you find out?”

  Presley sips and smiles. “I went to get an electric razor for the cut-a-thon from Forrest, he promised to let Keaton use the nice one he has. I saw your old, ratty hoodie slung over the back of the couch.”

  “Shit, I’d meant to pick that up from his house today. So I can’t even blame this on him.” I have to laugh because my careless sex romps became my undoing.

  “I was so fucking shocked, I think I stood there like a fish with my mouth open for way longer than I should have. Forrest totally knows that I know. He was so damn frightened, I wouldn’t be surprised if you threatened to chop his balls off if someone found out.”

  “That’s exactly what I did.” I cackle, and Presley joins me.

  “So spill it, sister. Can I call you sister? Because technically you are one now.” She claps her hands together.

  I point at her. “Hey, don’t go getting all sappy on me. That’s Lily’s job.”

  Presley slaps a hand over her mouth. “Does Lily know? And you bitches didn’t tell me!”

  “No, Lily doesn’t know. And please don’t tell her. She’d ask if I was all right, if I thought about Travis, and then she’d get some moony idea that Forrest and I were going to live happily ever after.”

  My best friend is wonderful and kind, with a heart of gold. But I didn’t want my sex life to be mistaken for some psychoanalysis on my heart falling in love. Lily would turn it into a therapy session and then try to push me into ending up with Forrest. Right now, I was enjoying our agreement and didn’t want it to get too heavy.

  Presley nods, her mouth flicking down in disappointment, but she doesn’t disrespect my ask of her.

  So I start at the beginning. “Remember when we all went to the Goat that night? The night Keaton came to meet you out and then everybody left coupled up or upset about their love life? Well, it was just Forrest and me left at the end, and he always flirted with me or made crude jokes. I would tease him about his age and try to ignore that devilishly handsome swagger he has. But … after a few drinks, he was looking pretty good. Pretty delicious, actually, and completely available. He made a suggestive comment, and I ran with it.”

  I shrug here, remembering the split-second decision I’d made in the bar that night. “I was horny, he was hot, and we ended up fucking in his car in the parking lot.”

  Presley squeals in delight at the juicy retelling. “Tell me it was fantastic? Car sex is hot on its own, but torrid car sex with a younger man? This is something out of an erotic novel.”

  I bite my lip, regarding her. “It was incredible. I’d only had sex with one other person before that, after Travis died, and it was …”

  The way my thighs are burning causes me to break off, because I can feel everything south of my waist begin to tingle and isn’t it weird for that to happen with Presley sitting right next to me.

  “You’re getting turned on, aren’t you?” Her smug grin tells me that I’m being quite obvious.

  “I can’t help it. Honestly, I thought he was so annoying.”

  “Thought?” And now I want to smack that grin off her face.

  “Forrest is still the cocky jerk we all think he is. But … I’ve spent a lot of time with him. I think I understand him more now than I did before.”

  She takes a minute to examine a spot on her wineglass and looks up at me. “I think people underestimate Forrest. His family most of all. But more on that in a minute. So, you guys have been hooking up behind everyone’s backs for years?”

  “Not years. Well … I guess technically, yes. But not consistently. It only really became consistent the last couple of months. First, there was the night at the bar, and then your wedding, then Lily’s wedding …”

  Her fist flies into the air, almost in a victorious manner. “I knew it! I knew when you mentioned you had bedded someone around the time of my wedding that it might be Forrest. I have a bit of psychic in me, you know. And I’d mentioned something to Keaton before our wedding, about how Forrest seemed sweet on you.”

  “There is nothing sweet about what Forrest and I have. We are friends with benefits, fuck buddies … whatever you call it, that’s what we are. This isn’t a relationship,” I admonish her.

  “I don’t know about that.” Her singsong tone annoys the crap of out of me.

  “Presley, don’t get this twisted. We have dirty, hot sex. There aren’t dates, he isn’t looking to become an instant father. Hell, I don’t even think I want to get married again.”

  “Funny how this talk just went from, ‘this isn’t a relationship,’ to ‘I’m not sure I want to get married again.’” Her know-it-all expression grates on my nerves.

  My somber look is directed right at her. “You’re trying to mess with my head, and it’s not going to work.”

  “Maybe it should!” she says a little too loudly, and I point to the ceiling, trying to remind her that the boys are sleeping.

  “What does that mean?” I drain the rest of my wineglass.

  “So, back to me saying that people underestimate Forrest. Especially his family. And maybe even you. Forrest can be immature, self-centered, a brainiac … we all know this. But what people overlook is that he is fiercely loyal. Do you know that he once drove four hours when Bowen’s truck broke down out of state? Or that, when Diedra couldn’t get to the office because she had the flu, h
e answered the phones at Keaton’s office for a whole week?”

  I hadn’t known those things.

  But Presley isn’t done. “How about the night you came over to eat dinner at Eliza’s? Forrest stayed to help her clean up, their bonding activity has always been washing and drying the dishes together. And when their father was alive, Forrest tried his best to teach him everything he knew about computers. Even if Mr. Nash was just trying to spend some quality time with his son. Forrest might have some crass language and a fuck-you-world attitude, but he’s the first to try to defend it. He’s a cop, for Christ’s sake.”

  All the points she’s making are valid, but I still brush them aside with sarcasm. “Well, he’ll find a wonderful woman someday, I’m sure of it.”

  She pokes me in the arm, a jab of her pointed fingernail indenting my skin. I yelp, but she ignores me.

  “Don’t be an idiot. He has found one, and if you’re being truthful, you knew from the moment you started this that there could be feelings involved. Forrest has had a thing for you since he was like, seven. And I know you, Penelope. You may come off like a modern woman, one who can fuck without forming attachments. But you married your high school sweetheart. You were prepared to only love one man for your whole life. You may think you have all the people you grew up with fooled when it comes to your flippant attitude toward love and sex, but I’m the outsider, remember? I see your heart without having known it for a lifetime. And that heart,” Presley points to the organ beating in my chest. “she wants to be loved. She wants to be adored and have a partner who is here for whatever she needs. She wants her boys to have a father. And she also wouldn’t be sleeping around with someone she vehemently disliked, so drop the whole hate-fucking excuse because I know you better than that.”

  Her opinions rankle my buzz, but … she isn’t wrong. “Fine. I’ll admit that I’m not as millennial about love as some of the girls out there today. But … Presley, he’s six years younger than me.”