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I pull on a hot pink bikini and head down to the beach. He’s not here yet, but I have no idea what time he got in last night or where he even goes when he does leave. It’s a constant thing. Maybe he found some tourist or townie to hook up with. After all, being the lead singer of Crave has to have its perks. And judging by the throngs of screaming fans at every concert, he must have a few willing participants.
Aiden—or Ace, as most people call him—has apparently embraced this portion of fame. At least that’s what I’ve gathered from the rumors I’ve heard. I try not to pay too much attention to my twin brother’s sex life. No sister wants to know about those sorts of exploits.
I grab my book from my beach bag and settle in for some reading time. It’s nice to relax. Lately, it’s been crazy with cleaning out cabinets, closets, and anything else that I can find. We’ve owned this house for almost twenty years, and it’s hard to imagine how even though it’s a summer house, we could possibly have so much crap here.
Just as I’m getting into my book, there’s a thump beside me. I look over to find Derek gazing out over the ocean. The sight of him takes my breath away, the same way it used to when we were teenagers. He’s all hard lines and tanned and toned skin. His black swim trunks hang low on his hips, giving me a view of the V that leads down to somewhere I’ve always wanted to explore. A black Nike ball cap is pulled down low over his eyes, probably in an attempt to conceal his identity.
“You okay?” he asks, snapping me back to reality.
“I’m sorry?” I’m not sure if this is the first thing he’s said to me or how long I’ve been staring. Looking down at Derek’s body is enough to make me go stupid.
“I was asking if you were okay. You had this dumbfounded look on your face while you were looking at me. Is this not what I’m supposed to be wearing? It is a beach day.”
I flush and turn what must be sixty different shades of red. “You look good.” I realize my blunder when a widened smile comes across his perfect face. God, I’m so screwed.
He laughs. “So, I’ve been told.”
I’m sure he has. I attempt to look back at the ocean. I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t dare turn around.
“Make sure you put sunscreen on. That’s an awful lot of skin showing,” he comments as he lowers himself into the chair I set up for him.
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll be sure to get on that,” I quip and shake my head.
He chuckles. “Just trying to look out for you. You know, more like a brother than a father.”
“Right,” I say. It’s a simple statement, but it’s enough to remind me that of how he sees me.
“Are there any beers in that?” He gestures toward the cooler I brought.
“No, there are not. I didn’t think about it.”
“So, what is in there?” he grumbles as he continues looking around the beach.
“There’s some watermelon, strawberries, granola bars, and water.”
“Always so health-conscious,” he remarks.
“It’s part of the job,” I remind him.
“Don’t you tell your followers they should eat everything in moderation?”
I take in a sharp inhale of breath. “You watch my reels? I thought you had people in charge of your account.” I don’t know why such a simple statement causes such a big reaction inside me, but I just always assumed when he ‘liked’ my posts or commented that it was someone from their band’s promo team or an assistant dealing with his social media.
“Nah, that’s me. That account is all mine.”
I love the way his voice is velvety and sweet, wrapping around the words all mine. I imagine what it would be like to have him refer to me that way. I swallow audibly, and out of the corner of my eye, catch him watching me.
“You seem quieter than normal,” he says. “You okay?”
I smile at the memory of what a normal beach day was like when we were kids. It would be all of us—my parents, Aiden, Derek, my best friend, Emma, and sometimes Brent. There was always music playing and a lot of laughter and roughhousing on the beach. Those were the days. I miss them.
“I’m just tired from getting things together at the house.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been more help with that,” he says sheepishly.
“It’s okay. I know you’re working.” I’ve been able to hear the strumming of his guitar through the walls, and it sounds beautiful. He’s working on new music, I think. I recognize some of the chords from existing songs, and I swear I can sometimes hear his voice singing along. But most of the time, it’s something new. I always strain to hear the words, but most times I can’t.
“Trying to,” he says.
