Page 28 of Step Brother Bear

I sit up on my elbows. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re grimacing and twitching.”

I lie back. “It’s the stupid neighbor kid, ruining my zen.”

He kicks my chair lazily. “Let’s go somewhere.”

“Why?”

“I need to get out of the house, and clearly so do you.”

“I am out of the house.” I flinch when the neighbor kid hits a particularly loud note.

“Yeah, and it looks so enjoyable. Come on.”

“Why do you want me to go?”

“I can't drive.”

I examine the bandage poking out from his shirt. “You seem more than capable of doing other things. I don’t know why you wouldn’t be able to drive.”

He smacks his lips and grins. “Damn, Isabella. Naughty girl. No, it’s not because of my injury. I don’t have a license."

“Why?”

“Suspended.”

Figures.

“Can’t you call one of your friends to get you. Perhaps a mountain lion or a werewolf.” I smirk, pretending not to glance at him under my dark sunglasses.

“Very funny. But I’m currently lacking in the friend department right now.”

“Wow, shocker. You’re such a delight.”

“Isabella, I share a soy paper-thin wall with you. Don’t pretend you’ve got the most active social life.”

“Touché.”

“So are you coming?”

I sigh and sit up. “Fine, but let me change.”

“Please, no. I’d like to watch you in that bikini for a little while longer.”

“Derek!” I snap through a whisper. “Someone could hear you.” I make a weak attempt at covering the black spandex fabric with my hands.

“You think anyone can hear me over that shit?” He reaches for the bottom of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head. I’m thankful for my shades to hide the widening of my eyes as I take in his glorious, muscular form. Like why the fuck does anyone need abs like that in real life?

“What are you doing?” I manage to choke out.

He tosses me his t-shirt as the answer to my question. “You’ll want the bathing suit, but wear this so you don’t cause anyone to have a stroke on your way there.” He walks away, heading toward the gate leading to the front.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I call to him, pulling his shirt over my head, trying to ignore his signature smell enveloping me.

“You know what it means. You don’t go your whole life with tits like that without knowing what that means.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, kicking on my sandals and following after him. Why do I keep letting him get away with talking to me like that? Maybe because I like it—definitely because I like it. Stupid lady bits.