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Becca pulled the fleece back on, balled her soaked clothes into the towel, and unlocked the door.
She heard the twins before she saw them, and she stopped short in the hallway, scowling. They were talking to Chris from the sound of it. She wanted to just walk down the steps and out the front door. Maybe she could hang her jeans out the car window and dry them that way.
But one of the twins—Nick, if she remembered the clothes correctly—was closest to the door, and he spotted her first. “Hey, Becca.”
She put the ball of damp clothes under an arm and squared her shoulders. His dark hair was a little windblown, but he clearly hadn’t taken a swim. It seemed unfair—he looked even better than he had at the party, while she knew from the mirror that she looked like a drowned cocker spaniel.
She looked right into his eyes, determined to show him she wouldn’t get all flustered like she had in Drew’s hallway. “Hey,” she said flatly. “Nick.”
His smile warmed a little, as if she’d amused him. He stepped forward and held out his hands, gesturing to her bundle of clothes. “Here. I’ll throw those in the dryer.”
She faltered, not expecting kindness from him. Uncertainty almost made her clutch the ball of fabric to her chest, as if this was some kind of trap.
Idiot. Just give him the clothes.
She thrust the bundle forward. “Thanks.”
When he jogged down the stairs, she shoved her hands into the pullover pockets again and edged toward the doorway. Chris was sitting backwards on the desk chair, leaning his forearms on the back. He’d changed into a gray tee shirt and jeans that weren’t wet, and now his hair was drying with a slight wave to it.
“Find everything you need?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She paused. “Thanks.”
Gabriel was sprawled on the bed, leaning up against the wall the way he had last night. He glanced up at her, a spark of humor in his eye. “Want to sit on the bed?”
She gave him a dark look. “No.”
Chris sighed and uncurled from the chair. “Here. Sit.” He stepped away to lean against the wall between the window and the aquarium.
She did, drawing her knees into the chair to sit cross-legged. She bit her tongue, unsure if Chris had told his brothers what he’d told her.
Chris shrugged, his gaze on the window. “The jig is up.” Then he glanced at the door, and she read the unease in his eyes. “Not with Michael, though. So keep your voice down.”
Gabriel smiled, and there was an edge of challenge to it. “You want me to set something on fire or what?”
“Subtle,” said Chris.
“Can you do that?” she said, pleased that her voice was even, almost skeptical. She wouldn’t let Gabriel intimidate her, either.
He glanced at his brother. “Chris. Give me your Trig book.”
Chris did no such thing. “Michael will go ballistic if you start a fire up here again.”
“Michael needs to switch to decaf.” Gabriel dug in his pocket and fished out a lighter.
Becca straightened, feeling her eyes grow wide. Was he really going to start a fire right here in the bedroom?
Way to be nonchalant. She forced her voice to sound bored. “A lighter? Isn’t that cheating?”
“Fire needs something to burn, sugar.” Gabriel flipped the lighter between his fingers, somehow lighting it while it spun.
“Frat boy tricks,” she said.
“Don’t encourage him,” said Chris.
Gabriel grinned and did it again, faster, rolling the lighter through his knuckles until the silver was a blur, the red gold of the flame a near constant arc.
She stared despite herself, leaning forward, mesmerized by the motion.
