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My shoulders slumped. I shot the uninvited guest a scowl. “What’re you doing here?”
“Uh…” His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You called me.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t.”
“Yes,” he countered. “You did.” Stepping past me into the front room without waiting for me to even let him in, he glanced around as if looking for more people, since there were always other people around whenever he came over.
But tonight, there was just me.
And Jim Beam.
Plus, now him.
Strange.
Turning back, he added, “You asked me to come over, saying you really needed me.”
“No.” My brow knit with confusion. I kept shaking my head. And was it just me, or did it seem like I was shaking my head a lot here? “I called Gracen. I said that to Gracen.”
Catching my face between his hands to get me to stop with the whole back-and-forth head action I had going on, he looked me straight in the eye and answered, “You called me.”
Narrowing my eyes, I slapped his hand away and whined, “But I don’t want you.”
He was not my sweet, reliable, goofball twin brother.
“Wow.” He tipped his chin just enough to shade his eyes under the bill of his hat. It was a look he gave people whenever he thought they’d said something incredibly stupid. “Thank God I have a healthy self-esteem. That might’ve actually stung.”
“I thought I was talking to Gracen,” I ground out. “Your name is just one off from his on my phone. It was a stupid misdial.”
“Well, you got me anyway, baby doll.” Rubbing his hands together, he started for the kitchen. “Please tell me there’s some decent food around here. I’m starving.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” I called after him, totally aghast. “You can’t stay. You weren’t invited.”
To which he called back from the kitchen, “Was too.”
“Ugh.” Throwing my head back, I glared up at the ceiling a moment, then slumped my shoulders and trailed my uninvited, pain-in-the-neck guest back to my kitchen.
Self-consciously wrapping the robe I was wearing tighter around my stained T-shirt and sweatpants, because I totally wasn’t dressed to receive visitors who were not Gracen, I plopped heavily into a chair and crossed my legs so I could madly swing one bare foot back and forth to display my annoyance.
Completely ignoring me, the turd just kept snooping through my fridge. So I sighed—loudly—and irritably watched the cloth of his jeans pull snug across his butt as he bent over, searching for God knows what.
I was about to complain about him just making himself at home in my kitchen, but I got a little distracted by the pleasant scenery, so I ended up simply blinking and wondering when he’d gotten such a nice ass.
Then, because I was drunk, I blurted, “When did you get such a nice ass?”
He straightened in surprise and spun around, shooting me a startled glance. But a second later, he sniffed indignantly. “What’re you talking about? I’ve always had a nice ass.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes.
His butt definitely hadn’t been that appealing when he was little. That I could attest to. When we’d been kids, he and Gracen, along with a couple of the other boys, would run around bare-ass naked in our backyard and have water fights. We girls—voyeurs that we were—would totally spy on them through the windows and giggle behind our hands. It had been agreed upon by all, save for his sister, that Beau had the cutest butt in those days.
Turning back to my fridge, my guest ignored me and shut the door, obviously finding nothing of interest there. He opened the freezer next.
I nearly whined with disappointment because his butt looked way better when he was bending over. Not that it was awful when he was standing upright, but his jeans had become too loose to properly see the awesome curvature he’d had before.
“You know, those frozen push-pop things you buy are seriously the best,” he was saying from the depths of chilly air. “My favorite flavor’s peach.”
“Is it? Hmm. Well, I’m out,” I was evilly pleased to report. Served him right for barging in without an invitation and not bending over in front of me anymore.
