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What I fail to mention to my new bestie is that I might not be eye fucking Brady, but I sure am thinking about all the ways he could be fucking me.
“I can work with that because you didn’t deny that you’re into him. By the way, that was three. Anyway, listen up. If you were really into Darby after a week of texting, you wouldn’t even be thinking of my brother. Honestly, he’s a douche for not asking you out yet. Ditch the douche.
“I’m not telling you to beg. Trust me. I would never tell you that you needed to beg any man or woman. Girl, you are a catch, and you need to own that. I’m just reminding you that guys are a little slow to pick up the breadcrumbs we put out there for them to follow. They are visual creatures, and you are the total package. You need to flaunt what your momma gave you.”
“Fine.” Snatching the clothes off the bed, I go back into the bathroom and get changed into exactly what she picked out.
I’ve texted back and forth with Darby all week and never got so much as a flutter, but as soon as I feel Brady near me, my skin is on high alert. I have absolutely no control over my reaction to him.
Do I want to make the first move?
No.
But, I may be willing to give him the encouragement he needs.
I towel dry my hair, leave it down, add a little mascara, gloss, and my favorite teal, sea turtle anklet. Not too shabby.
When I come back into my room, Chloe gives me a look of approval. She is holding my sketch from this morning. “Damn, girl. You really are talented. This is awesome. Can I keep it?”
“Umm. I guess so.” It comes out more a question than an answer. I don’t really share them with anyone, it’s always just been something I do to pass the time or when inspiration struck. This one is of two girls, one blonde, one brunette, sitting on beach chairs. The sand is a golden tan, the ocean is a gorgeous blue, and they are in red and green bikinis, with big, floppy straw hats hiding their faces. I like sketching hair more than faces, so most of my sketches are side views or back views. Some have big hats over their heads or something like a book or cup of coffee hiding their faces. I love drawing hair though. Long or short. Curly or straight. It’s my favorite part of the pictures I draw.
Chloe walks to her bedroom door across the hall and places the picture inside. “Were they us?”
Nodding my head, I add, “Inspiration struck.”
She links her arm through mine. “I love it. I’m going to frame it when we get home.”
We head downstairs as the thunder strikes so loudly, it nearly shakes the house. The rain is playing a metallic tune on the copper roof of the porch. All of the glass doors are open to the outside, and the salty air is causing the sheer white curtains to billow into the rooms.
The sound of the guys’ laughter is echoing in from the covered porch, and the smell of burgers and hot dogs being grilled is making my mouth water.
Chloe and I go to work in the kitchen, setting out the potato salad and a few bags of chips, along with the condiments and plates. She hits play on her favorite beach playlist, and the two of us dance around the room with no one watching.
I am having more fun and feeling freer in this moment than I have in years.
Just when Harry Styles’ “Watermelon Sugar” comes through the speakers, the guys come in with the food.
Sebastian comes over and joins our little dance party. Before I know it, I’m the center of a Bash and Chloe sandwich. Bash smells good, like Abercrombie and Fitch’s Fierce. He’s in black cargo shorts and his soft, grey t-shirt is hugging his chest. He’s so damn tall, my head is barely coming up to his chin.
He leans in close to my ear and whispers, “Play along, Little Sinclair.”
Bash isn’t half bad. He’s way better than I would have thought a guy as big as he is would be. With his knees bent and his hands on my hips, I throw my arms around his shoulders and follow his lead.
Murphy’s whistling echoes throughout the house.
Cooper puts the platter of food down a little harder than necessary and then grumbles, “Dinner’s ready,” before stalking off back to the porch.
I chance a quick glimpse of Brady. I don’t know him well enough to be sure, but the look on his face can only be described as pissed. Is he jealous?
With that in mind, I start to swing my hips and grind my ass a little more than I should, but Chloe’s right. This boy needs to make up his mind. If I’m willing to bend my own rule and consider dating one of Coop’s friends, he can bend one of his. It’s the first time I’ve been this interested in a guy in forever. I will not beg, but there is nothing in the rule books saying I can’t tease or try to force his hand.
When the song ends, Bash kisses us both on the top of the head and then whispers in my ear. “Point one to you, Little Sinclair. You’ve got his attention.”
Huh. Guess Bash is on my side too. Am I that obvious? Wait… do I have a side?
Looking over Bash’s shoulder, I have a direct view of Brady, whose lips are in a tight line, like this whole exchange is painful for him to watch. He’s wearing worn blue jeans and a threadbare, dark blue t-shirt. His feet are bare, and there is just something about the way he looks that makes my mouth water.
Cooper walks back into the kitchen with a bottle of beer in his hand and is the first to grab a plate off the counter. We all follow him and load up, and then head out to the table on the porch. The outdoor fireplace is tucked into the corner and is already on, giving off extra heat. The table is situated in a way that sections the kitchen area off from the rest of the outdoor space.
