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“Or when you wrapped a box of tampons in an iPhone box and gave it to me for Christmas?”
“This is a fun trip down memory lane,” I say sarcastically.
“You’ve been tormenting me for years.” Her eyes are fixed on the ceiling, a warm expression on her face, and not at all what I’d expect. Mia has hated me for years for being such a bully to her, but suddenly, it’s like she’s seeing it all differently.
“You must really hate me,” I reply, lying on my back, one arm folded under my head. As she turns toward me, her crystal blue eyes catch the moonlight and sparkle with more warmth than I’ve ever seen. Something in my chest swells at the sight—at being the one those beautiful eyes focus on. It makes me feel like the only man in the world that matters to her.
Then, she crawls into my arms, resting her head against my chest in the same way she was this morning, her long blonde strands like silk against my skin. The coconut scent of her shampoo wafts up to my nose and something stirs inside me. Not quite lust, but not quite love either.
It has me thinking about Emerson and Charlie. Is that what he feels when he’s with her? If so, I can understand why he’s so attached. I can understand now why he loves without shame or regret. Because having Mia in my arms like this fills every crack and crevice inside me. There are no shadows or anxiety or fears. It’s just peaceful, quiet comfort.
“I don’t hate you, Garrett,” she whispers against my chest.
“Good. I don’t hate you either.”
Her arms wrap around my chest as her breathing starts to slow and she lets out a deep yawn. It’s so domestic and traditional, something I’ve always rejected the idea of, but now that I have her here, cuddling with me while the rain pours outside…it’s not so bad.
“I had fun today,” she murmurs in a sleepy slur.
“You mean the ice cube in the kitchen, I assume.”
“Yes, idiot.”
This time, I’m the one yawning, and the warmth of her body and the drone of rain against the windows are pulling me under.
“Good. I did too.”
Her hand drifts downward over the front of my pants, and I jolt, grabbing her hand before she can do any more. As enticing as playing again is, I don’t want to lose the sleep that’s just within my reach.
“Tomorrow,” I mutter against her head. “We’ll play some more tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she replies with another yawn.
With my lips against her head, I mumble, “I have something fun in store for you.”
* * *
“If this is what you had in mind for me today, I’m not impressed,” she whines as she pauses on the side of the trail, bending over to rest her hands on her knees and gasping for air.
I laugh as I pat her back. “Stop your bitching. It’s not that bad.”
There’s a hiking trail within walking distance of the house with a moderate incline and some breathtaking views. But what we’re really walking up here for…is the privacy.
We used to take this hike a lot when we first started coming to the lake house, and my perverted mind has been holding on to this fantasy of possibilities in these secluded woods for years. Now I’m ready to live them out. With the last person I’d ever expect to.
What still confuses me is the idea that if I ran into Mia at a bar or even at the club, would I see her the same way I see her now? Would she just be another beautiful woman I’d fail to connect with? Is our connection the result of years and years of plutonic chemistry and a deep, familiar relationship?
I want to believe that I’d be attracted to Mia, no matter what circumstance or universe we’d meet in, and this isn’t some creepy stepsister obsession I’ve developed. Or maybe I’m only this comfortable with her because I’m a coward, too afraid to even try building a relationship with a stranger.
That thought still nags at me. What if I’m unable to connect with anyone for the rest of my life? I was so content with being alone, but with each passing day, that idea grows more and more depressing.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, knocking me with her elbow.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“You’re not…regretting—"
“Regretting what?” I ask her. “Getting frisky with my stepsister? I’m not. Are you?”
