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Archer folds his arms across his puffed up, flannel-covered chest. “Yeah, and with that ugly shiner on your eye, we know we won’t have to worry about you messing with our little sister,” he says to me, and I hear the warning in his tone.
I give a nod that’s meant to assure him. “I’m all good. No need to worry about me.”
With that, Felix slaps my back. “You ready to go, man?”
“Let’s do it.” I grin tightly.
The Brighton brothers all file out of the house one by one.
Felix turns up his nose as he passes by his sister, his eyes narrowing on her throat. “What is that nasty rash you’ve got on your neck? Eww. You should come down to the clinic and have Mason check it out.”
When he says that, my balls cocoon themselves between my kidneys.
Karli tugs up the neckline of her sweatshirt and growls. “Mind your business.”
With a shrug, Felix heads out the door.
Grabbing my briefcase, I’m the last one to leave. I’m busy repeating my two new life rules in my head as I go.
Rule One: Felix can never know. Felix can never know.
Rule Two: No doing it with Karli. No doing it with Karli.
Right as I’m about to step out the front door, I turn and look over my shoulder. Rookie mistake. My eyes connect with my new roommate’s hostile glare. Those pale blue eyes make my knees weak in a way no man should ever admit.
Fuck.
In theory, the second rule sounds so simple—No doing it with Karli.But with the way my body reacts to this woman, I can already tell that keeping rule number two all summer is going to be hard as hell.
6
KARLI
The smothering testosterone of this morning’s impromptu family reunion has left me desperate for some breathing room. I pull up to the house that belongs to my favorite girl in the world.
Layla has been my best friend since elementary school. I can’t count how many of life’s shitstorms we’ve weathered together. But since I’ve been off trying to do the whole college thing, I haven’t been seeing nearly enough of her lately.
I climb out of my car at the side of her small cottage. I frown. Jeez. The front yard is terrible and overgrown. The stairs really need a coat of paint. And as I approach the front door, I notice that there’s a big crack in one of the front windows.
It’s not Layla’s fault, though. She has a brand new baby boy who requires all of her attention. I know that motherhood occupies so much of her brain space that she can hardly even think straight most of the time.
But her dirtbag boyfriend? I can blamehim. I know that Layla does all the parenting stuff, so the least Razor could do is push a mower around the yard every couple of weeks.
Layla is usually too scared to nag him, though. The two of them have a ‘complicated’ relationship, as she likes to say. I think she’s always afraid that if she says the wrong thing, she might push him to leave. In her shoes, I’d say good riddance to the douche booger—but hey!—it’s notmylife.
In any case, I miss her something fierce, and I can’t freaking wait to see her.
I have to knock several times before the door finally swings open. “Where the hell have you been since last ni—?” Layla bursts out. Then her shaky words cut off abruptly.Her jaw drops open at the sight of me standing on her front porch.
I smile broadly but it’s impossible not to notice how exhausted and distraught Layla looks as she readjusts the drooling three-month-old baby in her arms.
“I come bearing salad,” I say, holding up a massive bowl of veggies in one hand and a bottle of homemade salad dressing in the other.
Layla must have been craving my homemade salad dressing more than I’d realized because she instantly explodes into tears.
“Hey…” I coo softly, alarmed as I step toward her.
She melts into my arms—baby and all. I have to do some serious juggling to catch her weight without dropping our freshly-made salad.
