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Cookie Day is officially on pause as my mother hands out hot chocolate and coffee, ushering everyone into the great room as they talk about the wedding.
My eyes snag on Nic. His attractiveness has always been eclipsed by the fact that he’s a giant asshole, but something changed in the laundry room. I can’t ignore the tug I feel toward him. He’s rearranged my DNA with that muff dive and a part of him melded with a part of me. Like a bad sci-fi horror flick that’s going to end with some kind of Chestburster. Or a Clitburster.
I want him again.
This is inconvenient. Terrifying, if I think about it, so I’m not going to think about it.
His eyes snap to mine and I look away, the press of my thighs alerting me to my arousal.
Okay, not thinking about it isn’t going to work. The way he watched me as he went down on me is haunting me, the pure lust keeping me on a simmer. That’s what my problem is—I’m desperately horny, and it’s making me reckless. I want to drop to my knees, rip his pants open, and take him in my mouth.
Dammit, now I’m staring at his crotch because I can see the outline of his dick. Is he half hard? I should look away, but I don’t. My motives are pure. This has everything to do with getting another orgasm and nothing to do with the man who could be giving it to me.
An elbow catches me in the ribs and I jump. Hazel, the owner of the elbow, gives me an imploring look.
Oh no.
Everyone is staring at me and I was staring at Nic’s crotch and I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than everyone thinking I’m a sulky, bitchy little sister who doesn’t want her brother to be happy.
Nic clears his throat, giving Timothy a look. It could say a hundred different things fromHelp hertoUgh, your sister is the worst. I can’t tell, but I don’t need to. It’s always that last one.
“Excuse me.” My voice sounds small and scratchy, stiffly formal to my ears. I bolt from the room before anyone can see me tear up.
In the safety of my room, I sprawl across my bed, smothering my frustrated groan in the soft pillows.
I’ve messed up. Again. Worse, Nic’s moved into my head and is living his best naked life rent-free. I hate his pretty face.
Nic doesn’t matter, and what happened between us is a distraction from what does. How am I supposed to fix things with my brother? He’s going to be pissed at me again and I can’t tell him it’s Nic’s dick’s fault.
My childish resentment might have opened up the fissure between us when we were fourteen, and maybe it grew naturally over the years, but I want Timothy to come to me when shit happens in his life. I don’t want to find out he’s been in the hospital days after an accident, or find out he’s been in love for years a couple days before he marries. I don’t want him to keep things from me because he’s afraid I’ll rain on his parade.
There’s a tentative knock on my door and I sit up, doing a quick shimmy to plump up my tits because my thoughts immediately fly to Nic.
Except it won’t be him. He doesn’t give a shit about me. He was bored and horny and I was there. It doesn’t hurt, I’m just disappointed because I’m more bored and horny than he is and I have a suitcase full of sex toys. I want him despite not needing him, and that puts me at a disadvantage.
I pluck at my bra, undoing the work of the shimmy. Jesus, I need to get my shit together. “Come in.”
The door pushes open slowly. Mina sticks her head in. “I brought wine,” she says, holding up a bottle.
“Oh, thank god, I need a drink.” I dab at my eyes and sniffle. “I’m sorry, today’s been—”
Mina kicks the door shut and drops onto the bed next to me. “It’s okay,” she says, carefully pouring the wine. “Nic explained everything.”
My eye twitches. Forget the possibility of more orgasms. Murder’s back on the table.
“He can be such an ass.” She hands me a glass and pours her own. “Starting shit with you over caroling. I bet you sing better than he does, anyway.”
Nic covered for me?
I touch my glass to hers, relief and every single event of the day tempting me to down this glass in one long gulp. Self-control wins, and I take a small sip. Bawdy Caroling is tomorrow, so Mina’s going to find out how wrong she is about my singing abilities, but I’m glad Nic threw himself under the bus for me. It’s the least he could do since he’s impervious to buses.
Mina takes a drink of her wine as she glances around my room. “That’s pretty,” she says, motioning to the watercolor hanging on the wall above the bed. It’s from my flower era, a bunch of pink dahlias.
“Thanks,” I say awkwardly—I have no idea if she knows I painted it but I have to assume Timothy told her more about me than he’s told me about her, in the guise of preparing her to meet everyone.
Then again, it’s Timothy, so who the fuck knows?
Mina’s expression softens. “I’m sorry he sprung this on you the way he did. I’m not going to justify his decisions, but I wanted to meet you earlier. He wants us to be close, and I’d like that too.”
