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“Bullshit, Becket. I’ve seen you dish more dirt than the ladies at the hair salon,” I laugh back at him.
“Promise her,husband. Or you and your potentially soon-to-be-removed balls will be sleeping on the couch tonight.” And this is why she’s my best friend.
“Fine,” Becks huffs. “I promise.”
I lean my head against the headrest and close my eyes.
A glass of wine and a hot bath.
That’s about all I can handle right now.
* * *
Two hours later, after half a bottle of wine and a soak in the tub so long, my skin has officially pruned, I’m no more relaxed than I was when those elevator doors opened in the lobby. I change into my sleep shorts and a super-soft tee, brush out my hair, and make my way down to the basement where the girls are spread out all over the giant sectional.
These girls have been attached at the hip for as long as I can remember. It’s been Lindy and Scarlet’s daughter, Brynlee, since the day Bryn joined the family. The Sinclair twins turned the girls into a foursome the following year when they all took ballet with Gracie and Everly’s mom, Annabelle. But it wasn’t until Kenzie came into the family a few years ago that this crazy, awesome, inseparable bond seemed to form between the five of them. They’re spread out around the room. Empty soda cans, half full bowls of popcorn, and a rainbow of nail polish bottles cover the coffee table. The television is still on, and I’m pretty sure Michael Myers just killed some poor blonde girl, who was rocking some definite eighties hair before she got to have sex.
Damn. At least let the girl have an orgasm first.
That thought strangely puts a smile on my face as I walk back upstairs.
Maybe because I just had my first non-self-induced orgasm.
Yeah. I’m going to go with that.
Back in the kitchen, I grab what’s left of my bottle of wine and a cold slice of pizza from the fridge before I make my way to the couch and pick up the remote. I don’t think I’m ready to close my eyes yet tonight. Sleep never comes easy for me, but with the emotional warfare the evening has already waged, I’m not even sure if it’s going to come at all. Nothing a little Netflix and maybe some Henry Cavill can’t help.
If you can’t sleep, you might as well be watching a gorgeous man growl on TV. I reach back for my favorite blanket and startle at a knock on my front door. Sometimes I love my family. Other times, they’re just so much. I have no doubt either Sawyer or Hudson just walked over to check on us.
I toss the blanket down but don’t bother letting go of my wine.
The Kingstons take overprotective to an extreme, and I definitely don’t have the energy for it now. My wine sloshes over the side of the glass as I yank the door open, primed and ready to tell the guys to go home, but it’s not Hudson or Sawyer at my door.
“Hey, baby.”
And mic drop.
Those words uttered again... well, damn.
* * *
Brandon
Fuck, this woman is gorgeous. A worn black Philly Kings t-shirt with the logo in hot pink hangs off one bare shoulder, and tiny black sleep shorts barely graze the tops of her sexy thighs. Long, damp hair frames her face, and the prettiest little surprised O tugs at her lips.
Yeah... I like that O.
It takes her a minute to shake off the shock before her eyes narrow. “Brandon... what are you doing here?”
I shove my hands in the pocket of my hoodie and drop my eyes. “You gonna invite me in, Ashlyn?”
“Sorry.” She shakes her head and pushes the door wide. “Come in.”
I take in the quiet space for the first time. It’s all soft colors and comfortable furniture.
Natural and understated. Just like the woman in front of me.
“You want a glass of wine?” She moves in front of an L-shaped couch and picks up a slice of pizza. “I have cold pizza too. Late night snack of champions.”
