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Really? People do that? Sometimes I wonder if I am already living in a different solar system.
“No champagne. But I have brandy,” Ryan says, sitting up. “I can bring it out.”
“You’ll freeze,” Brylee says, but he’s already standing up and climbing out. “Ryan.”
“I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
He steps inside the house, and there’s a loud meow and the sound of something crashing. Alarmed, I prepare to go after him, but he sticks his head out and laughs.
“I scared the cat. No worries.”
He’s back in a few minutes, with glasses and a bottle of brandy, climbing back into the water.
I’m not a brandy drinker, but it has to be an expensive one because it’s smooth and warm going down my throat.
“You relaxed now, Rid?” Ryan mutters, observing me over the rim of his glass.
“Hm…” The words fail me. Brylee has snuggled back into my side and the combination of her soft body with the alcohol and warmth is making me dizzy with desire.
If he can’t see how hard I am through the clear water with the lights of the tub on, then he’s blind.
“How’s your back?” Brylee asks.
“Good. It’s much better.”
“Your job doesn’t help with that, right?” She lifts her head off my shoulder. “Lifting weights all the time.”
I don’t want to think of my job, not now. I brush my mouth over her forehead. “I’m okay.”
“Hot water is good for that,” Ryan says, and his hand moves down my back, stroking the top of my ass. “Anything warm, really.”
Like his hand. Or his body, that’s pressing into mine. It all feels good.
I swallow the rest of the brandy and place my glass on the rim of the tub. “By the way, you never said.”
“Never said what?”
Why you kept running. Why you acted like an ass to us both.
But I change my question. “How you learned to cook like that.”
He smiles, brushes soft hair from his forehead. “I begged my father’s cook to teach me.”
“Not your mother?”
“Oh no. Mom wasn’t a good cook.” His smile grows faint. “Not that my father and I minded. She was fun. Kind. She was…”
He doesn’t say what else she was. He swallows his brandy, and pours himself some more, not looking at us.
Brylee puts her glass on the rim, next to mine, and gazes at Ryan, her eyes sad.
I clench my jaw. This is my fault, for bringing his mother up, knowing how he feels about her death.
“Hey. Sorry.” I lift my hand and ruffle his short hair. Then I lean in and kiss him.
His lips part, letting me in. He tastes of brandy and sorrow, hot, and sweet, and bitter. Maybe I taste the same way. I sure feel that way.
His glass falls into the water, and it rolls to the bottom, spilling yellow booze, as he lifts both hands to my face, kissing me back hard.
