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“Where’s this party at?”
“What party?” I butted in, turning to stand beside him with my arms crossed over my chest. I know I’d been gone a few years—the most important ones since she had a boyfriend from what I heard—but while I was around, she was expected to be a saint. “And tell me you aren’t wearing that?”
“First off—back off, Jolly Green.”
“Here we go, Jeff.”
“They never grow up, love. They’ll be forty and still go at it over the littlest things.”
“Answer me.”
“This is none of your business, Hunter.” No matter how much she tried to out-glare me, I held out longer than her. Four minutes into our standoff, she threw her hands up in the air. “Fine! The Birks are throwing a huge blowout for the senior class down at their high-rise. They’ve given us use of the banquet hall, pool area, and restricted beach owned by the building.”
“Mighty nice of them. Why?” Something smelled fishy. That, and she wouldn’t look me in the eye.
“Because we’re dating their sons.” Emily spoke low, but I caught it. Their kid was the punk dating my sister.
“Okay.” Not more I could say or do until…something registered then. We? “Who’s the other half of this we?”
A throat cleared, and my eyes flickered toward the person interrupting us.
Son of a bitch. I stopped breathing while my heart beat inside my chest like a war drum.
There, standing by the kitchen’s entrance, was the incarnation of everything I found beautiful. Exquisite. A carnal temptation sent to destroy my male pride.
Tiny in stature, this woman was slender and curvaceous. My mouth watered at the sight of her in a simple pair of cutoffs and an off-the shoulder midriff top. The string from her bright pink bikini peeked out—a tease—from over the shirt’s rounded collar.
Her skin was tanner than I remembered, a sweet shade of golden honey that made her light green eyes stand out. My own eyes devoured every single inch; from the bigger-than-a-handful breasts, to the tight curve of her ass.
Jesus Christ. My little Bailey was all grown up.
Fuck. It was maddeningly brutal to will my cock to stand down at that moment. To not twitch, much less swell, at the soft scent of vanilla that invaded my senses then.
I kept my eyes on her face and fought to keep them there.
The usual warmness in her green orbs was absent, though, but I still caught the small gasp she let out when our eyes connected. Behind her cool exterior, there was a small fire lit.
She was angry with me, but not indifferent, and that I could work with.
“Jock is not my type, chick.” Familiar eyes swept over me a final time before looking at my sister. Fuck, I wanted them on me, almost said her name to pull her attention back, when she rolled her eyes at Emi. “And furthermore, loudmouth, Brad is not my boyfriend.”
That small turn of her head flicked the mass of black curls over her shoulder in a move I’d only seen on commercials; it was nearly impossible to hold my groan in at the sight.
“He seems to think differently.”
“Because you thought it’d be cute if we all dated. You’re the reason he’s such a pest.”
“Not true, B—”
“Emi, I love you, but he and I won’t happen. I’d rather avoid his kind of attention.”
“What do you mean by that?” How could my parents just stand by listening to her say that he forced himself on her? Were they not hearing the same thing?
She rolled her eyes and waved me off. “Metaphorically, Hunter. I’d kick his ass—”
“And I’ll break his neck.”
“Language, Bailey,” Mom and I spoke at the same time.
