But they’re not.
So I won’t.
I’m just gonna keep telling myself that.
FLOW - Chapter 2
Bristol
I’M MORE THAN capable of dragging my luggage around, but I appreciate the view as I watch Grip do it for me. My eyes inevitably stray to the tight curve of his ass in the sweatpants dripping from his hips. His back widen
s from a taut waist, the muscles flexing beneath the outrageous T-shirt hugging his torso and stretching at the cut of his bicep.
Ever since he called my name and I looked up into eyes the color of darkened caramel, I haven’t drawn nearly enough air. Soot-black eyebrows and lashes so long and thick they tangle at the edges frame those eyes. Lips, sculpted and full. Some concoction of cocoa and honey swirl to form the skin stretched tightly over the strong bones of his face. I’m almost distracted enough by all this masculine beauty to not be pissed at my twin brother.
Almost.
Five years. I haven’t seen Rhyson outside of a courtroom in five years, haven’t even spoken to him since Christmas. I finally initiate this visit to him in Los Angeles, and he sends some stranger for me?
I fall into step beside Grip so I can read his expression when I drill him. In profile, he’s almost even better, a tantalizing geometry of angles and slopes. He tosses a quick look to me from the side, a caramel-drenched gaze that melts down the length of my body before returning to my face, stealing more air from my lungs.
“So, why couldn’t Rhyson come get me?” I ask.
“Long story short,” Grip says as we reach the exit. “The album Rhyson’s been working on—”
“He’s working on an album?” A grin takes over my face. “I didn’t know he was working on new music. Piano, I assume? I can’t wait to hear—”
“It’s for someone else,” Grip corrects. “He’s producing an album for an artist, and her label wants all these changes before it drops. Some remastering, maybe some other stuff.”
“Oh, I was hoping he was back to performing. Doing his own music.” I narrow my eyes and nod decisively. “He should be.”
I’m actually here in part to convince him of it. I’m staking my entire college degree and career aspirations on him seeing things my way. People usually do see things my way if I play my cards right. My mother taught me to play my cards right. She may not be much of a mother, but she’s a helluva card shark.
“He will one day.” Grip offers me a small smile. “When he’s ready.”
“You think so?” I hope so.
“Yeah.”
He drags my suitcase toward an ancient Jeep with a mountain-sized airport security guard standing in front of it.
“Thanks, man.” Grip pounds fists and accepts keys from the guy. He glances up and down the busy sidewalk. “Anybody give you shit yet about the car being here?”
“Nah.” The guard gives a quick head shake. “You know I run this place.”
“Yeah right.” Grip sketches a quick grin. “Well, thanks.”
“No problem, bruh.” The guard’s eyes flick to and over me briefly before returning to Grip, brows lifted in a silent query.
“Oh, Amir, this is Bristol, Rhyson’s sister.” Grip waves a hand between us. “Bristol, Amir. We grew up together. He made sure my car wasn’t towed while I came to get you. It was all kind of last minute.”
At the last minute, Rhyson decided he would delegate me to strangers. I swallow my disappointment and spit out a smile.
“Nice to meet you, Amir.” I extend my hand, and he brings it to his lips in unexpected gallantry.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Amir grins roguishly, his eyes teasing from beneath a fall of dreadlocks. “You didn’t tell me Rhyson’s sister looked like this.”
“Didn’t know.” Grip laughs and hauls my huge suitcase into the back of the Jeep. “The operative words being ‘Rhyson’s sister’, so pick your jaw up and say ‘Goodbye, Bristol’.”