In a million years, I wouldn’t have imagined that Randolph would have a son with tats.
River, the last brother, is wearing the flattest expression. I could be reading too much into it, but I get a clear feeling of resentment rolling off him like sonar. He has black curls and a close-cropped beard, and his energy feels the most challenging and dangerous.
In my mind, I quickly create ways to remember who is who. I label Danny Dark Blue because of his dark hair and blue eyes and because dark starts with D, like Danny. Mark, I associate with his mom because of their similar look, and his name starts with M. For Tobias, I think of a Twobias, in reference to his earrings, and with River, I focus on his dark, flowing energy, like a fast-flowing river at night. Alden is harder, but as the scruffiest, I imagine him lying on a couch in the den, just like his name.
My mom always told me my way of remembering names was interesting. In reality, it was probably another one of my character facets that she didn’t understand.
So, these are my new housemates. Or should I say, house hates!
The latter fits a whole lot better.
We might be living together, but that doesn’t mean we’ll be friends. I’m stuck in this ridiculous situation, but I don’t have to like it or like them: Carlton men are shady and best kept at arm’s length.
“Your dad has told me to move into the master suite, so that’s what I’m doing. I don’t want to be here, but I don’t have a choice. We don’t need to pretend to like each other or the situation. Just pretend I’m not here…pretend I don’t exist, and as soon as I can afford to leave, I will.”
Turning, I strut through the front door just as Ross is reentering with a huge box housing one of my favorite pots. It has twenty “fragile” stickers plastered all over it. “Be careful with that,” I say.
Nodding, he grips it more firmly. The movers have unloaded the contents of their small van onto the driveway and have already left. Grabbing a box, I turn, expecting to find the Carlton brothers still in the hallway, but as I reenter, carrying a heavy box of pottery books, they are nowhere to be seen.
I guess they’re giving me what I want.
I didn’t think the Carltons were capable of respecting boundaries. It’s a pleasant surprise that stays with me until the time it takes me to reach the top of the stairs, when it’s smashed into smithereens.
Because there, wearing nothing but a smile and holding a white towel, is Danny, strolling past me as though I’m a ghost he can’t see. My mouth drops open at the sight of his naked body; the corded muscle, and gloriously tanned skin. Even the way he walks with swagger combined with the most amazing posture is sexy as hell. If this guy isn’t a model, then he damn well should be.
And his cock. Oh, his cock. If I was a poet, I’m pretty sure it would inspire multiple sonnets.
He disappears into the bathroom as quickly as he appears, not locking the door behind him.
I blink, frozen to the spot as I process what just happened. There’s no way he didn’t see me coming down the hallway. There’s no way he didn’t know I’d be going back and forth to move my stuff. He knew, and he chose to walk naked through the house.
And then I get it. Pretend I’m not here, I said. Pretend I don’t exist.
Well, it seems the Carltons intend to do just that.
I can’t say I’m sorry to have seen Danny, who looks like David Gandy’s younger brother, in all his naked glory. It’s a sight that will stay burned into my mind for future self-love sessions, but damn, if I’m not mad as hell that they’re choosing to be assholes about what I said rather than respecting it.
If they think because I’m a Horton, I’m going to be a pushover, they’ve got another thing coming.
House hates it is.
Let the games begin.
3
DANNY
There is a woman in our house.
There hasn’t been a woman living here since Mom passed away. Granted, there have been many women who have passed through our door. Or maybe I should be a little more honest and say that there has been a revolving door of women coming and going since me and my brothers went through puberty.
Coming and going is one thing. The coming part is what we all like the best. There’s nothing better than watching a woman’s face as I give her the key to heaven. The going part isn’t bad either. I hate sleeping in the same room as someone else. I’ve never met a woman I’ve been interested in enough to bother with conversation or social interaction outside of flirting and dirty talk. I do whatever I need to do to get between their legs and no more. And they always leave satisfied.