MICAH
“That’s a lot of meat.”
I peer over my shoulder at Shelly and laugh. Did she really leave that comment wide open? My sweet baby sister. Naive and not in the same breath.
“That’s what she said.”
Shelly slaps my bicep. “Shut up, asshole. Seriously, though. Who’s going to eat it all?” She points to the grill where Jonas flips burgers, brats, chicken, and ribs.
It is a lot of food, but Sunday always involves this much or close to it. Our Sunday get-togethers have slowly evolved into a massive gathering and tend to last several hours. The food gets eaten. If not, Autumn packs it up and ships it out with us as we leave. Which is a win for me since my kitchen skills still suck.
“Considering close to twenty people will be here, it won’t go to waste. Why’re you freaking out? You’re never this antsy.”
Shelly isn’t the quietest person among us, but also not the most exuberant. That award goes to Penny. But I know my sister. Her fretting over the amount of food is… weird. Then again, she has her moments. I find it best not to question the change unless instinct tells me otherwise.
Her hands plop down on her hips. “I’m not freaking out.” Then she storms into the house where Cora and Autumn work on side dishes.
“Dude, what’s up with your sister?” Gavin asks as he grabs a beer from the cooler.
Sipping from my own bottle, I shrug. “Who knows. Probably something or someone irritating her and I’m her scapegoat today.” If she continues with the theatrics, I will pull her aside later and ask more probing questions.
Gavin, Jonas, and I shoot the shit while the ladies are inside. Still early, only the six of us here, we catch up on monotonous stuff. Work, homelife, day to day boring stuff.
Gavin tells us about an upcoming photo shoot for sportswear. No travel is involved, which makes him and Cora both happy. Before coming back to Florida, Gavin traveled extensively for work. But once he and Cora reunited, they don’t leave each other’s side often. Can’t say I blame them after spending so much time apart.
Jonas says his dad continues to hint at working less. His dad working less at the garage equals him slowly taking over the business. He always knew the day would come, but the fact it is happening has him slightly on edge.
I share how busy work has been since the changes made in early June. It sucks not seeing Peyton at work four nights a week, but we would never get things done if we worked every shift together. But with each passing week, we spend more and more time together outside of work. And I want more.
As if my thoughts summon her, Peyton walks out the back door and down the steps. Arm hooked with Shelly’s, they laugh at something I wasn’t privy to hear. No doubt, Shelly told her an embarrassing story of my younger days. I expect nothing less.
“Hey,” I say as she approaches and unhooks from Shelly. “Glad you made it.” I kiss her temple and wrap an arm around her waist. “Drink?”
“Please. And did you think I wouldn’t show?” she asks with a chuckle.
With reluctance, I drop my hand from her waist, set my beer down, fetch one from the cooler for her, pop the top and hand it over. “I never want to assume anything when it comes to you.” I guide us over to the loungers and sit. “How was Gulfside?”
Her face falls as her frame caves. “Good. I miss being there as often.”
Peyton went from working two weekday shifts at the assisted living facility to one. Then, two weeks ago, she cut it back to every other Sunday. Roar doesn’t interfere with her days at the facility, but the extra hours at the club and spending time with me have stretched her thin.
Wrapping an arm around her, I stroke up and down her spine. “Sure they miss you too.”
Before either of us get another word out, cacophony erupts as Penny, Rex, Reznor, Tatyana, and Ashton walk outside. Clementine steals Ashton from his mom and they run into the yard with Spartan hot on their heels and laughter in the air. Greetings and hugs are exchanged before new conversations start.
Three rock ballads later, everyone has a plate in their hands and is piling it high with a little of everything. I tease Peyton at the excessive amount of food on her plate, even though I don’t give a fuck. I simply love our banter. She tosses me the middle finger, then shoves a coleslaw-covered brat between her lips.
Fuck me.
I groan and bunch the cotton of my shirt near my zipper in an effort to disguise my stiffening cock. Sensing my hopefully not obvious discomfort, Peyton brings her lips to my ear. “Need help?”
Of all the things I expected her to say, that was not one of them. A tease, yes. Offering assistance with my dilemma, no. I choke on the heaping forkful of potato salad I shoveled in my mouth seconds ago.
Peyton sets her plate and mine on the table, lifts my hands over my head, then slaps my back. My face turns red—not only from inhaling food but also embarrassment—as tears spill down my cheeks. The cough doesn’t quit and almost has me laughing.
Rising from the lounger, Peyton takes my hand and hauls me inside. “Be right back,” she tells everyone as we head for the house.
Inside, she steers us into the bathroom, shuts the door and locks it.
“What are you…” My cough, lighter this time, cuts me off. Before I finish the question, Peyton reaches forward and grabs me. More specifically, my cock.
“Offering to help.” She bats her lashes and strokes me through my shorts.
I grind against her and growl. “No chance in hell I’m letting you get me off in this tiny-ass bathroom.”
Her grip tightens. “Why not?” she asks, breath hot on my neck.
“The first time I get off with you will be after hours of foreplay.” Holy hell. If she doesn’t stop, my shorts will flaunt evidence of our bathroom escapade in no time.
“Foreplay, huh?” she purrs in my ear and my eyes roll back.
I grip her hand and stop her teasing. “Yes.” Unwillingly, my fingers peel hers away. “Lucky for you, we have hours ahead of us.”
She lifts a brow. “You speak as if tonight, here, is foreplay.”