She rolls her eyes.
He shakes his head you’re a brat, but there’s concern in his eyes. “Kay. Promise. No drinks or guys.”
“I’m not Emma’s keeper,” I say. I don’t add fuck you for this date bullshit. Fuck you for acting like it isn’t a knife in my chest. And for doing it in a towel, just to add insult to injury.
But he doesn’t know I know.
He doesn’t know I’m crazy about him.
He…
He must have some idea. There’s a connection between us. He gets me in a way no one else does.
And he’s different with me. He smiles. Laughs.
I watch him walk away. Watch his back tense and relax. Watch that towel slip lower and lower on his hips.
My body screams all of him now, please.
My heart is more reluctant.
He’s going on dates.
I… I can’t deal with this. Even if it’s inevitable.
“Excuse me.” I tug at my dress. “Pajamas.”
Emma nods. “He’s weird, huh?”
“Yeah. Annoying.”
“Finally, you see it my way.”
I do. I see exactly why Emma has a problem with her brother.
He demands his way.
But offers nothing.
I just barely restrain myself from stomping up the stairs.
Okay, that’s bullshit. My steps are as light as they usually are. I’m still the good girl. The one who keeps things together. Who doesn’t cause a scene.
The hall is dark.
There’s light coming from Brendon’s room.
And his door is open a sliver.
And there he is, in front of his bed.
Turned toward the wall.
Naked.
It’s only his back.
His ass.
His legs.
Fuck.
I’ve never seen a guy naked before. Not in person. Not one I wanted to see naked.
But Brendon…
Heat pools between my legs. I want him. Every inch of him. Every way I can have him.
I want the sight, the sound, the taste, the smell, the feel of him.
I want him owning every one of my senses.
I…
He pulls on a pair of boxers.
Steps into his jeans.
Turns.
I jump out of the way just in time. I think. I hope.
God, I hope he didn’t see me gawking.
He can’t.
That’s so…
I dart into my bedroom. Fumble out of my dress and into my pajamas.
A tank top. Panties. Sleep shorts.
That’s it.
I’m barely wearing anything.
And he’s there, barely wearing anything, thinking about me naked.
About to go on a fucking date.
I move back into the hallway. Nearly run downstairs.
A few moments later, Brendon walks through the main room. He grabs his keys from the table and slides them into the front pocket of his skinny jeans.
“Text me when you go to bed.” He looks to Emma. “Or if you need anything.”
She nods. “I won’t wait up.”
“You too, Kay. Text me if you need anything.” He holds my gaze. Promise?
I’m pretty sure I can’t request him naked in my bed. So I force my lips into a smile. “I’ll be fine.”
He takes that as a yes, turns, walks out the door.
On the way to his date.
With some girl.
Some girl who isn’t me.
Chapter Thirteen
Brendon
This place is all squares—the stools, the tables, the couches, the patrons.
Candles flicker. The soft yellow lamp in the corner offers just enough illumination to make out the menu.
This place isn’t my scene. It’s hers. Upscale. Pretty. Filled with people in suits. The kind of people who gush over sauvignon blanc.
I don’t get it. Wine tastes the same to me.
We’re ten minutes into conversation, but I’m not absorbing any of it.
I’m thinking about that look on Kay’s face. Like I stabbed her in the gut.
Anna’s laugh grabs my attention.
She turns to show off the ink on her back. “It still looks good.”
“It does.”
“That’s a compliment.”
“Mine too. You designed the tattoo.”
She tilts her head to one side. “I’m not sure I buy you as humble.” Her smile lights up her blue eyes. They’re hard to see from under her silver makeup.
And her lips are red. Bright red. Think about where these lips could be red.
But I’m not thinking about ordering her onto her knees.
I’m thinking about how Em wears her lips that color.
I try to ignore that Emma has a sex life. She’s an adult. She can do what she wants. I’m not going to tell her that sex is wrong or dirty. Not like I can talk.
But I still prefer to not connect the dots.
I try to shake it off. “No?”
“No.” She leans into the table enough for her breasts to press together.
She has nice tits. They’d feel good in my hand. Or around my cock.
“You seem like the type to brag.”
“About?”
Her laugh is bold. Knowing. “I guess you don’t have to. Not when you have a reputation.”
I try to imagine Anna in my bed. Pressing her against the wall. Rolling that dress to her waist and tearing off her bra.
The image flickers in my head. For a second.
Then it’s Kaylee against the wall.
My hand up her skirt.
Those doe eyes of hers looking up at me with every ounce of trust in the world.
This isn’t how tonight is supposed to go.