Lift You Up (Rivers Brothers 1)

"Sav, you were chased down the street by deadly shadow figures," she said, having more than a flair for the dramatic. "Nothing was going to keep her from showing up here, checking you over for bruises, and giving you one of her snuggly bear hugs."

"I'm not bruised. Unless my ego counts."

"Please, the spider thing? I bet Kingston thought it was cute as fuck. I'm picturing it and even I think so. And I don't even want to sleep with you."

"He doesn't want to sleep with me either!"

Okay, so, in a very technical way, we would be sleeping together. Which was something I had been very careful not to think about too hard since the decision had been made hours before. The bed was big, sure, but so was King. And the idea of his arm brushing mine each time he shifted - or I tossed and turned - was going to be distracting at best. And his smell would be stronger with him lounging there beside me. That woodsy, sawdust, and mint smell that belonged just to him.

I think noticing his personal scent was when I realized I had more of a thing for Kingston than Nixon, Atlas, or Rush. Despite him being older than I would usually consider viable. Despite him showing not an ounce of interest in me ever.

I didn't know what Nixon or Atlas or Rush smelled like.

I didn't know their favorite movies.

Kingston loved Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Which I had promptly gone out and bought after hearing him tell me how clever it was, how he saw something new in it every single time he watched it.

I didn't know their favorite time of the year.

Kingston loved summer, loved that he and his family had finally settled down in a place just a hop, skip, and jump from the shore where he could go when he had a rare day to himself, soak up some sun, surf, paddleboat in the bay, go for a run on the trails.

I couldn't hear him talk about the beach without imagining him there - a pair of board shorts slung low on his hips, maybe even low enough to see the deep etches of his Adonis belt that I simply knew he had without ever having seen them myself, without seeing him jump into the waves, arm muscles flexing as he pushed his body up on a board, beads of water slivering between the etches of his abdominal muscles to disappear into the waistband of his shorts as he walked away from the shoreline, the way his skin would get kissed golden as the hours stretched on.

A loud snap jolted me out of my thoughts, my head jerking a little, no small amount of disappointment flooding my system as I realized I wasn't watching Kingston at the beach, but in his kitchen with Peyton who had the keenest eyes of anyone I had ever seen.

"Where were you fantasy banging?" she asked, point blank, my flush giving away my guilt immediately. "In the bed? The shower? On this counter?" she went on, eyebrows wiggling.

"I wasn't thinking about banging anyone," I insisted. It rang true because it mostly was. I mean who was to say if the fantasy would have gone on to have King approaching me, peeling off my bikini bottoms, and sinking inside me right there on the beach? But there was no proof to the contrary either.

"I get that you're the type who can't have sex without feelings. But, Savvy, you have feelings. You have had feelings since that first Sunday dinner at the Mallick house when you saw those fine men file in for the first time. And remember the ovary explosion when King showed up with baby Padfoot?"

"I'm still not fully sure I could bear children after that," I grumbled, knowing it was useless to deny the crush. Even the scope of it. Peyton knew me too well. "But that doesn't change anything. It's a crush. And it is one-sided."

"Oh, honey, how can you..."

Both of us stiffened, muscles tensing, heads whipping in the direction of the door where a scraping could be heard.

Without missing a beat, Peyton hopped gracefully down, somehow grabbing the gun at the same time, releasing the safety, moving over toward me, aiming.

My own hand tightened to white knuckles on the paring knife still in my palm.

And we waited.

The lock disengaged.

But everyone knew how easily a lock or two could be picked. Peyton - who was notorious for leaving her keys in her apartment - could pick a lock in eight seconds flat with a bobby pin, a stick, a little strip of hard plastic.

It meant nothing that the locks were opened.

The alarm system started the steady beep-beep-beep.

If there was no real threat, then I had about fifty seconds to get across the apartment and plug in the code before King got a call.