“I know. But you are.”
My teeth sink into my lip. “That isn’t fair.”
The front door swings open. Rubber soles squeak against the tile foyer. Then the soft pad of socks on tile. On carpet.
Ryan steps into the dining room/kitchen/den. His brow furrows as he surveys the scene.
Dean and I are eating together.
We’re trading secrets.
I know how it looks.
But it’s so not that.
I place the half grilled cheese on Dean’s plate. Push myself to my feet. “Good run?”
“You were gone forever,” Dean says.
“Needed to clear my head.” Ryan’s blue eyes fix on me. They bore into me. Beg for an explanation for my proximity to his brother.
I know he struggles to trust people.
I get that.
But there’s no way for me to explain without giving myself away.
“I just got up.” I unwrap the blanket. Drape it over the dining chair. “I need to move.”
He gives me a long slow once-over. His pupils dilate. His tongue slides over his lip.
But there?
?s something else. Something that isn’t sexual.
Like he’s trying to decide if I fucked his brother.
Hurt flares in his blue eyes. He blinks, and it fades into confusion.
His brow furrows. His lips press together.
“I’m gonna go for a swim.” I motion to the sliding glass door. “Join me.”
Ryan looks to his brother. Stares at his expression like it holds all the secrets to the universe.
Dean looks to me. Raises a brow. You see what I’m talking about.
I do.
But I still don’t know how to fix this.
Cool water rushes past me. It presses my hair against my cheeks. Tests the straps of my bikini.
Swimsuits have an unwritten rule: you can choose cute or practical, but never both. Four years on the high school swim team filled my quota for one-pieces.
I can live with my boobs threatening to pop out of my bikini.
I press off the shallow end of the wide lap pool. Cut through the water to pull my arms to my sides. My fingers slice the surface. They glue together to push water behind me, propel me forward.