Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
But, hey, as long as my dick is covered—
That's something.
"Order me a drink," I say.
"I have to put my swimsuit on!"
"While you're in the changing room."
"It's early."
"It's the weekend."
"Okay, but I pick the drink."
"No fucking way. You'll order straight gin."
"It's not bad."
It's worse. It tastes like her lips. "Appletini."
She shakes her head.
"Something in a martini glass."
"I could order a dirty martini. With gin."
That's a good point. "Appletini."
"I'll pick something you like."
"No gin."
"Yes gin." She stands. Shakes her head ridiculous Liam. Moves inside.
This is a nice place. I have to give it to my friend. Thankfully, I never fucked her or this could be even more awkward.
Gel plans business events all over the city. She knows every private party venue and whether or not it's rented. This was one of three private pools.
The best, she said.
The same one I dragged Briar into last summer. Well, she jumped. I dared her, but she made the choice to jump.
I can still see her soaking wet, her sheer blouse sticking to her skin, her chest heaving with her inhale.
That's where we should be. In this pool. Out of our clothes. Her soft body pressed against mine.
My hand between her legs.
Her groan in my ear.
That makes sense.
I need something that makes sense.
I need to get the fuck out of here. Before I do something exceptionally stupid.
Too late.
Briar steps through the sheer curtain dividing the pool and the bar. She's in a black bikini and she's holding two martini glasses.
They're red-purple. An alcoholic version of her hair and lipstick.
"Berry martini." She takes a step toward me.
My eyes go right to her tits. Fuck, she looks divine in that swimsuit.
Long, curvy legs. Lush hips. Narrow waist.
Her tits aren't huge, sure, but they're the perfect size for my hands.
And those thick thighs—
I want to dive between them.
I want to die between them.
Is there a better way to go?
"Liam?" She laughs, reveling in her upper hand.
My eyes stay on her hips. "You have a tattoo there."
"And?"
"I didn't know that."
"You don't know everything." She motions to something, but my eyes refuse to follow. "Three seconds and I'm dropping it."
Right. My fingers brush hers as I take the drink. It's a tiny touch. I kissed her an hour ago. The brush of our fingers shouldn't mean anything, but it does.
It's electric.
She ordered these on purpose.
Maybe to celebrate. Maybe to fuck with me. Maybe to comfort me.
I don't know.
I liked them in Toronto.
I like them now.
"There's a lot I'd like to know about your body." I bring the drink to my lips. Sweet, tart, the hint of alcohol. The taste of her lips. "We can start with the tattoos."
"Maybe we should start with yours." Her eyes flit to my chest. "Does that really say danger is sweet?"
"In Latin."
"Isn't that obvious?"
"Coming from the woman with she flies by her own wings on her ribs."
"In Latin," she returns.
"Latin didn't save mine."
Her cheeks flush. "You don't like it?"
"Did I say I didn't like it?"
"I don't care if you like it."
"Then why'd you ask?"
She takes a sip. Motions to the pool. "Are you going in?"
"After you." I offer to hold her drink.
She gives it to me. "You won't say anything about my smudged makeup."
"Isn't it waterproof?"
"If it smudges."
"Can I say it looks hot?"
"Can I stop you?"
I shake my head.
She smiles.
For a second, it feels normal. Like it did last year. The first time I felt normal after Bash died.
Or at least, I thought I did.
Now—
I try not to think about it. He's gone. I can't bring him back. I don't want to be like Adam, locking himself in his castle, lost to grief.
He almost died.
He needed time to heal.
And he was closer to Bash. Closer than anyone.
But it wasn't fair. Adam took all the space. I didn't have any. Simon didn't have any.
It wasn't fair to Bash either. He wouldn't have wanted Adam miserable.
He'd want me here, coaxing Briar out of her bikini, demanding she come on my face.
He'd want the details later.
He'd want to prove he could one-up me. Be even more ridiculous.
He couldn't, but he tried.
We had some sort of younger brother agreement. I tortured Simon. He tortured Adam.
Only it didn't work that way. Adam loved mentoring Bash, even when Bash drove him crazy.
Simon can't stand me. Yeah, he loves me. We are brothers. But he can't stand me, especially when I drive him crazy.
And now it's Simon and Adam against me. The serious older brothers against the ridiculous younger brothers.
But I don't have backup. Only this feeling everyone is keeping secrets.
And now I've lost my fucking high horse too.
How am I going to give Simon and Adam shit for whispering about Bash's death when I'm lying about Preston's?
He's not in the ground yet.
Fuck.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Briar's voice is soft. "No. I know you aren't. I know something happened." She takes another step toward me. Until she's close enough to touch. "But if you want to talk about it…"