I don’t catch any fish, and neither does Jefferson despite his concentration. I don’t tease him about it, though. Not after my conversation with Carson.
It’s Anderson who manages to catch the largest fish. “That’s a big one,” I say appreciatively as he shows off his haul.
“That’s what all the girls say,” he winks.
“Anderson,” Amber chastises. “What did I say about keeping PG-13!”
“Sorry, it’s just that Sara keeps providing us with opportunities…”
“To be juvenile.” Despite her words, Amber’s face is lit up with a smile. I’m guessing that she likes their sense of humor but is protesting because she doesn’t want me to be offended.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind. It’s funny,” I say.
“See. She likes it.” Anderson holds his fish up victoriously. “This fish will forever be known as ‘The Big One’.”
“Like your head,” Jefferson grumbles. He really is a bad loser and that comment definitely deserves a comeback from me, but I keep my tongue under control.
“So, are you ready for a fish supper?” Steve asks me.
“Sounds good.”
We gather up the empty picnic hamper, chairs, and rods, and head back to the car. My cheeks are a little sunburned despite putting on the cream that Amber packed. It’s been a long day, mostly because I feel like I’ve had to be on my best behavior. I can see that Steve and Amber are also doing their best to keep things light and airy. As much as I feel under pressure to make the most of this summer, they must be feeling it too. Maybe it’s harder for them. Steve must feel like he has a lot to make up for. It was he who chose to be absent up until now, and Amber loves him enough to know how important this time is for him. I guess, in a way, I have less to prove, but I don’t want to be a disappointment. Just as I’ve built him up in my head over the years, he must have done the same.
The journey back to the house seems longer, and I’m wiped out. I don’t know when I fall asleep, but one minute I’m listening to more of Anderson’s tunes, and the next, someone is patting my knee, and I come around with my head on Jefferson’s strong shoulder. “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs.
I sit up so quickly that my neck twinges and I have to rub it. “Sorry,” I mumble, totally mortified. How long was I snuggled up to him? Did I snore or mumble in my sleep? I do that sometimes, or so I’ve been told. Did I dribble, or just flop my mouth open like a demented fish? Oh, God.
“No need to be sorry,” he says gruffly, flinging his door open and disappearing as though he’s embarrassed. No need to be sorry, huh? Maybe he liked me lying on this shoulder. Or maybe I whispered things in my sleep. Whatever the reason, I’m intrigued at Jefferson’s sudden change in attitude. Maybe he has a softer side that he’s just not comfortable showing to me yet.
“We can hit the pool.” Brayson starts to unload the truck, taking hold of the picnic hamper.
“That sounds like a plan,” I say. “Although maybe I should help your mom with dinner.”
“No need,” Amber says. “Steve will grill the fish. I just have to throw together a salad or two.”
“Okay. I’m in.”
I don’t even bother taking my things upstairs. It’s been a sweaty day, and the prospect of a cooling swim is too enticing. There are loungers around the pool and towels in bench seat. Jefferson has already stripped off and is swimming lengths. The rest of his brothers are still helping with the unloading. I wonder why he thinks that he has a hall pass for clearing up.
I strip off my clothes and stand by the pool, contemplating jumping in but deciding instead to sit on the edge and splash my legs first. The water is cooler than I’m expecting but super refreshing. I don’t think Jefferson has noticed I’m there, so when he finally stops swimming frantic lengths and uses his hands to clear the water from his face and hair, I splash him with as much force as I can. He blinks with surprise and then scowls with annoyance, ducking under the water to try to show how unbothered he is.
When he emerges, he looks so much like a model in an advert for French cologne that my heart skitters a little. His light gray eyes reflect the turquoise of the pool, making him appear almost ethereal. I’m expecting him to shout at me for the splashing or huff out of the pool with annoyance, but his chest rises as though he’s inhaling a deep breath, and then he moves through the water toward me.
I don’t have time to figure out what his intentions are before I’m dragged into the pool by my ankles. Water rushes up my nose and floods my eyes. I flail my arms to bring myself to the surface, where I emerge spluttering and furious. A little splash is one thing, especially when someone is already wet, but dunking an unsuspecting person from the side of the pool is something else entirely.
“You look like you love the water,” Jefferson grins. I smooth my curls and wipe my face gently, trying not to smudge what is left of my make-up. I have a lump of burning rage in my throat, but I don’t want him to see how much he’s affected me. I know it would only make him happy. Jefferson is easy to work out. Everything with him is for effect.
Instead, I glance down at his arm and finally get to read the wording of his tattoo that had been partly covered by his shirt earlier in the day. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. It’s written in gorgeous curling cursive at the top of his bicep. I’m about to ask him about it when I notice that half his chest is covered by slightly puckered skin. Jefferson was burned at some point in his life, and the scars are pretty bad. So instead of asking Jefferson about why he believes we’re doomed or what tragic accident caused the scaring across his beautiful chest, I revert to my usual tactic of flirting.
“There’s nothing better than getting really wet,” I say with a grin.
Jefferson blinks, his eyes revealing just a hint of surprise. He was expecting anger, and I gave him something so totally opposite that he seems to be speechless. I love the way his eyes flash with the challenge. I’m reveling in the fact he doesn’t seem to be able to think of a good comeback when he does. “You get wet real easy,” he says after a beat. I’m so close to snorting in shock, but I just about manage to hold it in.
“You have no idea,” I bite back, watching as his pretty light eyes seem to darken with challenge or arousal. Who knows with Jefferson. To be honest, I think the challenge is what turns him on.
His hand emerges from the water rubbing his shoulder absentmindedly. I can practically see his mind whirring to find something witty to say, but then there’s a loud noise from behind, and the rest of the Bennett brothers emerge from the house. There’s a scrum of activity as clothes and shoes are removed and quickly discarded. I wish that I had a camera and that it was appropriate for me to video the emerging sex gods that are my stepbrothers. I swear that seeing so much muscular, toned man in one go should come with a health warning. I guess this is how my bestie Maisie used to feel when her five ball-playing stepbrothers would crowd her in the pool. I was always dismissive of just how much they could affect her, but now I realize that I was completely wrong.
My head feels woozy. My pussy is a hot and swollen thing. All I can think about is what it would feel like to be sandwiched between them all. All that wet, smooth skin. All those rounded pecs and rippling abs. All those tight asses and hard cocks that could press between my legs until I’m begging for more.
My nipples tighten, and I know that they’ll be visible through the thin fabric of my two-piece. When I turn from Brayson, Carson, and Anderson, who are about to jump into the pool, I see Jefferson’s eyes exactly where I hoped they would be. He’s noticed my body’s reaction. He knows that I’m aroused, and the smile that spreads across his face is the most wicked and filthy thing I’ve ever seen.
“Jefferson, you’re a lazy asshole. How come you didn’t help unload the truck?”
Jefferson shrugs at his twin. “I needed to swim.”
“Yeah, well, we all needed to swim, but some of us aren’t selfish douchebags.”
“I knew you would help,” Jefferson says. “No point in all of us sweating.”
Wow. Just wow. That is a seriously selfish attitude.
“Yeah, well, you’re on clean-up duty. Mom says.” Anderson ducks under the water and runs his hand over his head. Lord, even his armpits are sexy.
Jefferson shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me.”
“I can help with that too,” I say before realizing that I sound a little too eager. Carson and Anderson exchange glances and seem to understand what the other is thinking in that way that only twins seem to share. I wish, not for the first time that I could be a mind reader. I’d undoubtedly exchange a lot of my fortune to know what is going on in their heads.
“You’re going to become our mom’s favorite houseguest,” Brayson says.
“Well, there are a lot of us in the house. I don’t mind pulling my weight.”
As I say that, I’m certain I’m not imagining more than one set of eyes drifting down my body, considering my weight in a very different way. Well, the parts of my body they can see. I’ve often wished that I had bigger breasts, but right now, they feel just right—enough of a handful for any of these boys.
Damn, my nipples are so hard right now that I have to duck under the water. Jefferson noticing is one thing, but all of them…well that would be too much for me to handle and not do anything about.
“So, what’s the deal with going out around here?”
“We go out, but we try to hang around the house too. Mom likes it when we’re here.”
“That’s nice,” I say, and it really is. These guys might look like self-obsessed jocks, but they have their hearts in the right place.
“We can head out tomorrow night, though. If you like?” Brayson leans against the side of the pool, resting his arms either side of him. With his shoulders stretched out that way, he looks like a Greek god, the one who holds the world on his back.
“To the Red Devil?”
The boys glance at each other.
“I told her about it,” Carson says. “Yeah, we can go there.”
“Cool.”
Anderson grabs a ball from the side of the pool, and the boys toss it back and forth. I decide that it’s probably safer for me to get out and lie at the side, so that’s what I do.
Behind my glasses, I get a chance to really observe these men whose lives I’ve entered overnight. Jefferson and Carson are the ones who play like their lives are dependent on winning. Brayson and Anderson take a more light-hearted approach, laughing when the game doesn’t go their way. Jefferson keeps count of the scores, his jaw ticking whenever he and his twin fall behind.
And I smile at how they rib each other, wishing that I had a sibling to have such a grounded relationship with. I can tell that even when they say mean things to each other, that it’s water off a duck’s back. They’ve had two decades to bond with each other. Two decades to understand each other’s characters, the good and the bad.
This is day two for me. I wonder how different things will be between us by the end of the summer.
