After one feverish night with Tyler Evans, Rory is never supposed to see the man draped in enigmas and devilish charms again.
Six months later, she's deep into a summer fling with Chace. As their fling becomes a committed relationship, she's adamant...
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Rory is mine for the night. That's all my sick brain can think as I anticipate every hour that ticks by. The night we should have had all those months ago has finally arrived.
Chace chose to work late tonight, and I'm not complaining. I don't need any last-ditch efforts of his to join us or cold eyes sizing me up with suspicion. With every passing day, he resembles his father—the way his eyes trace my every move, how assertive he gets when he's addressing me. To him, I'm no longer his little brother, but a nuisance hiding in sheep's clothing.
I get. I fucked his girlfriend. It was a good fuck too. Is there a small chance that I'm still attracted to her? Only a blind man wouldn't be. She's cute, playful, and confident. That doesn't mean I plan to try anything with her. I just like to be around Rory. There's nothing wrong with enjoying her presence.
When it's a quarter to six and evening cools the blistering sun, we prepare to leave. Grabbing a jacket, I throw on a grey t-shirt, washed ripped jeans, my favorite pearl necklace, and call it good. Rory leaves Chace's bedroom in ripped jean shorts and a flowy black top that's long enough to cover her stomach but low enough to accent her breasts.
Since the night I met her, she's yet to hide her shape or skin. Even if she's up against judgments from people like Chandler, she doesn't shy away. Something she learned from Victoria? My first thoughts were more judgmental. No better than Chandler's sick comments. I regret that small moment of distrust I had. Since she told Chace the truth about us, I realize that she's more authentic than even me, and I pride myself on being blunt. The way she dresses is not about drawing eyes and giving charm. She's just existing. Whether we like it or not, she's going to be her. Rory is living her true unfiltered life. I almost hate how comfortable she is with herself. Where can I find that?
"We're almost matching," I say, then pull my eyes away. She's gorgeous and it's annoying—aggravating how my body and mind react as polar opposites. My mind screams: She's with my brother. She's not attracted to me. We're becoming friends. My goddamn body says: Touch her. Kiss her. Get closer to her. Peel back her layers and figure her out. I'm not just attracted to Rory; I want to know everything about her.
"We are!" She throws her hands in the air with a glorious smile. "We look hot as fuck."
"You do." I cringe. What am I doing? I shove my restless hands into my pockets. Hands that want to explore every arch and curve of her body that I never had the chance to. If I could go back to that night, I would take her home instead. Spend hours pleasing her. Not the few moments we had. Moments too brief for her to remember.
Rory bumps my shoulder on her way to passing me to the door. "Don't be weird. You said you were done being testy with me."
I can't see her face, but she sounds uncomfortable. I should stop. "Sorry. Not trying to be weird. Just admitting that you're hot."
