Bend (34 page)

Without a backward glance, she says, “Uh-huh.”

And she’s gone.

There’s a swooshing noise in my ears, and my head feels weightless. It’s the alcohol, probably. I’m still buzzed. It’s almost midnight, and I’ve been up since before sunrise. This long, crazy day is finally catching up to me.

I don’t want you to get hurt again.

All of a sudden I’m picturing a dinner plate. It’s a simple, solid-color plate, something you’d use every day. But it’s got visible lines from where it’s been glued back together after having shattered into a great many pieces. So many pieces that it seems like patching it up shouldn’t have worked, but through stubbornness and desperation, it did.

If the plate is dropped again, it’ll be beyond fixing.

That plate should be locked up, clearly. Shut away and not handled by anyone.

And that’s exactly what I’m doing.

Right?

“H
ere’s to a hard day’s work.” Mia’s brother hands me and Logan two out of the three bottles of suds he just brought out from the house and then climbs onto the stool next to his brother-in-law.

We’re sitting at the bar counter in Frank and Gwen Waters’ extravagant outdoor kitchen, an impressive structure of brick and tile complete with a gigantic propane grill, a mini fridge, and even a sink—all of it taking up more space than most people’s indoor kitchens.

A pergola covered in a web of flowering vines keeps the patio shaded, and from the wooden beams hang electric lanterns and even a ceiling fan for when it gets uncomfortably hot. Which this late afternoon definitely is not, the temperature being pretty much perfect right now.

The guys and I clink our bottles together, and after taking a healthy swig, Logan says, “I think I might’ve pulled something in my back, but I still have no regrets.”

While Cameron lets out a snort, I chuckle quietly.

At the patio table a few feet away, Mia is playing cards with her grandmother and Freya while Abigail looks on, climbing on and squirming in her big sister’s chair.

It’s kind of an unusual scene, because Mia and her grandma are the cooks in the family, the ones who command the kitchen out of love rather than necessity. But today they’ve left dinner prep to others, deciding instead to spend time with the girls.

Pretty sure that was Lily’s decision, with Mia going along with whatever let her hang out with her grandmother. Which I’m guessing is partly because Mia loves no one more than she loves that old woman but also partly because she still feels bad about the way we left the party last night.

Left the party, came back here, and engaged in activities I’ve been trying—and failing—not to dwell on all day. Trying to forget them, to banish them from my memory instead of replaying and breathing through and wanting to do them again. I can safely say no other woman has ever fucked with my head this way. The honor of that goes to Mia.

I woke up not long after dawn this morning on the floor with the sunlight bright and warm on my eyelids. She was still deep asleep on the bed, and I had no problem putting on workout clothes and grabbing my sneakers without waking her.

Downstairs I found Logan lacing his own running shoes, and even though the idea of hitting the trail with a guy who’s an actual marathon runner was kind of intimidating, we headed out together.

And when we got back, the rest of the house had stirred. They were awake and disturbingly cheerful about it. Except for Paige and the girls, they had all consumed a significant amount of alcohol last night, but the Waters family doesn’t do hangovers.

After I showered, I discovered that plans for the day had already been made. While the women decided to go shopping, Frank announced that he needed help with turning a bare patch of his backyard into a paved area with seats and a brick fire pit. He’s the kind of guy who does home improvement projects himself, not because he can’t afford to hire someone but because he enjoys it—and because he always needs to be
doing
something.

Cameron’s participation in the project was clearly mandatory, and Logan immediately seemed resigned to do the same. Which made sense, because why would he choose to piss off his father-in-law just so he could spend the day carrying shopping bags?

Meanwhile Mia told me with a twinkle in her eye that I didn’t have to do it. “I guarantee as soon as he found out you guys were all going to be here this weekend, he made a run to Home Depot,” she whispered to me in a corner of the kitchen while handing me a mug of steaming black coffee. “If you help him, you’ll just be enabling his exploitative behavior.”

While accepting the mug, I’d thought absently that her words made a lot of sense, but my brain got stuck on the sight of her in front of me in her clingy, pink tank top and matching pajama pants, her hair still sleep-mussed, which was probably how it looked last night.

After I fucked her from behind on the floor three doors down from her parents’ room.

Fucked her slow and hard, my cock in her sweet pussy and a dildo in her ass. Which apparently drove her wild, because I lost count of how many times I felt her spasms squeezing my dick before I lost it, too, and came so hard inside her I might have blacked out for a second.

Figuring that memory might haunt me a little less if she were out of my sight rather than in it, I told her I didn’t mind staying and helping her dad.

And, like Logan, I don’t regret it now, despite the sweat-inducing drudgery of digging in the soil and hauling bricks and rocks. But I’m pretty sure it was less painful than tagging along on a shopping trip with four loud and headstrong women.

Putting the beer bottle to my lips, I tip my head back and let the cold and bitter liquid wash over my tongue and down my throat. After a moment of enjoying the aftertaste, I comment, “Could’ve done without Frank pretending to be a drill sergeant, though.”

Beside me, Cameron leans back in his barstool, rubbing the back of his neck and rolling his shoulders. Clearly also feeling the effects of a day of manual labor. “He likes to remind everyone that he’s the paterfamilias.”

This time it’s Logan who releases a snort. “As if we could ever forget.”

A muffled, melodic chime interrupts our conversation, and Logan digs into the pocket of his shorts. “Shit,” he mutters as he looks at his phone screen. Leaving his beer on the counter, he slides off the stool and walks away toward the trees with the phone up to his ear.

I guess, just like the sick and injured, people don’t run afoul of the law only on weekdays.

A gleeful, childish laughter erupts from across the patio, and I look in that direction to see Freya bopping around next to her chair, doing what I can only assume is a victory dance while Mia and her grandmother are throwing the kid mock, exaggerated glares. Abigail stands up and says something to her sister, who vigorously shakes her head.

Lily Waters then barks something that sounds like “Come here,” and while Mia gathers up the cards and starts shuffling, Abigail rounds the table and climbs into her great-grandmother’s lap. And once they’re playing again, Lily and Mia both grin as Abigail throws her big sister a triumphant and smug look while shouting, “Go fish!”

Suddenly Mia looks over at me. Her expression changes as she meets my gaze, turning from childlike happiness to teasing and flirtatious. It strikes at my core, that smile of hers—my lungs deflate, my heart skips a beat, and things start stirring in my groin.

One more night. If I screw her on the floor like last night, I can just stay there until morning again. True, it’s not the most comfortable place to sleep. Though the carpet in that room is expensive and cushy, it’s a far cry from a mattress.

But the thing is, I don’t want to be that comfortable. Spending time here in the bosom of her nice, happy, and lively family is already too easy. I could get used to it. I
am
used to it, only this time it feels different. Which is pretty dumb. As if by having shoved my dick inside Mia a few times, I now fit in here more. I belong more.

It’s bullshit.

And that’s why I’d rather not be on that bed with her tonight. I’m not going to sleep there with her on that snug and pillowy mattress. Not going to force myself to choose between option A of lying there and awkwardly trying not to touch her at all or option B of holding her. My body warming hers and hers warming mine. The sweet, flowery smell of her shampoo teasing my nose all night. Listening to the peaceful sounds of her sleeping. Feeling it every time she shifts, stirs, rolls over. Waking up in the morning to the sight of her and being able to touch her just by reaching out.

Her opening her eyes and giving me that same damn smile.

“Sleep okay last night?” Cameron says next to me.

I turn and blink at him. “I slept on the floor,” I admit, not in the mood for another passive-aggressive exchange about my relationship with his sister. “But yeah, it was fine.”

Raising his eyebrows, he looks doubtful as he lifts the bottle by the neck and back up to his mouth. Then his eyes flick to something behind me, and a subtle grimace passes over his face.

“Cameron,” comes Franklin Waters’ rumbling voice at my back, “we need more chairs. Go get some out of the garage, would you?”

“Can I finish my beer first?” says the son to the father. Choosing petulance just because he can.

“Get the chairs,” Frank orders with measured calm while setting his drink tumbler and a platter of food down on the counter next to the gas grill, “and then help set the table.”

Mia’s brother gets off his barstool and shuffles toward the house, still carrying his bottle, his other hand shoved into his shorts pocket.

The kid—it’s hard to think of him as anything else, even though he’s twenty-one and about to graduate college—never seems to realize the price tag on his defiance. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t give a shit, because mouthing off feels too good.

Yeah, that’s probably it. And it seems to be a genetic condition in this family.

I get down from my stool as well and am about to follow him and help with the chores when Frank’s voice stops me.

“So, Jay...thank you for helping out today.”

I pause and hang back. “No problem. Happy to.”

“Yeah,
you
at least more than pulled your own weight.” Mia’s dad shoots me a sideways glance as he lifts up the lid on the grill. “Guess we have that in common, huh? Using our hands for more than shuffling paper and typing on a computer keyboard.”

Okay. So I guess this is what I’m doing then. Standing here and having a conversation with Franklin Waters.

Who’s definitely being unfair to his son and his son-in-law. True, Logan took more frequent breaks while we worked today, but that was only because he kept getting phone calls from work. Seems like he’s in the middle of a pretty big and complicated case.

As for Cameron…well, I’m guessing he’s been pressed into service by his dad one too many times to do it eagerly. Plus he really likes to talk. But he’s entertaining, so I didn’t really care that I had to pick up some of his slack.

“Suppose so,” I answer Frank neutrally. “Couldn’t pay me to trade places with them, that’s for sure.”

“I hear ya.” Mia’s dad places some foil-wrapped corn cobs on a grill rack. Then he shuts the lid and gives me a direct look. “And I hope you know that I have nothing but respect for what you do. If I ever gave you a different impression, that’s just because I like to give people a hard time.”