Page 4 of Mine to Love
She may be six years younger, but Cami can read all three of us better than our parents can. She’ll see my misery and rat me out. Or at least call me on it.
I pull into the circular drive and put the black BMW in park. I unfold my long legs and make my way to the front door. After a courtesy knock, I try to open it and find it locked. I shouldn’t be surprised that my parents have a social life.
Fishing my keys from my pocket, I unlock the door and let myself in.
“Mom? Dad? Anyone home?” The entryway is dark yet still smells like fresh linen and ocean breeze, even with the windows closed to keep out the cool night air.
I flick on the light and head to the back of the house and into the kitchen and great room, which overlook the ocean. Empty. No lingering smells of dinner in the air. I open the fridge and find the usual mixed greens and fruits and vegetables Mom forces upon Dad.
It’s only seven o’clock Texas time. I’d just be leaving the office and thinking about what I have in my fridge in my sterile apartment in Austin and running through a mental list of quick takeout on my way home.
Not feeling like warming anything up or getting takeout, I decide on the next best thing. Crashing my brother’s place.
Fifteen minutes later, I park behind a silver sedan. I don’t recognize the car, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t Emerson’s. Holden is always bringing home new cars. Well, not new. Vintage. The older the better. He’s the best at what he does and has quite the reputation restoring and maintaining older models of cars.
The sedan is nondescript and not his style. Without giving it another thought, I jog up to the front door and ring the bell. If Holden hadn’t settled down, I would have let myself into his house. But I’ve already busted him and Emerson doing the nasty once. No need to repeat.
Had I caught a glimpse of Emerson’s bare ass instead of my brothers, however, I would have absolutely been up for a repeat encounter.
The door opens and my brother, fresh from the shower by the looks of it, stands with a goofy grin on his face.
“Shit. Please don’t tell me I’m walking in on the middle of anything kinky.”
“If your idea of shower sex is kinky, it’s no wonder you’re still single.” Holden smacks my shoulder. “I just got home about twenty minutes ago. The girls are figuring out dinner.”
“Girls?”
“Reese is here.” Holden closes the door behind me and starts for the kitchen. “Didn’t know you were in Maine. How long you here for?”
My ears perk at the mention of Reese. Other than playing cards as a family and our brief...encounter on New Year’s Eve, I haven’t ever really talked to her. Her mouth left a lasting impression on me though.
I reach up and swipe my thumb across my lower lip. She did some serious magic with that tongue of hers. Our drunken make out session may have only lasted a few minutes, but it was days before the taste of her washed away. Maybe because I held on to it for as long as possible.
“Logan?” Holden stops in front of me and turns. “You coming?”
I lift my chin and catch up with Holden. “Sorry. Mind racing.”
“Yeah. Turn it off sometimes. At least when you’re in Maine. You’re turning into an overworked old man. Find yourself a nice lady and settle down like me and the Mrs.” My brother gives me a goofy grin.
“She’s not a Mrs. yet. There’s still time for her to realize she picked the wrong brother.”
“Is that Logan?” I hear Emerson call from the living room.
“What’s he doing here?” Reese whispers, none too softly.
I follow Holden into the living room. Emerson stands from the couch and gives me a hug. “This is a nice surprise. Unless you told Holden you were coming and he never mentioned it to me.” She cocks her eyebrow at him.
“It was an impromptu visit. The folks don’t even know I’m in town. I stopped by the house but they’re not home.”
“Oh, so we're the second choice. Came for a home cooked meal, did you?” Emerson hugs me again.
“I don’t want to intrude.” My gaze travels to the couch where Reese sits, her feet tucked under her thighs, sipping on a glass of wine.
Her sweatshirt hangs off her shoulder exposing a bright pink bra strap. Her lips stick out in a pout as if she’s deep in thought. Those damn lips. Full and glossy.
Those lips were as soft as her breasts, which I’d bet my portfolio are real. Not that I got to cop a feel, but they were pressed up against my chest for a hot minute.
A long, hot minute, and they flattened between the pressure of our chests while we kissed. I’ve dated my fair share of women with fake breasts and they never flattened like Reese’s had.