She shakes her head. She doesn't believe me. But she'll get there.
My place—technically, still my parents' place—is three blocks from the beach. On an August evening, the streets are filled with the roar of the ocean and the low chatter of conversation.
I hang out on the deck and watch the waves pound the sand. There aren't any surfers this late. There aren't many swimmers either. It's mostly people taking romantic moonlit strolls or huddling at bonfires.
I'm used to quiet nights by myself. I don't party with the other guys. I've never found that appealing. If pressed, I'm sure that Ethan, Kit, and Joel would admit they prefer it this way.
I'm the de facto boss. The older brother. The responsible one. And you can't act like a fucking idiot in front of the responsible one without feeling like a fucking idiot.
I don't enjoy cramping their good time.
Or acting like an idiot for that matter.
Which is why I need to get over the thoughts of Lacey flitting through my mind. I barely know the woman.
She's interesting. Gorgeous. Responsive.
But I don't fuck colleagues.
That's acting like an idiot.
I head inside and flip around channels. Nothing entertains, but the Gossip Girl rerun does catch my attention. My little sister Piper and I were halfway through fini
shing the series when she moved out. Not that she's officially living with Kit. But it's close enough.
The show is a soap, through and through. It's not my thing, but it's fun watching it with my little sister, teasing her about how ridiculous it is, debating plot points and preferred character pairings.
Without her here, the show holds no appeal.
Without my brother and sister here, TV fails to entertain. Hell, without them, the gorgeous beach house is miserable and lonely.
After the next commercial break, I give up on the TV. I head to my room and pick a book from my Kindle. I get through three chapters before my interest wanes.
The book is fine, but it's not nearly as interesting as Lacey.
As the pleasure that spread over her dark eyes.
The way she groaned as I pinned her to the bed.
The way she smiled as I accused her of being a fangirl.
Fuck, she really would look good in my bed.
This is a bad idea.
But I can't stop myself from grabbing my phone and shooting her a text.
Mal: You home?
Lacey: Who is this?
Mal: Cute.
Lacey: It's a little hard to believe that *the* Malcolm Strong is texting me.
Mal: What about Mal, that guy you met at work?
Lacey: Does he sing like he's in the middle of a fuck?