And as much as Em is a brat, she's all the family I've got.
These two are the most important people in my life.
My cock is going to have to cool it.
It's not getting anywhere near Kaylee.
* * *
I plant on the Kelly green deck chair, the one under the old lamp with the too yellow bulb.
Even though we're in one of the most crowded cities in Southern California, the beach is empty. Still. All the voices and laughter are coming from the house. The roar of the ocean isn't enough to muffle the party.
I should head inside and kick out Emma's friends. Insist on driving Kaylee back to her place. Lecture both of them about drinking too much.
But I'm not in the mood to play Dad today. I'm tired of playing Dad, period. Emma and I never got along, not exactly, but we used to have a rapport. We were a team. A you're annoying, but not quite as annoying as Mom or Dad team, but we were still a fucking team.
Now, the majority of my relationship is lecturing her and yelling some equivalent of go to your room.
And her yelling back you're not my dad.
I force myself to look out at the ocean.
It's beautiful. Dark water. Soft sand. Stars bright enough to shine against the black sky but dulled by light pollution all the same.
None of it distracts me.
None of the eight million things going on in my life distract me.
I need a way to get Kaylee out of my head. I've tried everything—work, play, other women, fucking myself, not fucking myself.
Nothing helps.
I pull out my sketchbook and flick my pen a few times. A few more. My warm up sketch is a messy abstract shape. It means something, I'm sure, but I don't have a clue what that is.
I turn the page. Outline the octopus going on Will's bicep tomorrow afternoon. Attempt to fill in the shading.
The details don't come. The only image in my mind is Kaylee. The brightness in her green eyes, the smile spreading over her pink lips, that coy hip tilt. Like she knows how badly I want my hands on those hips.
Like she's going to roll that dress up her thighs, plant her palms on the table, and shoot me a please, fuck me now look.
I don't need a tattoo mockup.
I need her naked in my bed.
"Hey." The side door slides open and Kaylee steps outside. Her steps aren't soft the way they normally are.
They're messy. Quick.
Her eyes are brighter than normal.
Bolder.
She plants on the lounge chair, next to me. Her thigh presses against mine. Her fingers skim the edges of my sketchbook.
She leans over my shoulder, pressing her chest against my arm, looking up at me with those doe eyes. "Can I see?"
Not the sketchbook. The shit I have in here, of her, will terrify her. Kaylee is sweet. Innocent. I haven't asked, but I'd bet—I have bet Dean—she's a virgin.