1
Emma
“Are you crazy?”
Blowing a chunk of hair out of my eyes, I look up at Daisy. My baby sister isn’t a baby anymore. At twenty-two, she’s the prettiest, sweetest, most opinionated person I know. And she needs to learn to keep those opinions to herself.
“What?” I ask, my eyes drifting to the black, one-piece bathing suit hanging from her finger.
She scrunches her nose. “Come on, Emma. You’re not actually going to bring this, are you?”
“Of course, I am. What’s wrong with it?”
“Everything. Everything is wrong with it. It’s so...”—she drags the word out before settling on—“not sexy.”
“I don’t need to be sexy. I’m going skiing with friends. I probably won’t even need the suit.”
“You do need to be sexy. In case you’ve forgotten, your best friends are two of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen. And trust me, you’ll need a suit. Your room at the lodge has a private hot tub. Although it’s not really a room, it’s a giant suite.”
“How do you know?”
She shrugs. “I looked it up.” I roll my eyes, and she holds up her hands. “What? I’m just looking out for you.”
“I don’t need you to look out for me. I’m the big sister, I should be the one looking out for you,” I say, shoving an extra pair of thermal pants into my bag.
Because nothing says sexy like thermal underwear, flannel pajamas, and a non-flattering one-piece. I bet if Daisy were packing a bag, it would be filled with sexy lingerie and a cute little string bikini.
“You’re three years older. And you do look out for me, but it’s time you accept that you’re the brainy athlete, and I’m the social fashionista. It’s my job to make sure you’re prepared for any and every situation that could land you in bed with Ryan and Grant.”
Daisy is right; she’s always been the social one—the one that men flock to. All she has to do is smile or laugh or twist a lock of her platinum blond hair, and they come running.
I look up. “I’m not going to end up in bed with Ryan and Grant.”
“We’ll see about that.” She winks. “Rumor has it, they share women.” She whispers the words as if Ryan and Grant are in the room and she doesn’t want them to overhear us. When I don’t immediately discredit her, Daisy’s eyes widen. “Oh my gosh,” she hisses. “They do. They totally share women.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“Because it’s none of your business. It’s not even my business. Plus, if I would’ve told you, you probably would’ve tried to be the next cream filling in their yummy cookie sandwich.”
Her face sobers, and she frowns. “You really think I would’ve tried to get in bed with them?”
“It’s not that. It’s just…you’re their type, and I don’t think you’d have to try very hard.”
Daisy and I look nothing alike. She looks like her father—my stepfather—with high cheekbones and flawless features. I, on the other hand, have a thick mop of jet-black hair and big, fat lips that look way too large for my face—features from a nameless man who served as a sperm donor in the middle of a Jimmy Buffet concert. Needless to say, the only trait Daisy and I share is our bright blue eyes, courtesy of our mother.
“Then you don’t know your friends very well. They wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole.”
God, I would hope not, because that would kill me. I’ve loved those boys since the first grade when they beat up Derek Keller for stealing my unicorn pencil. I always thought I’d end up marrying Ryan or Grant, but I tossed that dream out the window when I realized that I’d never be able to choose between the two.
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen the way they look at you. And I would never do that to you.”
My eyes widen. “To me?”
“Yeah. Because you’re in love with them.”
“I love them, yes, but it’s strictly platonic.”
“No.” She shakes her head and puts my swimsuit back into my drawer. “It’s more than that, and the sooner you realize it, the better off the three of you will be.”
“I’m so confused. The sooner I realize…what?”
Daisy picks up a tattered soccer ball lying next to my bed. She volleys it between her hands and then, without warning, chucks it at my head. “Open your eyes.”
My cat-like reflexes assure that I catch the ball before it hits my face. “What was that for?”