Yoyo turns her head when she hears the patio door open. I don’t even have to look at her to know that she is arching her back, flexing her toes. Probably smirking. Definitely watching my stepbrothers, Chance and Jack, as they circle the far end of the swimming pool.
“Mmmm-hmmm,” she sighs to herself, shifting on the cushions.
“Why don’t you just keep your eyeballs in your head?” I remark, mostly because
I think she can’t hear me.
“Why don’t you be a good friend and set me up with one of your big brothers?” she shoots back, casting a sidelong smirk in my direction.
I wince, embarrassed that she heard my snarky comment. But she is over it already, I can tell. Her toes open a little and I see the tendons behind her knees flex. Shit. This girl is totally transfixed.
I mean, I get it. Chance and Jack are ridiculously perfect specimens of manhood. Twenty-three and gorgeous, despite the fact that they live with their parents… Well, with their dad and my mom. We are one of those blended families, I guess. Blended like a bag of candy. Blended like a tropical drink.
My mom raised me by herself, assisted by the practically anonymous donations of my birth father, some rich dude who never troubled himself to turn back up again. That’s how we got this kick-ass house in Evanston with the inground pool and a nice new car every year. But please don’t feel bad for me. I never missed him. I never knew him, so how could I miss what I never knew?
Their dad met my mom at a real estate seminar in California wine country. Somewhere between the Chardonnay and the guest speakers painting convincing pictures of attainable real estate fortunes, they decided it would be cool to hitch our families together. Nobody asked me, and nobody asked my brand-new big brothers either.
But that was five years ago already. Mom and “Newdad” are actually happy together. Chance and Jack seem happy too. And I guess having them around made me a much more popular lady during high school. Suddenly everybody wanted to be my friend, especially if they could drop by and run into my brothers.
“I don’t even know how you can stand it,” Yoyo mutters, barely under her breath. “Under the same roof? How do you even control yourself? You must have nerves of steel!”
They are not looking at us, but I know they can see us. They might even be able to hear what Yoyo is saying about them. I bet they can. It looks like Jack is almost smirking. They sure do seem to show up without shirts on every time I have friends over.
“You get used to it,” I mutter back.
“Nerves of steel!” she says again, grinding her hips just a little.
Her voice is just barely in the audible range, and I see Jack shoot her a look, his steely gray eyes ricocheting off the mound of her bright pink bikini bottoms. I know it was meant to attract his attention, and it looks like it did the job.
But he twists around immediately, picking a foam football off the nearest table and chucking it toward his brother across the pool. Chance catches it in one hand, cupping it automatically to his chest. The sun and sweat glisten off his silky, chiseled torso as he flexes. He raises his other hand to push a disheveled lock of hair off his forehead.
Chance twists lithely to launch a side-armed return of the ball to Jack. Yoyo and I watch in silent concentration as they begin a vigorous game of catch across the expanse of the water.
I didn’t always feel this way, but I have to admit that this is hard to watch without… squirming. Those muscles that ripple under their skin, the strength in their hands as they throw and catch that stupid little ball… It all sends vibrations through me like someone snapping a rubber band over and over again against my belly button. I feel a kind of emptiness, a hunger deep in the pit of my gut.
“Come on, you can tell me,” Yoyo continues. “You think they’re hot, right? I mean, you’ve got eyes!”
“I don’t know. What does hot even mean?”
Yoyo rolls suddenly onto her side so she can stare right at me. Her eyes are wide with excitement and thirst.
“Hot is… shit, girl! Hot is HOT. Hot is those muscles. Hot is those squinty eyes. Hot is that lickable stubble. Hot is that—”
“Okay!” I interrupt. “Keep your voice down!”
She flares her nostrils and purses her lips at me. “Yeah, you know what hot is,” she purrs suggestively. “I bet you’re thinking about it right now, aren’t you? I bet your sweet spot is all nice and tingly, ain’t it?”
I roll my eyes, but my knees instinctively clamp together and I can kinda tell that she’s right. There’s definitely something going on in my nethers. It might be wrong, but looking at them lately just seems to activate something in me. Something I am finding it harder and harder to turn off.
“You know it’s not wrong,” she sighs.
“I need to flip over, Yoyo. Can you move your cell?”
“I mean you’re not even really related. Not by blood or anything.”
“That’s nice,” I answer automatically, propping myself up on my elbows.
“So you can admit it. That you’re hot for one of them. Or even both?”