Absolutely hilarious.
“Yeah, she does,” I say, flaking the label off the bottle. “You should come by one day. I’ll ask her to cook, and you’ll understand why I’m winning here.”
It’s almost eight in the evening, and Thalia’s waitressing at an up-tight private event around the corner from Nico’s house, but I shoot her a text anyway.
Me: Are you working tomorrow evening?
Thalia: No, why?
Me: I want to invite my brothers. Can we make those chicken skewers with salad?
Thalia: You’re not worthy of the family recipe. I’ll cook.
“Is tomorrow good for everyone?” I glance around the room. Nico’s sofa fits the seven of us without an issue, and there’s space for seven more.
The whole house is over-the-top large and ostentatious. Six bedrooms, a five-car garage, a driveway to fit twenty more, and a backyard the size of a football field. All wrapped in the most expensive materials: marble, gold, silk, velvet, and ebony hardwood. It was all here when he bought the house, but we still give him a hard time about his luxurious taste.
“We’ll have to skip the fun this time!” Conor exclaims, eyes fixed on the flat-screen where—surprise, surprise—the cars are still driving around the track. “Brandon’s throwing a party. We can’t miss it.”
Thank God. They’re a touch too young to hang out with the four of us yet. Too loud and annoying with their teenage attitudes, gibberish they call slang, and constant pussy talk.
Maybe in a couple of years...
Logan reaches for another beer and starts the ritual of peeling the label. Good job that the triplets are occupied, or they’d offer him one of their too-young high school friends to fuck, which would piss Nico off to no end.
“I hope you’re hitting that ass,” Logan chirps.
The sudden urge to nail his face washes over me out of nowhere. I’m not a saint, but at the same time, I’m not one to lose my cool at a snap of fingers like Nico or Logan. They have the shortest fuses, always ready for a fight at a moment’s notice.
I draw a deep breath, struggling to keep my temper at bay, but I do a convincing job of playing it down. “Nah. She’s a friend. She’s helping me with the game. I’ve pitched the idea to a few companies this week, so, fingers crossed, I should hear back within a month.”
“Took you long enough.” Colt laughs. “I want a free copy before it’s released. Sounds fun.”
Ah, to be seventeen again. No responsibilities, no worries, no big life questions. All they worry about is where the cash for fuel comes from. Most of the time, it comes from Nico. He’s so soft wherever the triplets are concerned it’s a miracle he’s stillconsideringletting them move in here instead of moving their shit over already.
“So, if she’s just a friend, I can fuck her, right?” Logan continues, readjusting his baseball cap. “It’s only fair, bro.”
“No way.” Over my dead fucking body. “I impose a Hayes-wide hands-off on Thalia. She liveswith me. It’ll be awkward if one of you gets your dick wet and flees like always.”
Bullshit. I impose the rule not because it’ll be awkward to live under the same roof with Thalia if one of my brothers fucks her, but because Ilikeher.
I don’t know how to handle that knowledge or the sudden possessiveness whirling through my head. I’m riled up thinking about crowds of sleazy golfers hitting on her every day.
I’m constantly reminding myself that were friends.
Just friends.
In fact, we’regreatfriends.
We weren’t spending much time together last week, but I started cutting my workdays short this week, coming home around five instead of the usual seven or eight. I want to be there when she comes back from the Country Club. That way, we spend two or three hours together before she leaves for a waitressing gig.
She cooks, we eat, watch a show on Netflix, and take Ares for a walk. I’ve never smiled as much during my entire life as I do with Thalia. She grows more comfortable around me too. Just this morning, she dragged me out of bed at five-thirty, yelling at the top of her lungs from the shower so I’d fetch a new bottle of shampoo from her bedroom.
The gentleman that I am, I didn’t glance behind the shower curtain, but she peeked out with a smile, face wet, hair sticking to her neck and shoulder, and that was enough for my morning wood to grow harder than a steel baton.
And back to bed I went to jerk off again.
She’s so sexy and carefree, singing in Greek and dancing around the kitchen while she cooks. I’ve imagined fucking her ten different ways, but I keep the primitive need on a short leash. Sex would ruin the friendship we’ve been building. As much as I want to claim her body, to know what she tastes and feels like, I don’t want to lose her.