“It must be pure torture.” The smirk on Falon’s face is enough to make me want to slap it right off her.
Jordan slaps his thigh, already pretty hammered from his three strawberry margaritas. “Look at the girl blush! She looks like a damn tomato, Falon! She’s the color of my margarita!”
I flip them both off, the bass thrumming deep in my body as I slide off the barstool. “Just because you two fantasize about fucking them, doesn’t mean I do. I’m practically like their little sister.”
I glance across the dance floor at the Red Devil, where we decided to hang out tonight and find myself unable to tear my gaze away from them.
The 3D Brothers. Dane, Dylan, and Drew Mason. Did I mention they’re sort of like my brothers?
Dane is high-fiving Drew over Dylan’s head, the three of them flashing their matching million-watt smiles at the group of cheerleaders draped all around them with their eyes all glazed over. I know I shouldn’t be jealous, I mean, it’s not like anything could ever happen between me and, well, any one of the boys. Mom’s been dating their dad, Richard Mason, for a while now. The goofy look on her face is enough to keep me in my own lane. After the way Dad treated us—cheating on Mom and then happy to leave us behind to play house with his new love—I don’t dare screw anything up for her. She’s happy again, and that makes me happy.
It’s just that…it’s hard not to imagine what being passed around between the three brothers would be like. They like that, you see.
Sharing.
The thought makes me shiver.
“Milly. Earth to Milly! See, Jordan? I told you she’s full of shit,” Falon says, teasing me as she swirls her straw around in her mojito. “Face the facts, girl. You’re totally eye-fucking them right now.”
“No way,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “I don’t get what everyone sees in them, anyway. They’re just three brainless jocks with their own fan club. It’s kinda ridiculous, if you ask me.” I shrug and Falon and Jordan both shake their heads at me before Jordan points out a cute dude in his sociology class. My mind slips from the conversation a bit, and settles into watching the 3Ds from afar, slowly sipping on my own beer as they carry on laughing and nudging each other in front of the handful of girls and a few stupid jock friends from school.
It’s like I’m completely fucking invisible over here. Neither Dane, Dylan, or Drew seem to know I even exist. They probably didn’t realize I came in, what with their raving fans and all.
I’m so deep in my own head that it takes me a moment to realize that someone standing right in front of my face. I don’t know how long the guy’s been there, but there’s an expectant look on his face, and I’m not sure I want to find out why.
“Howdy,” he says, tipping his head me. “You wanna dance?” He juts his thumb toward the dance floor in the middle of the bar. I take in his sloppy appearance—guy’s easily in his late forties and drunk as hell—and slowly shake my head.
The expectancy changes to something resembling confusion. “’Scuse me?”
Dammit, I really didn’t want to have to deal with some old drunk dude tonight… “I’m not really in the dancing mood,” I explain. “I’m sorry.”
For some reason, the guy thinks it’s okay to lean in toward me, whiskey thick on his heavy breath. “Are you turning me down, baby?”
Both Falon and Jordan turn back to me, and I can feel their glares.
“I’m not your baby,” I reply coolly.
A muscle twitches in the guy’s face, and he exhales, the stank of it hitting me square in the face. If he wasn’t being a total dick, maybe I’d offer the guy a mint or two. “You got a nasty little attitude, you know that? Bitches like you think they can talk to people however the hell they feel like it, no consequences or nothin’.”
Their presence is known before he even gets a chance to turn around. All three of them are standing there with their thick corded arms folded over their broad chests, essentially blockading the guy in. He’s not too much shorter than them, but he realizes in an instant that he’s no match.
“I don’t suppose you want to take a hike, asshole?” Drew says, tilting his head to the side, his dark eyes piercing.
The man eagerly throws his hands up, not even able to stare them down. “Look, I don’t want any trouble, okay? I was just leaving…”
“Damn right you were,” Dylan mumbles, moving aside for the man to leave without another word. All three of them share a quick glance before looking down at me on my barstool.
Anger boils up inside of me, threatening to spill over. “What the hell was that all about? I totally had it covered!” I say, furious that they had the nerve to try and step in to save the day. Leave it to the fucking Masons to act like knights on white horses.
“Really? Because it looked to me like he was being a douchebag to you,” Drew says, smirking, his dimple visible even in the dim bar. Goddammit, why did they have to be so damn sexy?
“I’m leaving,” I mutter to my friends before they have a chance to say anything, grabbing my purse and throwing it over my shoulder before I storm out of the place.
I stick my hand out at the curb, trying to hail one of the yellow taxis whizzing by, but someone pulls it down gently and ducks out of the way before I nearly smack them.
“Stop following me!” I shriek, staring up at Dane, who’s leveling me with a patient look.
“We can’t just let you go like that. At least let us come with you. Dad would kill us if we didn’t.”
I sigh, watching as one of the taxis slows to a stop in front of us right as Dylan and Drew catch up. “Fine. Whatever.”
I yank open the door to the cab, glaring over my shoulder at the three of them before sliding in.
Dane hops into the front passenger seat while Dylan and Drew sit on either side of me, wearing matching amused grins. I try to pretend I don’t notice how close they’re pressed against me by scowling, but judging by the way they’re both refusing to ditch the smiles, I’m not sure I’m doing the greatest job.
It’s a warm night and I silently thank god when the guys roll down their windows, the cool breeze whipping my dark hair all around my face, and even ruffling Drew and Dane’s longer shaggier hair. Dylan shaves his head, but keeps the sexy scruff on his face—not that I notice or anything…
When we finally make it back to the house, I storm off to my room, slamming the door behind me for good measure, but truthfully, it’s not because I’m still angry with them. I mean, I sorta am, but it’s more because I couldn’t stand the thought of being pressed between Dylan and Drew any longer without needing my own personal break.
Downstairs, I hear the back door fly open and three heavy pairs of footsteps leading out to the pool deck. Cracking open the window, I get a clear view of the three of them stripping down to their boxers, their pants hanging on the deck railing before they hop into the lit-up pool.
My breath catches in my throat and it’s all I can do to keep my hand out of my underwear as I watch them swimming around, tag-teaming each other by way of dunking.
I’m close enough to just barely make out snippets of their loud conversation over the water splashing. I lean in, ducking down so they don’t see me, and listen, biting my lip.
“I don’t know man. She’s so outside of our usual,” one of them, maybe Dylan, says.
“That’s what makes it so much better. God, she fucking drives me crazy. How many times have we had this conversation?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. It doesn’t help that we have to see her all the time. Did you see what she was wearing? God. Damn!”
The three of them start whooping and laughing even louder, and I sink down all the way to the floor, jealousy running right through me.
Whoever this girl is that drove all three of the Mason boys crazy, is one lucky bitch. I fucking hate her already.