"So you’re living in a compound for super-hot soccer players?" Fiona’s voice, stark with disbelief, crackles through the speakerphone.

I curl on my bed as I talk to the iPhone sitting inches away. "It’s a vacation home, but yeah. That’s the size of it."

The clanging of pots and pans interrupts Fiona’s gasp. I imagine her cleaning the kitchen in her knee-high boots. For as long as I’ve known her, Fiona’s been go, go, go. The woman never keeps still during a conversation. "Damn, girl! Please say there’s room for me."

"I’m sure I could fit the entire class in here if I wanted."

"Wow," she says. "Oh my God. Looking up their pictures now. Some of these men are gorgeous. Your brother is okay with letting you stay there?"

"It took some convincing, but yeah." I chew my lip. "I still haven’t asked if I could stay the whole summer."

"Well, shit. You better get on that."

"I know," I groan. "It’s just—I hate asking him for stuff."

Dad cut me off the day before Mom’s funeral, which fueled two self-destructive years of college until my roommate forced me to call a therapist. It took a while to deal with the guilt, but it's still there, lingering. It’ll never go away.

Fiona’s heard the whole sad story. "I know you don’t, but he’s your brother. That’s what family does."

"We’re not close anymore."

An uncomfortable silence follows my words. Fiona grew up in a tight-knit, loving household. I’ve been to their barbecues. The overwhelming support they show one another is like gazing at something alien.

"Tell me more about the guys," she says.

"They’re very nice. I thought they’d be divas, but they’ve been bending over backward to make me feel at home." Well, most of them.

"Are they attention-seeking flirts?"

I decide against telling her about my yoga challenge with Grayson. She’d probably explode with excitement. "One of them is. You can search for him—his name is Grayson."

"Ooh," she gushes. "I see him. Damn, he’s fine. Any chance you’ll hook up with him?"

My cheeks blaze. "Even if I wanted to, where would we do it? It’s a house full of eight guys."

"Oh, please. Where there’s a will, there’s a way."

If I got caught, I’d die of embarrassment. "It's a bad idea."

The phone erupts with a scandalized gasp. "Are. You. Crazy?"

"I barely know the guy, Fi!"

"Since when is that important? My vote is that you do the deed with the sexy soccer star. When the hell will you get this chance again?"

"Henry told me to stay away from him. I think they’re in a fight." After Henry had warned me about Grayson, I spent two hours Googling for information. All I could find were his sanitized social media platforms and a brief Wikipedia page for his background. Through a fan website, I sifted through dozens of paparazzi photos. I’m dying to know what happened between them. Henry made it sound awful—much worse than a few inappropriate parties.

She snorts. "Ugh. Fine, then choose another one. You said there were seven guys."

"You act like this is a salad bar. I can’t pick whatever guy I want. It’s not that simple."

"Sure it is," she says, growing frustrated. "Here’s how it works. You turn your undivided attention to one of them. Lavish him with compliments and sly looks until he makes a move, and if not? Next!"

My heart beats like a drum. "I don’t know."

"Are you dead?"

"Excuse me?"

"Did your vagina shrivel up?"

I sigh. "No, it hasn’t. The rest of me just realized that I have two months to find a job in my oversaturated field, and then I’m out on my ass."

"You hated being a lawyer anyway. Maybe it’s time to pursue something different."

"Like what?"

"Becoming a footballer’s wife."

My laughter bounces off the ceiling. "Eight weeks is long enough, right?"

"So help me, if you refuse to fuck one of these guys, I will take the next plane to Santa Barbara and kick your ass."

It’d almost be worth it to have a friend nearby. "I can’t promise anything."

"You’re no fun."

"Yeah, I know." I check the time and grimace. "Fi, I better go. There’s a small pile of job applications waiting for me."

"Ugh," she says. "Good luck. Talk to you later!"

"Bye."

The phone’s screen dies and with it my pleasant mood. Anxiety stabs my chest as I glance at the five bookmarked firms. Practicing law was never something I was passionate about. It was yet another sad chapter in my life of trying to please my father.

I click to a gossip website instead.

Pardini and Shaw Bromance Over?

I scan the article for information. The anonymous person claims Grayson and Henry had a falling out eight months ago. "There was an incident at a Grizzlies after party. It was the last straw for Grayson, who cut ties with Henry. Now there’s nothing but bad blood, and Grayson is desperate to break his ten-year contract with the Grizzlies." The source doesn’t elaborate further. A note from the story says Grayson's PR rep declined the rumor.

This won’t help me get a damn job.

I close the website and return to the applications.

* * *

My weekly guilty-pleasure HBO show fills the living room with teenybopper music. Twenty-six-year-old me would’ve cringed with embarrassment at the thought of watching this in front of world-renowned soccer stars. Twenty-nine-year-old me doesn’t give a shit.

Titus hangs on the arm of the couch, absorbed by the teen drama as I launch into the finer details of the show.

"That’s Steven." I point at the actor with the broad forehead. "He’s my least favorite character, probably 'cause he’s the voice of reason, and I want them to fuck things up."

"Is he a vampire?"

"Yes. Almost everyone is a monster on this show. Sometimes characters die and come back as ghosts, and they become humans or human-vampire-wolf hybrids. It’s insane and makes no sense, but I watch it anyway."

A scream erupts from the TV as the werewolf eviscerates a waitress.

Titus’ eyes widen. "Wow, this is off the chain."

It really is. Whenever I feel like crap, The Vampire Journals is my go-to for banishing everything in the last twelve hours. The plot gets ludicrous with every season, and the sex scenes are gratuitous, but it takes my mind off things, like the fact I still haven’t asked Henry if I can stay the summer.

My insides leaden as flip-flops slap across the marble floor, and a familiar drawl echoes through the living room. "What is that?"

"The best paranormal show ever," Titus says, mimicking my voice when I pitched it to him. "Seriously, come watch with us."

Henry’s lips curl as the pop music rises into a crescendo. "No, thanks."

Now or never. "Henry, can we talk?"

He opens the fridge, grabbing sandwich-making things out and laying them on the counter. "About what?"

I give him a meaningful look as I walk toward the kitchen table. I pull a seat. He abandons the lettuce and cold cuts, joining me.

Suspicion darkens his gaze. "What is it?"

Might as well say it. "There’s another reason why I’m here."

The kitchen echoes with his sigh, as though he expected it from the beginning.

"I need a place to stay," I say quickly. "Not just for a few days—the whole summer."

Henry goes quiet as he sinks into his chair, and my heart drops like a stone.

I like to think that I’m not a delusional person. Life is cruel and unfair—I learned that when I was eighteen. I take nothing for granted anymore, but in my fantasies, I imagined he’d welcome me with open arms, that his five-year silence was a misunderstanding and of course he wanted me in his life. In my heart of hearts, I thought that’s what he’d do.

His mouth forms the word, "No."

Titus sits up on the couch, and guilt runs through me. "Please, Henry."

"No," he says again, chilled eyes cutting at me. "You asked me for the weekend, and that’s all I'm prepared to give you."

They already said yes. It was unanimous. There are more than enough rooms in the house. Inconvenience has nothing to do with his answer.

My voice cracks. "I lost my job."

He leans over the table, contempt laced in every breath. "How?"

"Lay-offs." My throat thickens. "The firm was involved in a lawsuit, and they had to let people go. I swear to God, I looked everywhere. No one’s hiring. My friends from law school are in the same boat. And then my landlord gave me an eviction notice."

A hopeless laugh gusts from his chest. "Goddamn it, Saffie."

"Henry, I’m desperate. I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice. You know that."

"Yeah, I do." I watch him stand. He looks at me like I’m the grime underneath his shoe. My stomach caves in. "You think you’re the first to try this?"

Bewildered, I stare at him. "Try what?"

"I’m not a fucking bank!"

My jaw drops open. "I didn’t ask for money."

"In your next breath, you would have." He spreads mustard on his toast with stabbing motions.

I walk to the counter, my fingers curling over the granite. "I know we haven’t been close, but I would never treat you like that. You’re my brother. That means something."

"Not to me."

I knew, but it hurts like a knife to my chest. Tears overwhelm my vision as Henry stands there like cold, unfeeling stone.

"Jesus," Titus says, bellying to the counter. "That’s your sister, man."

I stare at the back of Henry’s neck. His ears burn red. "Stay out of it. I don’t get on your case about your family." He dumps three scoops of coffee grounds into the coffee pot and flips the switch, still talking to the wall.

"You’re being a total a-hole," Titus says, louder than ever. "There’s more than enough room for her."

A loud bang echoes through the kitchen as he slams the pot in the machine. "You know how many 'relatives' I’ve had come out of the woodwork the moment I got famous? She wants a free ride through life."

Titus doesn’t back down. "You need to take some Q-tips and clean out your ears because that’s not what she said."

"She only called because she needed me," Henry counters.

My jaw clenches shut. "Are you going to ignore the dozens of times I invited you for drinks? Dinner? You shut me down every time. I just need a place to stay."

He faces me, crossing his arms. "Well, I’m sorry. That will not happen."

A creeping horror snakes over my limbs as I picture myself panhandling on the streets, but it’s not only the grimness of having nowhere to go.

I’ve lost my brother. He stopped caring a long time ago.

How did we come to this?

"I swear to God; I don’t want any money from you. All I’m asking for is a bed. My ridiculous rent cleaned out my savings."

Henry’s eyes lift, meeting mine. He couldn’t look more forbidding. "Sounds like that's your problem, not mine."

"Dude, you're an unreasonable dick." Titus stares at Henry through a heavily lidded gaze. He grabs the brewing pot of coffee and pours himself a cup. It burns his lips as he attempts a sip. "Shit."

My brother scowls at Titus. "It’s none of your damn business."

A shudder runs through Titus’ body as he takes another sip. "Why can’t she stay?"

"Because I don’t want her issues to become my responsibility."

"They won’t!" I clench my fists. "I need a little more time to get back on my feet."

"No. That’s out of the question."

"We like her," Titus says. "She mentioned it the first day, and everyone was all for it. What is your deal?"

Henry’s glare runs through me before returning to Titus. "I don’t want my sister paraded in front of a bunch of half-naked guys."

That’s what he’s worried about? "Henry, I don’t care. This is your home, and I want no one acting differently because I’m here."

He raises an eyebrow at me. "Maybe you’ll change your tune when it’s Topless Thursday."

Titus rolls his eyes. "We’ll behave."

"No, you won’t," Henry says, doubling down.

This is ridiculous. "Am I supposed to pretend I’ve never seen a man’s penis just because you’re my brother?"

The wince on Henry’s face tells me yes. "No, but it’s—"

"I couldn’t care less what you do here!"

A grimace spreads across his face. "You have no idea what you’re signing up for."

Desperate, I change tack. "What if I earn my keep? I can cook, clean, do your laundry. Anything you want!"

Titus frowns, but Henry looks amenable to the idea. "You’ll do our chores?"

"I’ll do whatever you want so long as it gets me a place to stay."

He mulls it over. "God knows I’m sick and tired of drawing new NDA contracts with maid companies."

"Are you serious?" Titus laughs while swallowing a mouthful of coffee, which doesn’t go well. It spills on his chin. "Dude, don’t be a prick."

The insult rolls off Henry’s back. "We haven’t had a relationship for a good reason. If she wants to stay, she needs to earn her keep."

A moment of silence throbs between us, uncomfortable and raw. Titus stares at my brother in disbelief. "You’re unbelievable."

"I don’t mind," I whisper. "It’s better than the streets."

Titus shakes his head in disgust, pity filling his gaze as he faces me, smiling. "We're happy to have you here."

My eyes burn, and I blink away the mist.

The kitchen echoes with Henry’s long sigh. "You can stay, but you’re signing an NDA. And you're out by the end of summer. No excuses."

Thank God.

"Thank you so much." I want to hug my brother, but I have the feeling he’ll cringe if I touch him. "You won’t regret this, I swear."

He stares at me. "One condition."

"Anything."

"Don’t mess around with the guys."

"Excuse me?"

Titus makes another sound of disgust as Henry doubles down, a blush filling his cheeks. "You know what I mean."

For fuck’s sake. "Henry, I didn’t come here to date your teammates!"

"All the same," he says in a deep voice. "I don’t want anyone touching my sister. We have a good vibe, and I don’t want you to ruin it. Keep to yourself, and everything will be all right."

A ripple of anger runs through me. "I’ll try not to ruin your vacation."

"Good," he says. "You can start by cleaning the kitchen."

* * *

Titus was right. My brother is a dick.

I can think of a few more words to describe Henry: selfish, arrogant, prick. Every time I give him another chance, it blows up in my face.

He gave me a place to stay, but only after his teammate plied him with guilt. I begged him, and he said yes. Henry could’ve been a cold bastard and thrown me out, which means there’s a tiny sliver inside him that still cares. Guess I should be thankful for that.

I’m not.

Life’s been a slog ever since Mom died. I didn’t expect it to be easy, but I sure as hell never dreamed it’d be this hard. Sometimes I think of her and a warm glow pulses in my chest. In my darker moments, she’s the bookmark for when my life went to hell.

Bitterness seethes my guts as I slip into a white bikini and sandals, preparing myself for twelve hours of vigorous cleaning. The guys attempted to clean the house after I arrived, but the floors still need to be mopped, the surfaces wiped, and the lawn’s still covered in trash. Hard to be grateful when my brother could snap his fingers and have this mess from Grayson’s party sorted out in a few hours.

I’ll start outside. It’s a beautiful day, and I want to make the most of it.

My sandals flip onto the marble as I leave my bedroom with a basket of cleaning supplies. I pull a pair of rubber yellow gloves to my elbows—God only knows what I’ll encounter on that lawn—and head for the sliding glass doors in the living room. Explosions erupt from the giant flatscreen TV.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Titus lounges on the couch, screaming into a headset as he clutches his controller. "You don’t pick a fucking sniper rifle on this level."

Smiling to myself, I pull back the sliding doors and slip outside.

Wow.

I step onto a patio lined with outdoor furniture from Pottery Barn’s 2017 summer catalog. A dozen lounge chairs with cream cushions line the pool, expensive teak tables in between each. I gasp at the state of them. Rings of moisture stain the wood. I rub at them with a dry rag, but it’s no good.

Damn these rich idiots.

I tear a trash bag from the roll and open it, chucking drinks inside. The backyard seems to have the worst of the waste. A trail of crushed beer cans leads to an outdoor theater on my left. It’s filled with squashy, comfortable chairs surrounding a huge flatscreen like the one inside. Crumbs of food litter the cushions. Empty bags of chips flutter in the wind. A fire pit filled with ash needs to be cleaned. God, there’s even an outdoor bar piled with bottles.

I don’t know where to start. It’s overwhelming.

I clear the poolside, shoving empty cups in my trash bag, and my forehead dampens with the beating sun. I wipe my brow, straightening, and then I freeze.

A naked man lounges on the poolside chair.

There’s not a stitch of clothing on his muscled body, which glows rosy red in the heat. It’s hard to see him among all the debris. How long has he been lying there?

My face, already hot with the rising sun, burns at the sight of him. The man is gorgeous, and it’s easy to make that judgment when every inch of him is on display. From this distance, I see his chiseled jaw and deep chest. Long, muscled thighs sprinkled with dark hair lead to a darkening pattern around his big cock.

Jesus Christ, it’s Grayson.

Naked. Vulnerable. Alone.

My lips, cheeks, and nose burn. Everything’s on fire, amped up by the heat. I avert my eyes, heart pounding as though he caught me staring.

It’s not quite the same as yesterday when he skinny-dipped in the pool. I tried not to gawk as he swam laps. I laughed my ass off. It was fun. Stumbling upon him in the nude is something else; it makes me feel like I’m the dirty one.

His skin glows under the fierce gaze of the sun. Should I wake him? Admit to those stormy blue eyes that I can’t ignore his body?

It’s none of your business.

He has every right to sunbathe naked. If he’s smart, he slathered his body in lotion. I ignore him and continue working around the pool’s reflective surface, but eventually, there’s nothing to remove but the mess surrounding him. I’m close enough to do something about it. My hands shake as I pick up a bottle a few feet away from him.

My eyes drag toward his bright-red skin. Damn, that looks like it hurts. He’s been in the sun for a long time. He’ll be in a lot of pain, and I’ll be damned if a man wants a sunburn on his cock.

So what should I do?

I could wake him, but the thought of nudging his shoulder terrifies me more than throwing a blanket over his indecency.

Are you seriously going to cover his cock?

I don’t know what else to do besides wake him, and I’m too much of a coward to prod his chest. Biting my lip, I grab a clean hand towel I found among Henry’s supplies. Maybe if I drape the cloth on it.

Jesus.

My shadow covers him as I stretch the fabric. I glance at him as I drape the cloth over his thighs.

Please, God, don’t wake up.

The towel lands on his groin. Now there’s a bulge instead of a big dick, and his breathing hasn’t changed. Breathing fast, I move away. My heart jackknifes into my chest as I look at the still-sleeping Grayson. He hasn’t moved an inch. The relentless pounding against my ribs slows to a languid pace. I bend to grab a plastic cup.

"Morning."

A deep, male voice startles me. The cup flies from my hand, rolling on the cement until it falls into the pool. I clutch my chest, fingers digging into my skin as the man’s eyes crack open.

He’s awake. And he must think I’m a pervert. Faced with those blues, I can’t do anything but cower in shame.

He peers at the towel covering his groin. "Next time, rub it with suntan lotion."

Horror doesn’t quite describe the overwhelming desire to sprint back into the house and dive into a cupboard where I’d curl into a ball and never be seen or heard of again.

I lick my dry lips as I prepare the most groveling apology I’ve ever given, but he smiles. The same one that disarmed me and made my knees weak. Warmth from his gaze adds to the scorching heat of the sun. Dimples carve deep into his cheeks. God, I’ve always had a weakness for them.

I hate the blushing, stupid girl I become whenever he’s around. "I swear to God; I wasn’t trying to do anything weird."

"'Course not," he says, barely containing his laughter. "You were just covering my dick. That’s not strange at all."

"Look, your skin is beet-red. I was trying to help. A second-degree burn isn't something you want down there."

"I appreciate it," he says with a feline smirk. "Though, you have to admit it’s hilarious. You think I’m burning, and the first thing you save is my cock. Shows where your priorities are."

He’s right on that account. I don’t know where the fuck my priorities are these days. "Actually, I didn’t want to look at it."

"Because now you’ve seen mine, all others are ruined for you."

"This might shock you, but most women don’t give a damn about the size."

He doesn’t miss a beat. "So you agree. I'm the biggest you've ever seen."

"You're the biggest dick I've ever met, yes."

"First you manipulate me into stripping. Now you’re sneaking around when I’m naked. And they say I’m dirty."

"Oh my god. You know what? I’m not going to listen to a lecture from the man I caught staring at my ass." He grins at my outrage. "You’re filthy in more ways than one. I mean, look at this place. It’s been two days, and you haven’t lifted a finger."

He gazes around. "Doesn’t seem that bad."

"That’s because I picked it up!" I heft the garbage bag, only lifting it a few inches.

"Oh," he says.

No apology.

No excuses.

There’s something refreshing about his shameless honesty. Unfortunately, I have a harder time admitting what I want.

Grayson sits up, repositioning the dainty hand towel. My attention drags toward it before snapping to his gaze. His eyes are like the ocean at night. He gives my body a once-over. "Are you the new maid service? The bikini is a nice touch."

"Ha-ha." I grab another crushed can and hurl it inside the bag. "Henry agreed to let me stay, but I have to do chores around the house."

His face splits with a smile. "You’re fucking with me."

"No, I’m not."

The towel slides dangerously low as he rotates his body, a deep frown knitting his forehead. "Are you serious?" His voice echoes across the backyard. "What an ass."

My cheeks burn. "He’s just being fair."

"No, he isn’t. He’s punishing you." Disgust twists his face. "Why the hell would he do this to his sister?"

A sharp pain runs into my chest at the contempt in Grayson’s voice, the way he could see through me like cellophane.

"It’s not his fault. He’s been swallowing my dad’s poison for years." It’s humiliating, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. "A bit of housework for room and board won’t kill me."

He shakes his head, looking sorry for me. "The man’s worth millions. Let him order a maid service if he wants his house cleaned."

"Well, I’m available, and I don’t care about doing it. I have nowhere to go."

"Some fucking brother."

"We don’t choose our family. That’s life."

"One way of seeing it, I guess." His tone lightens. "So you’re staying here? Can’t say I’ll mind watching you in that outfit."

Is he hitting on me? Again?

Butterflies flip in my stomach before the cogs work through my brain. Henry told me to stay away from him, but so far my brother is winning in the asshole department. "It’s boiling. If I’m working, I’d rather be comfortable."

"Makes sense." He stretches on the lounge chair, his skin so red it ought to hurt by now.

I gesture at him. "Do you do this often?"

"Not really. Why do you ask?"

"Trying to figure out why you take off your clothes at every opportunity."

"I'm only doing it because you’re here," he says, waggling his eyebrows. "And because it’ll enrage Henry."

Laughter chokes in my throat, but it’s too hot to get worked up. "Well, I hope the sunburn was worth it," I say, giving the towel a pointed look.

"I’m touched by your concern," he croons. "I promise you’ll be the first to know if anything happens to him."

He looks at me like I’m a meal he’d love to devour. The more I gaze at him, the less I mind his stare. The question dances at the tip of my tongue as I watch Grayson.

"Why are you flirting with me? The rest of the guys haven’t crossed that line, but you did it yesterday, and you’re doing it now. Treating me like something you can rub in Henry’s face will not win you any points."

"Jesus, woman. I flirt with you because you’re sexy. I don’t give a shit about Henry’s feelings, so I hit on his sister. It’s that simple."

He looks at me the way men do when they’re drunk, as though he’s mesmerized by my body. "What?"

"Right now, I want you to climb onto my lap."

Amusement curves my lips. I picture myself swinging a leg over the chair and shimmying to his waist. Even if it weren't broad daylight and in front of the glass windows, we’d never get away with it. "In this scenario, am I naked?"

"Of course." He grins.

"How do we avoid getting seen by everyone else?"

"Easy. We don’t."

I roll my eyes at him and continue working. I think I'm almost done until I glimpse the outdoor theater. It’s filled with crap.

Lovely.

"Saffie," he calls. "Stop. I’ll handle it."

Yeah, right. "No, you won’t."

"What do you care?"

"Because I’m supposed to clean this!" I lift the half-filled bag, bottles clanging together. "Birds are picking through the crap on your lawn, eating things that’ll make them sick."

His legs swing from the chair, distracting me as he cracks a huge yawn. "I’ll call someone to pick it up."

"You shouldn’t have let this happen. Never again, Grayson."

The sultry tone returns to his voice. "And if it does, what will you do to me?"

He beckons me with his gaze, which travels up and down my body like little flames licking my skin. "I don’t know."

"For being used to naked men, you seem flustered."

Because you’re a gorgeous idiot.

Mischief dances in his gaze. Grayson’s laughter echoes through the backyard. "Saffie, I’m fucking with you."

He slides off the lounge chair, cupping himself as his shadow grows over me. A hot drop runs down my throat as I glance at his hand folded around his cock and balls, which are held in with the towel.

Damn.

My eyes snap to his lingering smile and dimples, close enough to kiss. I imagine the rough graze of his cheek. The scent of cedar wafts into my nose. Heat builds up as though there’s a furnace under my skin.

He’s waiting for me to do something.

What? What the hell does he want?

"Grayson—"

"I’m going inside. You can’t concentrate on your job while I’m naked, and I’d hate to see you fired before I’ve gotten to know you."

A bump hits my heart, sending a violent flush up my neck. Finally I find my voice. "What?"

Grayson winks at me. "Don’t worry. You’ll be able to speak in more than one syllable once I have clothes on."

A tremor runs through my body. "I will have my hands full with you guys, won't I?"

He leans close enough for me to count the freckles dotting his nose. "Not with all of them—maybe just one of us."

An instinct born from dealing with douchebags screams for me to slap him. I want to destroy that rakish grin, but I want his lips crushed against mine even more. My breath fills with heat, and I can’t think of a response as he turns. I watch his ass flex as he walks to the house.

The desperate urge between my thighs wants me to follow him, but my brother’s rules were clear. Stay the hell away from Grayson.

What if Grayson won’t stay away from me?