THATCHER
Everything seems fine for about the first mile. My brothers give me shit about my new tattoos. I pretend that Tim is getting soft around the middle, and we all joke that Thatcher is starting to look like a shiny bodybuilder, his muscles are getting so big.
Then, Tim falls back beside me, letting Ty run on ahead, and I know it's all about to go down. "I read Emma's article about you," he says. "Why didn't you tell me you had a show at the Conservatory? I would have come."
I shake my head and keep running. "I did fucking tell you, Tim. I always tell you."
"When?" He seems genuinely shocked.
I just roll my eyes at him and speed up my pace. I'm not going to invite him to tell me I should really reach out to his admin if I want something to get on his master schedule. Somehow I doubt Alice has to do that, and my brother never misses one of Ty's hockey games. "I guess you don't remember shit unless it's earning your law firm money," I sneer at him.
By this point, Ty realizes we aren't in step with him and he pulls over beside a flat rock, panting a little bit. Tim stops running when we approach Ty and asks him, "Did Thatcher tell you about his art show at the Conservatory?"
Ty shrugs. "Probably? Was it in June? I can't be anywhere in June unless the team loses and--"
"I told both of you, like I always do. Neither of you assholes listens to me anymore because you've got babies and girlfriends. You've iced me out of your lives, but then you have the gall to get pissed off when I am late for one of your things. Fuck that."
I start running again, but Ty grabs my shoulder. "Don't run away, man. Let's talk about this."
"Fuck you," I snarl. "I liked you better when you just beat the shit out of anyone who pissed you off."
I take a step before I feel it. His fist is like a sledgehammer to my shoulder. Finally, I think. Then, I turn around swinging. Tim comes up to try to separate me and Tyrion, but years of scrapping have taught us both how to hit each other and how to avoid Tim's efforts to referee. I crouch low and aim for Ty's kidneys. He goes for my stomach every fucking time. Tim catches me in the eye with an elbow, so I hit him in the face, too. Eventually, exhausted, we all collapse onto the gravel path and just lie there, breathing heavy. I exhale long and slow through my nose and close my eyes. "Alex Clemont offered me a quarter million dollars to do a custom piece for his new gin joint and hand make all the glasses he'll need to serve."
"Is that the builder guy who did the fancy hot dog place downtown?" Ty asks, sitting up and stretching. I nod. "He does a lot of cool spaces."
Tim frowns and says, "Send your contract to Juniper. She's better at that kind of thing and can look at it for you."
A few minutes later, we turn around and head back for the cabin, the mood lighter. I know it's only temporary, though, because eventually I'm going to have to tell them I saw our father.
When we get back, the house smells amazing. I can tell Alice has outdone herself. She and Juniper are washing dishes and they both turn around, immediately swarming the three of us. Alice and Juniper see our cuts and bruises and get out the ice and soft hands, soothing Tim and Ty. I hear a lot of "poor baby" while they cluck their tongues. My blood is still pumping, and damn if I don't feel aroused after the adrenaline rush of fighting. I suck down some food until my brothers disappear into their bedrooms so their ladies can "check them out where there's better light."
I roll my eyes and grab a glass of ice water, clinking the cubes together in the glass while I slowly swallow. I walk softly down the hallway to the bedroom, looking for Emma, and I stop in the open doorway. Emma is perched on the bed, typing furiously. There's a far-off look in her eye while she writes and I can tell she's in the zone. Fully focused. Creating.
I chew on an ice cube, just watching her. She's so sexy, and I don't know if I'm just admitting it for the first time, or only letting myself concentrate on her while I'm agitated, but I want her. Badly. She's still wearing the too-big t-shirt she slept in, and it hangs low off one shoulder. Her red hair is piled on her head in a messy bun-thing, and I moan softly when I see that she's not wearing shorts. Just bare legs jutting out from beneath the laptop.
My cock springs to life as I watch her work, the way she nods her head and smiles when she must have found just the right word. Eventually, she clicks a few keys triumphantly and then clasps her hands under her chin, smiling. She looks so fucking happy right now, and I realize this is how I feel when I finish a piece in the studio. When I take an idea and form it into something solid, something real. Emma's words are her art, and it's hot watching her creative process. Shit, I think, watching her stretch, seeing her heavy breasts move inside the baggy shirt. Fuck it.
I crunch another ice cube, and she looks up at me, startled. "Oh," she says. "I didn't know you were back."
I close the door behind me and walk toward the bed, sinking down beside her. "Can I see what you wrote?" I set the glass on the night stand and lean toward her laptop, but she slams the lid shut and clutches it to her chest.
"NO!" she yells, surprising me with her ferocity. Then, she shakes her head slightly. "I never show anyone my drafts."
I raise an eyebrow at her, confused. "Why not?" But if I'm honest, I can guess why. Probably the same reason I don't discuss my designs or let anyone in the studio with me when I'm working. Hell, half the time I send Cody away if I'm deep into an important piece.
"It's like…it's too personal," she says. "It's private. It would be like seeing me naked."
I smile, remembering the sight of her in her kitchen. "I've already seen you naked, Chezz." I remember the feel of her body last night in the lake, the way she wriggled against my aching cock. I'm bursting with need for her. I slide the laptop out of her hands and set it gently on the floor beside the bed.
She sits sort of frozen, and I can see her chest rising and falling as she breathes, anticipating. She wants this, too. Her nipples are hard and I can see them jutting out through the thin material of her shirt. Fuck me, she's perfect, I think. "Come here," I say, huskily, and she closes her eyes for a moment, swallowing. When she opens them, her pupils are dilated until there's just a tiny ring of green around a sea of dark, wet black.
I lean back against the headboard and gently ease Emma onto my lap. She straddles me with those thick, bare legs of hers, and I groan as the weight of her settles against my throbbing hard-on. "I was watching you write," I say, moving her hips along my length. "You're so fucking sexy, Chezz. Do you know that?"
Emma emits a tiny moan and I know I can't stop until I hear her make that sound again, until I make her come and get to watch her face transformed by pleasure. I lean in to kiss her, pulling her close against me. I have one hand on her neck and the other on her ass, digging my fingers into the soft flesh, slowly inching that shirt up until I have a hand on her panties.
"Oh!" she exclaims, pulling back from my lips. "Your tongue is so cold."