Roxie Porter. Holy hell, Roxie. Here’s a woman who knew how to show a girl a good time. She wasn’t much of a talker, and while dinner had been slightly awkward and spent primarily in silence, there was something about her that intrigued me. I found myself spending the idle time I had shoveling food in my mouth and taking in her exotic features. I’d been reading a lot online about how to connect with people. I’m not sure it was meant for the dating community, but I was applying the advice just the same, and researchers suggest the finite details—the ones most people miss—are what people value most about themselves. I doubted they were talking about the freckles on her nose or the way she tossed her long, thick, red hair over her shoulder, and I doubted any woman valued her breasts being noted as smaller—but it was sound advice I chose to apply in an unconventional manner.

Couple that with Ronnie’s recommendation to have a few drinks to loosen me up, and I was fast becoming a veritable cornucopia of stupidity. I was entranced by this woman sitting across from me, and alcohol intensified the stupor. Her lips were pleasantly pouty, and her skin was pristine porcelain with the exception of the sprinkling of freckles on the bridge of her perfect nose. Women paid thousands to have her complexion, but she didn’t seem to notice how stunning she truly was.

“Do you wear a push-up bra to get cleavage like that?” The question came out of left field, and I might have slurred the word “cleavage,” but she glanced up from her salad with a coquettish grin.

For the first time all evening, she engaged. “It’s a water bra.” She sipped her wine and raised her brow, likely wondering what my next asinine question would be.

“Does it feel real?” Probably not what she expected to hear, but I stopped myself from asking her if I could touch them, even though that request remained perched on the end of my tongue, waiting to be released from my intoxicated mouth.

Sitting there, at the table, in the middle of the restaurant, she cupped both breasts in her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. While it didn’t turn me on, it intrigued me. I didn’t need a water bra, but I needed to see what one felt like. “Natural as can be. When we leave here, you can see for yourself.” She winked and returned to her salad.

I choked on my wine at her forwardness, and then it dawned on me…the first thing I’d said to her in fifteen minutes was about her boobs. She couldn’t think anything other than I was coming on to her. My brain currently moved at the speed of mud when it occurred to me that we were on a date, which often led to intimacy…and I’d just acknowledged I’d been staring at her perfect chest.

The conversation drifted in a sexual direction throughout the remainder of dinner. I couldn’t stop myself. It wasn’t intentional, but somehow, everything out of my mouth came off either raunchy or desperate. This girl likely thought I worked nights on the corner with the way the words flowed. But after shots at the house and three glasses of wine at dinner, there was no filter left, and I simply talked to her the way I would Ronnie—whom I’d known my entire life. But the more I stuck my foot in my mouth, the more she came out of her shell.

“I haven’t met a woman like you in a long time. Where have you been hiding?”

“Under a man.” Mentally I slapped myself, but she thought it was a joke.

“We’ve all been there. When did you realize men just didn’t do it for you?”

I didn’t know how to answer that question. My ex-husband had lost his appeal years before we divorced, but I hadn’t completely given up until a couple of months ago.

“When I had to ask him to clean his urine off my walls,” I said the words, and I took another sip of wine, and she promptly spit hers out…all over the table—thank God it was white.

She started to laugh in disbelief, but when my expression didn’t waver, she stopped. “You’re kidding, right?”

My brow raised, and I shook my head. “Wish I was, but no. And then the douchebag tried to hand me the dirty paper towels—like I was going to touch that.”

“I had just turned thirty when I admitted I’d been lying to myself. I grew up in a strict Catholic home with no acceptance for anything unbiblical…you know, except judgment. Judgment was perfectly pious. And condemnation was righteous.” She rolled her eyes in disgust.

I couldn’t imagine. My parents had always loved me, flaws and all. They’d never breathed a word of disappointment in my direction, and I’d given them plenty of cause to do so. “That’s horrible. What happened when you were honest with them?”

“My mom said she’d always known. I guess she wasn’t quite as narrow-minded as my dad. So it was our ‘little secret.’” The way her features contorted when she used the air quotes made me giggle. “He lied to himself until the day he died. I had a girlfriend for several years, and my dad introduced her to our family as my best friend. To this day, no one in my family says girlfriend. Best friend is the code.” She shrugged with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “They’re all incredibly supportive—I think it’s a way to keep my dad’s memory alive…in some odd way.”

Maybe memory lane was the way to keep her talking. She was quite bright, and her body and face came to life when she spoke. Her hands and arms moved with each word, and her expressions exaggerated every sentence.

“So how bad was your first date?”

“Lesbian?”

I nodded.

“Disaster. It took me a year to stop asking stupid questions and quit acting like I was twelve under the bleachers. Cami Bartlett. If you see her online, run.”

I giggled—the wine continued to lighten my mood. I was nearing a point where it would turn sloppy if I didn’t slow down.

“I was naïve, not just to dating women, but online dating wasn’t something I’d ever tried. I didn’t have a clue where to go to meet like-minded females. Anyway, she was cute. A couple years younger than me, but she was nice on the phone.” She took the last swallow from her glass. “We agreed to meet at a coffee shop, but when she showed up, I didn’t have a clue who she was.”

“Why?” I’d had too much to drink if I couldn’t connect these dots.

“Well, I’d guess her profile pictures were a decade old, she’d put on a solid seventy-five pounds, and something happened to her right eye, but I couldn’t speculate as to what.”

“Holy shit, you legit got catfished?”

“It was awful. But even worse, I had no clue how to deal with it. I didn’t want to be shallow, and let’s be honest, I was wading in a pool I’d never swam in before.”

“So what’d you do?” This really shouldn’t have been as fascinating as it became.

“Got lucky. She, however, did not.”

The confusion must have shown all over my face. Roxie laughed in a way that made me want to be her, not be with her. This girl was cool as hell. In a lot of ways, she reminded me of Ronnie. Gorgeous, could rock kiss-ass heels with jeans and a T-shirt, and look flawless doing it, but it was the confidence that oozed from her that I wanted…coveted.

“I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. So I let her go down on me. But when it came time to reciprocate…” Her voice trailed off as I assumed she tried to think of a politically correct way to put it. “Let’s say I told her she needed to close down the fish market before the health inspector did it for her.” Her nose scrunched in disgust.

I tried not to gag, but the thought mixed with intoxication turned my stomach just a bit.

“I don’t know about you, but dating women was like starting over at puberty. Awkward, confusing, and I sucked at it. Even kissing was different.”

I didn’t have the courage to admit to her that I hadn’t had any tongue action on either set of lips, yet. Instead, I nodded like I knew exactly what she meant.

“What about you? Worst date?” She wasn’t asking about men, but I didn’t really have anything to offer without outing myself, and that hadn’t gone so well with Beck.

“Shannon Darby.” Technically, Shannon was a dude I’d dated in my early twenties, but if I could keep from using pronouns, this wouldn’t be a lie. “Notoriously would order the most expensive things on the menu but conveniently never had any money when the check came. Wallet was in the car or on the counter. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem taking turns paying the bill, but Shannon made scamming free shit off me a full-time job. That dragged on far too long before I called it quits.”

The waiter came back to the table for like the fifth time since we’d finished eating. We’d long since paid the bills—Dutch treat on this outing, which suited me just fine. We’d consumed our food in virtual silence, so when Roxie finally started talking, I hadn’t wanted to interrupt. Looking around, we were one of two couples still seated.

“You want to get out of here?” Roxie placed her napkin on the table. “There’s a great dance club a couple blocks away if you’re up for it.”

We both stood, and Roxie took the lead. I couldn’t help but notice her artistically sculpted ass. The jewels on the pockets did nothing but embellish an already fantastic booty. The sparkles held my attention until we were out the door, and she caught me staring.

Instead of making it awkward, she tossed her head back and laughed before taking my hand to stroll down the sidewalk. She quickly tucked her arm into the crook of mine and admitted, “That totally made my day. Thank you.” With a peck on the cheek, she pointed across the street to a small crowd gathered on a corner. “Over there.”

“Crème?”

“Yep. They always have the best cover bands. Typically, classic rock. Busy but low key. Come on. I know the guy at the door.”

I couldn’t imagine in this Podunk town we’d have a hard time getting in, but sure enough, he was steadily turning people away.

“Roxie.” His eyes scanned her body looking for more than a greeting. “Hey, babe. Where’ve you been?” Before she could answer, he turned his attention to me. “And who’s your friend?” Then he whistled between his teeth.

This guy was Justin in a better body, and his clothes weren’t meant for a woman. I could envision him urinating all over my house and telling me he had marked his territory. I gave him a saccharine-sweet smile and waited.

“This is Giselle.” I stuck out my hand, knowing I’d have to go to the bathroom to wash off the stank once we were inside. “Giselle, this is Luke.” He kissed my knuckles upon introduction, and I had to swallow the bile that rose in my throat.

“Good to see you, Roxie. Don’t be a stranger.” Without any further conversation, he opened the heavy wooden door for us and disappeared when it closed.

Roxie looked back at me with a remorseful gleam in her eye. “Sorry. I know. He really is nice, but he comes on a little strong.”

“No worries.”

The talking ended there. Roxie could dance, and before long, we were both covered in sweat. I’d never heard the band who’d played all night, or been to the club we’d hung out in for the last four hours, but the longer we stayed, the closer we got. Everything about the way she moved was totally seductress. Something about how her shirt clung to her perky ta-tas in her water bra and her jeans that indicated a lack of panties called to me—and every other person in the room.

I’d kept the alcohol flowing between the two of us—one: because it was hot as balls in here, but two: because it kept me from getting stiff. Liquid courage. I wasn’t much of a dancer and needed a little help. With each passing song, we began to explore. My hands on her hips, hers on my ass. She’d turn and gyrate in front of me, pressing herself into my hips, and I’d reciprocate. The guys around us ate up the show. I wasn’t sure if I was turned on by the woman who’d caressed my entire body fully clothed or the men watching us. Neither of us minded when they circled us, became part of our unit, got handsy with one or both of us. I didn’t care. It felt good to be touched—by anyone.

Justin was the closest thing I’d come to a man in weeks, and that had ended miserably. I still hadn’t bought any batteries for BOB, my first date flaked on me and returned to her girlfriend—and right now, I’d take a hand job through my jeans if she could get me off.

“I can make that happen,” she whispered into my ear from behind me.

Surely, I hadn’t said that out loud. Seconds later, with a wall of muscular men blocking the rest of the club from view, Roxie situated our bodies to face each other. And with her hands on my hips and her thigh between mine, I started to grind. Her palm found the dip in my lower back, her forehead landed on the slope between my shoulder and neck, and I easily fell into the same hold. But when I glanced over Roxie to the men behind her, I locked stares with someone I recognized. Those pale-green eyes held my attention with an intensity that almost scared me, but I couldn’t chance his missing the ecstasy that brimmed so close to the surface. Collier’s jaw clenched, and even from a few feet away, his agitation showed every time the muscles in his face went tight. I refused to put any thought into his regard for me, and instead, bit down on Roxie’s trapezius, not hard—just enough to quiet the moan escaping as I rode her leg to a jean-clad orgasm. Even when my eyelids became heavy and my movement slowed, he never moved, and I couldn’t tear my stare away from him. People danced around him, but he stood stoically as though entranced by my pleasure. When I’d finally come down from my little high on the dance floor and moved back from Roxie, I caught just the slightest hint of a smile when he tipped his head and left.

He was forgotten as quickly as he passed through the door. I was on cloud nine with my first lesbian orgasm and couldn’t wait to tell Ronnie. But it didn’t take long for my warmth to turn into discomfort. The dampness left my bikini biscuit longing for air. I needed a breather before I got a yeast infection from an orgasm paired with incredibly tight jeans. I didn’t know what protocol was under these circumstances, but somehow, I determined five minutes was an appropriate amount of time to continue dancing before excusing myself and calling it a night. The orgasm had been so long in coming it zapped what little energy I’d had remaining. Now I just wanted to be naked in my bed…alone.

* * *

Roxie and I said goodbye in the club. She left ahead of me while I went to make one final stop in the ladies’ room to empty my bladder before driving home. I wasn’t terribly steady on my feet but hadn’t realized it until I didn’t have her body in front of me to hold me up. Roxie had already gone out the door when I finished in the restroom. I decided to walk back toward my car before making a decision about my ability to drive, but it wasn’t looking good. Trish was going to flip shit if I called Ronnie to come pick me up at two in the morning—drunk. I didn’t even want to think about how bad work would be in seven hours. My boss would be in court, and I would be alone and hungover, trying to stay awake to appear peppy for anyone who might wander in.

The moment I stumbled out the door, Luke caught me by the elbow. Just as I spun on my heel, I landed in none other than Collier’s arms who broke my pending fall.

“Whoa. You okay?”

I didn’t know which guy had asked. I was too busy trying to keep my balance to pay attention to who spoke. Once back on unsteady footing, I righted myself and attempted to straighten my spine. I looked toward the sidewalk, ready to cuss the step I hadn’t seen, but the ground was smooth. I’d tripped over my own feet, which answered the question about whether I needed to be behind the wheel.

“Hey, Luke. I’m going to take Giselle home. I’ll catch you later.”

I stared up at him. He suddenly seemed much taller and dwarfed me in size when he wrapped his meaty arm around me to help me to my car. Wait, no…his car. “I need to take my car. I have to get to work in the morning.” The words were way more slurred than I expected them to be.

“There’s no way in hell you’re driving anywhere.” He continued in the opposite direction of my Camaro, and I wasn’t in a position to argue.

My escort said nothing further. Even when we reached his shiny, red Porsche, he just opened the door, helped me in, and then pulled the seatbelt across my waist and buckled it. With me safely inside, he closed the door and rounded the car. He didn’t ask for my address, and I didn’t offer. Instead, I sat back and enjoyed the smooth ride, and hoped at some point, he’d let me behind the wheel. Clearly not tonight, but one day. I rolled the window down, hoping the fresh air would sober me up a tad. I wasn’t knee-walking drunk, but I was close. With my eyes closed, the breeze cooled my warm cheeks and aired out my overheated body. Slowly, I began to come down from my orgasm-induced high.

When the car stopped, and I heard him pull the emergency brake, I chanced peering through a slit in my heavy eyelids, only to find us in front of his house.

“What are we doing here?” I didn’t have the energy to put up much of a fight and wasn’t positive my feet would carry me to the door.

“You couldn’t drive. You’ll need a ride in the morning. I wasn’t interested in gallivanting all over town. You can borrow some of my sister’s pajamas and sleep in one of the guest rooms. I’ll drop you off at your car in the morning.” His mouth hung open as though he was about to say something else but stopped himself.

I wanted to be irritated, but I wasn’t in the frame of mind to form any sort of cohesive argument, and he didn’t have to do anything. He could have left me at the bar to wrap my Camaro around a tree. I opted to pout as he got out of the vehicle and came around to my door, repeating the steps in reverse order he’d completed to get me in here. Except, when I stood and nearly fell, his thick arms swooped under my legs and behind my back to carry me inside.

“I don’t know what it is with the women my sister picks. Not a damn one of you has your shit together,” he muttered under his breath.

I didn’t care. I wasn’t interested in his opinion of me, but I didn’t fight the free ride inside. He took me down the same hall toward Beck’s room, but stopped at the first door and set me on the bed.

“I’ll be back. Stay here.”

I wondered if he could possibly communicate in any fewer syllables. Grunting like a caveman was even less attractive than the asshole demeanor he’d presented in the driveway the night I’d met him. I’d seen him a total of three times, and each one, a different personality had reared its head. I giggled as I thought of each one having a different name. I decided this was Brutus. Collier was the pretentious asshole in the driveway. And West was the nice guy who’d been worried about his twin. If there were many more, I wouldn’t be able to keep them straight.

He returned moments later and threw a T-shirt and pair of boxers my direction. “Beck’s door’s locked, and I refuse to interrupt anything that might be going on in there. These will work. There’s a bathroom.” He pointed to the door in the corner. “I’ll get you up in the morning to take you to your car.”

Suddenly, I felt like a child who’d been chastised. My voice was soft and meek when I said, “Okay. Thank you.”

Without another word, he closed the door to the bedroom and left me to myself. I needed sleep, but there was no way I was crawling into someone else’s bed, even alone, covered in bar funk. After a quick shower, I curled up into the most fantastic cocoon of slumber imaginable.

I’d just shut my eyes when the knock on the door came, and Brutus was back. “We need to go. Get up.” There was no way it was morning already, but sure enough, the sun shone through the blinds I hadn’t closed, and apparently, Beck’s brother wasn’t much of a morning person.

I groaned my frustration when I tossed the blankets back and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The room spun, and nausea took over. I barely made it to the bathroom to empty what was left of my stomach into the commode. Clutching the cool porcelain with my bare hands, it took everything I had not to press my face against the rim. Today was shaping up to be miserable.

“Giselle, move it. I’ll be in the car.”

Jesus. He’d given me like two minutes. I hadn’t even peed yet. Throwing up had taken precedence, but now I was afraid if I didn’t get out to the driveway, he’d leave, and I’d be stranded. I stood too quickly and the ground moved beneath me. I opted to rinse out my mouth instead of changing and grabbed my clothes to race to the front door.

Jackass wasn’t kidding. The Porsche hummed in the driveway. I slid in the passenger side, instantly feeling better with my ass on the soft leather. “Wanna switch seats?”

“Like hell. Buckle up. You’re gonna make me late.”

My face scrunched up in displeasure. “Grumpy,” I muttered the word more to myself.

“Yeah, I’m a tad irritated. I got less than five hours of sleep and get to take my sister’s used piece of ass back to her car because she was too drunk to drive. Great way to start the day.”

I swung my head in his direction just as he took a sharp curve. The inertia or gravitational force—or hell, it could have just been the rays of sunshine—sent my stomach into my throat, and before I could ask him to pull over, I’d vomited in his lap and all over his gorgeous car. The smell of sour alcohol and stomach acid was rancid, but the glower he gave me was worse. I swiped my forearm across my mouth, stunned, and waiting for him to respond.

We were still moving when he finally acknowledged he sat covered in puke. “Please tell me you live nearby.”

The man was literally sitting in a pool of my vomit. I had no idea where it had all come from. I’d emptied my stomach at his house. Tears formed with embarrassment, but when I tried to give him my address, he just pointed to the GPS screen. When we arrived at my house, he carefully pulled himself out of the seat, trying to keep as much of it on him as he could to keep it from the black leather interior.

Humiliation didn’t begin to sum up the thoughts running through my head.

I got out at the same time he did and heard the splatter hit the pavement.

“Where’s your hose?”

I ran to the side of the house, each step sending a jarring pain searing through my skull, and the queasiness returned full force. My mouth filled with saliva, and I hunched over with my hands on my knees to dry heave as he made his way toward me. To my surprise, he didn’t turn on the water to clean himself off but took my hair in one hand and rubbed circles on my back with the other. When my stomach finally gave up its hope for a coupe, I stood and unraveled enough of the hose to be of use and turned on the spigot. I turned to offer him the water to find his shirt off and his tan chest on display for the world to see.

In any other scenario, even the most devout of lesbians would have swooned—or at least stopped to admire the attraction—but the funk radiating off his clothes took precedence over his beauty. He took the hose and began to spray the chunks off his T-shirt and then held it out for me to hold. I watched as he unbuttoned his shorts and then slid them off, laying them flat on the ground. I wasn’t sure if West, Collier, or Brutus stood next to my house in nothing but his boxers, and I didn’t want to find out if there was a personality I hadn’t met.

“Do you have a plastic bag or something I can put these in?” He indicated the wet clothing lying on my grass.

I snatched them up and proceeded toward the front door. It dawned on me, I still didn’t have my car, which meant Collier would have another stop to make before returning home. I grabbed a beach bag from my closet and hoped he didn’t comment on the fact it was bright pink with my initials monogrammed on the front. Whether he liked it or not, the plastic liner would keep the bag from being ruined and contain the clothes. I hurried off to the laundry room for supplies to clean up the mess I’d left in his car and raced by without acknowledging him.

A sigh of relief rushed from my mouth when I swung the driver’s side door open and only found remnants of my presence on the steering wheel. I sprayed the paper towels with an all-natural cleaner, grateful it wouldn’t damage the leather, and wiped off any evidence I’d been in the vehicle. The orange scent I sprayed masked the smell that lingered, and then I turned abruptly into a wall of Collier West. My nose was mere inches from his pecs, which I assumed would normally smell like the shirt and boxers he’d given me last night, but today, he wasn’t so fresh. With a step back, I grinned at the bright pink bag in his hand.

“I’m so sorry, Collier.”

“Can you get a ride to your car? I need to go home and shower and have somewhere to be in less than an hour.” The tone of his voice had shifted back to the West who’d been worried about his sister’s broken heart.

“Yeah. Sure. Let me know if I need to have the car cleaned.”

He gave me a quick nod, and I stepped aside so he could get into the vehicle. There was no goodbye or forgiveness granted. The door clipped my hip when he closed it. He was gone, and I was standing in my driveway in his boxers and T-shirt, my clothes in a pile in the floorboard of the Porsche.

* * *

“You’re a cunty-whore, Veronica.”

“You’re just mad because you puked in some hot guy’s car.”

“First of all, I never said he was hot. Secondly, you totally glazed over the fact I had my first orgasm with a woman.”

“You didn’t have to say he was hot, everything you said screamed it loud and clear. And the orgasm doesn’t count if you’re staring at said guy when it happens.”

“It totally fucking counts. My bajingo came to life on her thigh with her hands on my body.”

“You were in a public place, Giselle…and fully clothed. Instead of worrying about Roxie, why don’t we focus on Brutus.”

Figured she’d picked up on his personality disorder—I was known for choosing that trait in men—and not the fact I’d enjoyed an evening with a member of the same sex, gotten sweaty and drunk, danced the night away, and then jizzed in my panties. “Whatever. When you were twelve and experimenting with Donna Darnicks, I didn’t tell you it didn’t count.” I huffed and crossed my arms under my breasts.

I’d called in sick since I couldn’t get to work without calling a cab, and couldn’t pay for a cab because my purse—along with my clothes—were held hostage by the stinky Porsche. I assumed my cell phone was also somewhere in that mess, but thankfully, I was old-school and had been unwilling to give up my landline in case of emergencies. I thought it would be a natural disaster—although I could argue this was just that.

“Not the same, at all.” She flipped through the latest edition of Vogue, barely bothering to humor me. Thankfully, or maybe not so much, Veronica had come over after work.

“It certainly is. A girl has to crawl before she can walk.”

“Sounds like you were crawling last night...but my mouth was on bare skin with Donna Darnicks.”

“My mouth was on Roxie’s skin.” It had been—as I stared into Collier’s eyes and hit my peak, my teeth dug into her exposed shoulder.

“Biting her while staring at a guy isn’t the equivalent of a breast in the mouth.” Her nonchalance irritated me.

“Donna Darnicks didn’t have any breasts when we were twelve, which is why she let you go that far to begin with.”

“Still an erogenous zone. Call me when you have your first vagina encounter. Or hell, I’ll entertain this when you get fingered by a girl.”

“God, Ronnie, you act like I should be slutting it up.”

Her long fingers closed the magazine she hadn’t really been reading. And her face was masked with a devious grin. “You should be…with Collier. When are you going to stop acting like you’re Cuntzilla on the prowl and go back to what you know?”

My tone changed. I hadn’t been able to articulate my point, because in Ronnie’s mind, until I ate the pink truffle, nothing I did counted. “I really liked her, V. Roxie was a ton of fun to hang out with.”

“Yeah. Beck was too until she showed you her goods. Being heterosexual isn’t the end of the world, Gizzy. It’s just who you are.”

“You’ll see.”

She dismissed my feelings as quickly as she’d negated my experience. “Look, I’m still on Trish’s shit list so I can’t stay out. Do you want me to take you to get your car?”

We rode in silence, and when I got out of the car, she leaned over before I closed the door. “Sorry, Gizzy. If you like this girl, then go out with her again. Just make sure you don’t hurt her in the process.”

“Bye, V.”

With my spare key in hand, I got into the Camaro and breathed a sigh of relief to see my cell phone sitting in my cup holder and not in the floorboard of Collier’s 911. I’d felt like I was missing a limb without it and had no idea when I’d get my stuff back from Collier. Sadly, I had determined I’d rather cancel my credit cards and buy a new purse than face him again.

Something about the purr of the engine always relaxed me instantly, and this time was no different. Music filled the air as I cleared out emails and listened to voice messages. There were multiple texts from Ronnie last night, and then Beck and Roxie today. I shot Roxie a reply telling her how much I enjoyed our date, and we made plans to hang out this weekend. And just before I pulled out, I called Beck, who was bored and lying out by her brother’s pool in what remained of the sun.

“Come over.” Whining didn’t sound good on anyone but me.

I assumed she had no idea I’d been there last night, or that I’d puked in her brother’s car this morning, but I couldn’t risk a run-in. “I’m just going to go home. I was out late and need to get some sleep. I can’t miss work again tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, how’d your date go?”

When I began to tell her the details, she stopped me twice, trying to persuade me once more to stop by and give her the lowdown then. “I don’t think your brother really likes it when I show up, Beck.”

“Who cares? He’s not here. He had some business shindig in the city. He told me he wouldn’t be home until late. So I think it’s safe to say that would not be six o’clock in the afternoon.”

“I don’t have a suit.”

“You can borrow one of mine. I’ll see you in ten.” She hung up before I could voice any further objection, and I turned my car toward the West mansion.

Beck met me at the front door with a pitiful excuse for a swimsuit in hand. She led me to the first bedroom downstairs, the same one I’d stayed in last night, to change. I hadn’t expected her to flop down onto the bed that someone had made since I was last here, while I stripped, but I figured this would be good practice for the real thing. My shirt came over my head, and I shimmied out of my shorts and panties. When I dropped my bra on the pile at my feet, she sat straight up. I might be thirty-nine, but I worked hard to keep my body in the shape of a twenty-five-year-old. Other than wine, I didn’t partake of any indulgences—including carbs. And I ran every morning…well, except this morning because I was otherwise preoccupied, but any other morning, I didn’t go anywhere until I logged five miles on the pavement.

“Damn, Giselle.”

She had a girlfriend, and I didn’t need her to elaborate. There was a difference in women who were naturally slender, which Beck was, and women like me who worked out to stay that way. Where all Beck’s angles were rounder, softer, my muscles were defined, not like a body builder, but like a runner. I looked lean, not skinny, and I was proud of it.

The swimsuit covered the necessary bits, but not by much. Although I had to admit, I loved it and wished we were heading out to the beach where it could be appreciated. The white fabric made my tan appear darker, and the cheeky bottoms showed just enough of my rear end to be tasteful but hot.

Beck slapped my bare ass when I bent over to pick up my clothes and fold them neatly in a pile on the bed. I gave her a teasing grin, but it was all in good fun. She wasn’t trying to sleep with me, and I wasn’t looking for anything other than sun.

Somewhere around seven, the daylight started to hide behind the horizon, and the air cooled. My stomach growled for the first time since the incident this morning, and I finally felt human enough to eat. Vitamin D had amazing healing properties. Lying next to the pool, Beck pulled out her phone and ordered food, and asked them to bring it around to the back when they got here.

“They’re not going to do that.”

“Trust me. Delivery driver pulls up out front and sees this house…they walk around back because they know they’ll get a hefty tip.”

“Oh, shit. Beck, I don’t have my purse with me.”

She shrugged one shoulder and dropped her unnecessary sunglasses back onto her nose before leaning back. “I charged it to Collier’s credit card anyhow.”

“What?” Even the birds stopped chirping when they heard my shrill cry. “No. Beck, you can’t charge stuff to your brother’s credit card. That’s insane.”

She blew me off with a wave of the hand. “I do it all the time. He doesn’t know the difference.”

Somehow, I doubted that. He seemed the type to itemize every bill with matching receipts. There was no point in arguing. Collier had my purse, I had no cash, and Beck had already ordered. I decided to throw caution to the wind. He wouldn’t be here to see me, so he wouldn’t know I’d been the one she fed. Beck could deal with the fallout on her own.

That was until a furious Collier stomped out onto the patio. I saw Beck’s face before I saw him. My back was to him, and I was standing on the edge of the pool about to jump in when his voice roared around me. “For the love of God, Beck. Stop using my fucking credit cards to entertain your girlfriends. And tell them to stop parking in the fucking driveway. They can use the pad on the side of the house.”

My ass had been on full display, my long, brown hair cascading down my back. I wanted to be shocked by his tone, but this was exactly what I’d tried to avoid when Beck promised me he wouldn’t be there. When I turned to see his face, Collier had on the remains of a tuxedo I would bet my left breast had been tailored specifically for him. His hands roosted on his hips, the jacket draped over his bent arm, and the bowtie hung undone around his neck. My mouth gaped open at the sight. Thankfully, no drool dribbled out during the interaction.

When he realized who I was, his sneer turned into a smirk, and his eyes scanned the length of me before settling back on the top that did little to cover my pebbled nipples. Before I could even say hello, Beck started barking back at her brother.

“Stop being such a cheap ass. It was only dinner, and Giselle is just a friend.”

“Friend, my ass. She’s out making twat sandwiches as fast as she can eat them, just like you are.”

The gape in my jaw went from dumbfounded to disillusioned—I hadn’t had a single tangy treat. But all this guy knew was I’d shown up when his sister was half dressed the first night we’d met, then he’d seen me hump Roxie’s leg like a damn dog last night.

“No one’s eating twat sandwiches, including you. Jesus, you need to get laid. Maybe if you spent half as much time looking for someone to enjoy life with instead of ways to make more money than you can spend, you wouldn’t be such a miserable old miser.”

I had not a clue what to do here. Standing stock-still between the twins, they shouted over me, each insult more painful than the last. I didn’t have siblings, so I had no idea if this was normal, but I was uncomfortable as all hell. Slowly, I backed away from the pool and managed to make my way around Collier without either of them stopping to take a breath.

Just before I took a step through the French doors back into the house to make my getaway, Beck screamed at her brother, “Way to go, asshat. The best thing that could happen to you just witnessed your ability to go from appealing to appalling in thirty seconds flat.”

I couldn’t process the words and move fast enough, so I chose to focus on escape. Once inside, the air conditioning assaulted my heated body. A chill raced from the top of my spine to the base, and my skin felt tight like I’d been baking in the sun all day. The marble was cool on the bottoms of my feet, but nothing topped the icy-cold way Collier hollered my name after I shut the door to the guest room.

I quickly stripped out of the wet swimsuit in a race to put my clothes on and run to my car, but just as the bikini bottoms hit the floor, Collier charged into the room. I turned to face the door, assuming it was Beck. And there I stood. Naked as the day was long, while Collier turned every shade of red imaginable.