Well, this is interesting. Also, I’m no longer feeling insecure. Thank you, Mr. Andersen.
To most people, I’m simply Carter Beckett’s little sister. I see the struggle there, the expression Garrett wears. I’m my own person, but he’s reminded that I’m untouchable by nature, because of my brother. There’s a physical attraction, one he’s battling with.
Still, when I climb into the hot tub, Garrett’s head moves between me and the pool, five whole damn times, like he can’t decide how close he’s allowed to be to me. I rest my head and close my eyes so that he can make the decision without whatever pressure he feels he’s currently under, and a minute later I hear the quiet lapping of water.
Cracking a lid, I watch Garrett swim up and down the length of the pool, and I resist the urge to snort. Not a workout, my ass.
Content in knowing he’s not going to die, I turn the massage jets on high, enjoy the way the pain in my ankle dissipates, and relax with a happy sigh.
I don’t know how long it’s been when a cool, damp hand lands on my shoulder, jolting me awake with a gasp, and Garrett’s turquoise eyes peer into mine.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. You fell asleep. I called your name a couple times.”
My brain begs me to formulate a response. Instead, I study the shape of his lips, the way the bottom one is slightly puffier, the perfect bow that sits on top, the bit of scruff that surrounds them and makes his jawline a hundred times more rugged than it needs to be.
Towering above me, he stands there in all his flexed muscle glory, soaked to the bone, shaggy hair a rich golden color, like honey, droplets of water pooling at the tips until they drip down his face. In fact, I watch a particularly fat droplet hit his top lip, watch the way Garrett’s tongue darts out to catch it. Then I find the one rolling slowly down his chest, a river etching a path through his muscles. That bad boy keeps on rolling, right until it disappears into the waistband of his bathing suit shorts.
Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve hit the Holy Grail in flickpick material.
Garrett’s gaze drops to my chest, then ricochets back to my face. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I manage, super croaky.
His eyes bounce down again, then back up. Down, once more. Up. Jesus Christ, down again? Seriously? I know I have boobs there, but has the guy not seen enough sets of perfect tits? What’s so interesting about these ones?
Looking down at myself, I inwardly groan. My nipples are rock hard, saluting him through the bathing suit that does absolutely nothing to disguise that I’m turned on right now. Stupid fucking nipples. Stand down, soldiers.
I roll my eyes and flick water at him. “We get it, Garrett; you’re hot. You don’t have to stand there half-naked and soaking wet and rub your hotness in our face.”
He beams with pride before his forehead creases. “We?”
“Yes, we.” I gesture at my nipples. “Don’t act like you haven’t noticed. Your eyes can’t stay on my face for more than two seconds.”
“Well, I didn’t…I mean, they’re…hard,” he finally finishes with a sigh, followed by a barely audible fuck.
This guy is the most terrible combination of godawful at flirting and horrendously awkward, and part of me wants to bury my face in a pillow and scream. The other part of me finds it intoxicating, adorably charming, notching his fuck me factor up to a full ten.
Highly annoying. I don’t like it.
Garrett claps his fist into his opposite hand, rocking back on his heels. “Um, should we…are you…let’s…” He points to the door. “Bed?” His jaw hangs as he quickly attempts to backtrack, eyes full of fear as he waves his hands in front of his face. “I didn’t mean together. Not, like, you and me, in bed, together. That’s not what I meant.”
“Right.”
“I meant you in your bed and me in mine. Fuck. Gross.”
My brows rise slowly. “Gross?”
“What? No. Not gross.”
“You said gross.”
“But I didn’t mean…it wouldn’t be gross. It would be great. No. That came out wrong too.” He squeezes his eyes shut, head wagging frantically. “I have a concussion,” he finally spits out, then holds his hand out. “Can I help you out?”
“Are you sure you want to touch me? You might get my cooties. Imagine how gross that would be.”
Garrett cracks a grin that turns into a soft, hearty chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing. “I deserved that. I’m ready to go, but if you want to stay longer, I don’t mind hanging—”
“No.” I dislodge my ass from my seat, wading through the hot water. “I’m ready for bed.” I take Garrett’s outstretched hand, letting him help me out.
I sink down to the bench, sliding into my slippers while Garrett fetches us some towels. Exhaustion hits me like a brick to the face, and I rest against the wall. The deck is humid and steamy, slatted bamboo walls reminiscent of a sauna, and sleep begs to pull me under.
When Garrett returns with a towel, I stand and yawn, stretching my arms overhead.
“What the—” I spin, trying to slap at my back where I feel my strap pulling, like it’s caught on something. My weak ankle buckles under the pressure of the sudden movement, slipping from underneath me.
My life flashes before my eyes as I tumble face first toward the hot tub. Garrett flies forward, arms coming around me, sandwiching me between his glorious body and the wall.
“That was a close one.” His chuckle dies as quickly as it starts. “Holy fuck.”
His labored breathing washes over my face as he holds me tight to him. My chest heaves at the contact as my body reminds me for the umpteenth time that the man is fine as hell and battery-powered boyfriends can only satisfy so much.
He feels so nice, his skin hot on mine, the feel of his bare chest pressed against my bare—
“No,” I whisper-gasp, shaking my head, fingernails biting into his shoulders.
His eyes hold pity and so, so much fear. “Yes.”
My gaze falls, landing on my bikini top on the wet floor, halfway between us and the hot tub. My body reacts before my brain has time to catch up.
With a scream that echoes off the tiles, I shove against Garrett’s broad chest, pushing him off me. Not my smartest moment. Now I’m topless and my nipples are so hard, they’re sharp enough to cut ice.
But perhaps worst part of all is what Garrett wears: a massive-as-fuck hard-on, stretching his bathing suit so far that it’s gaping from his waist. I’m not kidding, but I wish I were.
So I keep screaming, and pointing, one arm slapped across my boobs, the other flailing wildly in the direction of his junk, and now Garrett’s screaming, too, eyes ricocheting between his tented shorts and my boobs.
“Tuck it away!” I shriek at him.
“You tuck those away!” he shrieks back.
“Stop looking!”
“You stop looking!”
“Garrett!”
“Jennie!”
We must cover our eyes at the same time, because one second I’m staring at his erection, and then next I’m running aimlessly. I bounce off his solid chest, and something hard pokes me in the belly button.