“Why’s that?”
Her nose wrinkles. “There are too many rules in ballet.”
“And you don’t like following them?”
She grins. “Not really. It killed my feet too.” She shrugs. “Contemporary felt more me. I don’t think about anything, just listen to the music and move my body. It’s freeing in a way that ballet wasn’t. For me, at least. I felt too restricted, and all I wanted to do was stand out.”
“That’s pretty cool. It must feel nice to find your niche.”
Jennie gets this super-psyched look on her face, like my youngest sister Gabby when I answer her FaceTime request. She grips my forearm. “My Christmas recital is coming up. You could come see it with Carter and Olivia. Emmett and Cara are coming too.”
Her smile dissolves at my hesitation and blank expression. She releases my arm, averts her gaze, and shifts away. I watch the way her personality slips away as she shuts back down, creeping back behind whatever wall she’s built to keep people at bay.
But this version of her here tonight, talking easily and laughing with me, I want to hang on to that.
“I’m heading home for a couple days over Christmas, but if the dates line up, I’ll definitely come watch you kick ass on stage.”
She regards me warily for a moment before her shoulders unfurl and her legs flop back down between us. “I don’t wanna brag, but I’m the best one up there.”
I flick her foot. “There’s that trademark Beckett arrogance.” She giggles, kicking my fingers away. When her feet land in my lap, my hand covers her ankles.
“Sure, but I worked my ass off to be sure of myself and my talent, so I’ll own that title.”
“I like that. You should be confident and proud of yourself.”
Our eyes lock as we smile at each other. I take in her deep-set dimples, her heart-shaped lips, the way they curve in the righthand corner, like she’s got a secret.
I’ve got an urge to make a big fucking oopsie, which should tell me it’s time to pack up and get outta here, especially since in the time we’ve been chatting, the game has ended. Instead, my mouth opens, and I don’t know what’s going to come out until it comes.
“Wanna finish watching the movie?”
Fuck. What a fucking mistake.
Because twenty minutes later, Jennie’s half-buried in some sort of blanket burrito, clutching a pillow to her chest, shaking violently as she sobs, “Can You Feel The Love Tonight” playing through the TV, and I’m just howling uncontrollably.
“Shut up!” She smashes the pillow to my face.
“It’s not even a sad part!”
“It’s emotional! They’ve found each other after all this time apart, and they were best friends, and it’s-it’s-it’s…shut up! Stop laughing at me!”
I don’t, but I do dodge the second pillow she chucks. Dublin’s passed out by the fireplace, completely unfazed, even though this girl beside me has been anything but quiet all night.
“You give off this real badass vibe, but I’ve seen you cry three times this week, and two of them were tonight during a Disney movie.”
She’s not even throwing the pillow anymore, just holding it to my face, trying to smother me, her body squirming against mine. My laughter only seems to spur her on.
Jennie sends me toppling sideways, and I flop to my back as she falls between my legs.
“Shut…up…Gare…Bear!”
“I have three little sisters. You’re not gonna win, sunshine.”
“I grew up with Carter,” she grunts, hands clasping mine as she tries to pin me to the couch. “He pissed me off daily.”
“Sure.” I wind one arm around her waist and flip her over, pinning her below the weight of my body, my fingers overlapping her wrists. “But I’m not your brother.”
And thank fuck for that.
Jennie peers at me from beneath dark lashes, cheeks rosy, lips parted with her staggered breaths. Our chests rise and fall together, quick and heavy, like the thudding in my ears. I’m painfully aware of the warm spot between her thighs where I’ve settled, and my chest roars with need.
There’s a voice in the back of my mind telling me to disengage, to head home before I make any mistakes I can’t take back.
Because this right here? Me and her, my best friend and captain’s little sister, tangled together? A mistake you don’t walk away from.
But then Jennie’s hazy blue eyes drop to my lips, and her hips move just slightly, an invitation, one I don’t think I can turn down.
“I win,” I whisper, and I drop my face at the same time she tips her chin.
My mouth covers hers without hesitation, tasting, taking. Fuck, do I ever wanna take. She’s soft and sweet, eager and hesitant at the same time, and my pulse hammers the longer I explore her. I run my tongue over the seam of her lips, asking for permission. I want in, and I don’t know if I’ll want to leave.
She opens for me, legs winding around my waist, letting me closer than I ever thought I’d be. My tongue meets hers with a slow sweep, and when her hips lift, grinding against me, a jagged whimper leaves her mouth.
And then a gasp.
Jennie stiffens below me, and I know. I’m done. I’ve fucked up.
I shuffle backward the second she wriggles free of my grasp. She starts doing the crab walk, right until she tumbles over the edge of the couch with a squeal, ass in the air in her teensy, tiny shorts.
“I’m sorry.” I climb to my feet and reach for her, trying to help her up, but she keeps on keepin’ on with the crab walk, all the way out of the living room and down the hall, eyes wide as she gawks at me. “I’m sorry, Jennie. I didn’t mean…I don’t…I don’t know what came over me.”
She bumps into the wall and clutches the back of her head. “Ow!”
“For fuck’s sake, let me help you up.” I hoist her to her feet before she can slap my hands away, and she promptly darts up the stairs, hobbly ankle and all. “Jennie—”
“I’m tired! So tired! Bedtime!” She waves a flappy hand at the door. “You can just…let yourself out. Lock up when you leave! Good night, Garrett Andersen!”
She trips, falling to her hands and knees at the top of the staircase while rambling about how she just called me by my full name. Then she disappears, followed by the sound of a door slamming.
Fuck. I’m so fucking fucked. What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t, that’s the problem. Not with the head on my neck, that’s for sure.
I look down at my dick. I’m thoroughly disappointed in him, and I’m about to tell him so.
“Can’t fuckin’ keep it in your pants for one fuckin’ night, Lieutenant Johnson? C’mon, dude. Carter’s goddamn little sister,” I mutter, scrubbing my face as I wander back down the hall.
Dublin yawns and stretches before trotting over and licking my hand. He curls up on a cushion in the kitchen while I clean the mess we made before promptly escorting myself out the front door. I need to dip my blue balls in some snow.
“Fuck,” I repeat for at least the fifteenth time in the last five minutes, softly banging my head against the door. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”