Page 17 of Five Brothers

Guilt nips at me, because I’m really glad I left his room lastnight. What happened afterward was certainly weird. Would I do it again? Yes.

“But you did come with me, right?” he asks, studying me. “Like you didn’t fake it all summer, right? You were just teasing me about that?”

I finally let out a chuckle. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t have the heart to burst his bubble. Honestly, I never really minded. I didn’t come with Milo, either. I just liked being touched. Being close to someone.

But last night …

On the couch …

That was something I didn’t know existed.

I have every confidence Trace will get better with time, but I don’t think it will ever be like that with us.

He stands up, tsking. “You’re so mean to me. I always had an orgasm with you.”

I snort, but as soon as he disappears into the kitchen, I scurry to find my skirt. I spot it on the side of the coffee table and grab it. Standing, I pull it on and zip it up.

Dallas rounds the banister just as I finish and slows as soon as he sees me. I go still.

His gaze never leaves mine as he heads past me, and while his eyes are the same color as Trace’s, they look completely different on Dallas.

I glance down, seeing the bracelet on his wrist. My stomach sinks. Whoever it was last night would probably still be wearing it this morning.

He enters the kitchen, and I bolt for the bathroom. Down the hall, into the half bath under the stairs. I close and lock the door, pulling up my skirt and sitting on the toilet.

Jesus Christ. How could I not stop him last night? At least to wear a condom? I’m sure I’m not pregnant. I’ve been on birthcontrol since I was fourteen, but every single Jaeger sleeps around. Except Liv, of course.

I grab toilet paper and wipe, feeling the slickness between my legs as he leaves me. I clean myself up and flush, looking in the mirror.

I’m breathing hard again, but I just stare, letting myself process.

A bracelet. Bare chest against my back. Tall. He smelled amazing and tasted like meat with a hint of bourbon. And the beer he’d just swallowed.

He didn’t speak much above a whisper, he had rough hands, and there was so much heat on his tongue. All of the brothers could probably fit most of that description.

Fuck.

I look down at my body, not seeing any visible marks yet, but I feel them. An ache between my legs, some red on my neck from when he squeezed it. My arms are sore and my scalp hurts, but I’m not in pain. In fact, I fight not to smile as I feel all of it. Proof that he had me in his hands.

Could it have been Trace? He would’ve felt comfortable enough to go after me like that. None of the others have even looked at me twice. I didn’t see any tattoos, and Trace doesn’t have any yet, but then again, I didn’t see much of the man’s skin at all. Just the hands, wrists, maybe a forearm. Iron has a tattoo there. Would I have noticed it in the dark?

I grab someone’s brush on the edge of the sink and smooth out my hair, then take the tube of toothpaste and put some on my finger, wiping it over my teeth and rinsing.

I have to leave. If it was Dallas, he won’t be kind about it this morning.God, please let it not be Dallas.He hates Saints. He’s never been civil to me, let alone kind. As far as he’s concerned, we’re good for one thing.

And I really hope I didn’t give that one thing to him last night.

I head out of the bathroom, fold the blanket in the living room, and search the coffee table for my keys.

But they’re not there.

Spinning around, I scan the floor and then drop down on all fours, looking under the couch. Nothing. Did someone pick them up?

I hear Trace’s laugh, followed by Dallas’s cursing. There’s at least one other person in there, cooking. I groan, smoothing out my clothes and hair as I inch around the corner to look in the kitchen.

Army stands at the stove, flipping bacon with a dish towel hanging out of his back jeans pocket, the sun making his dark brown hair and the skin on his back look golden. The tentacles of the octopus tattoo drape over his shoulder blade.

His one-year-old son, Dex, jumps up and down as he stands on Trace’s lap, the half-eaten Cheerios and banana left at his high chair. His new white sneakers with the black Nike symbol are always on his feet because he’s just learned to walk, and his uncles couldn’t wait for all the new doors that was going to open. Soccer, climbing trees, walking dogs … But I think it’ll be a few years before he’s ready for any of that. Doesn’t stop them from buying him shoes, though.

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