Page 46 of Borrowing My Bestie's Brothers

But right as I was filled with a burning need to work out how the hell he was doing it, he stepped in and deigned to teach me what to do. I was a fairly results-oriented person, so I was willing to accept his advice, but that’s not what that felt like.

I’d checked Hayden out plenty of times. The quieter one of the twins, he looked exactly the same as Hunter, but the difference in their personalities somehow made this easier. I knew he was big, tall, solidly muscled, and smelled really nice, but knowing that and feeling all that pressed against me was a whole other thing. Whatever resistance I worked hard to maintain in my head: that he was Millie’s brother, that he was a model, gorgeous and completely out of my league, was shoved to one side, and when he told me to breathe, I did, because I’d stopped doing that the minute his arms wrapped around me.

This was fake.

This was fake, fake, fake, I tried to tell my heart, but it just beat harder, faster, as if I was teetering on the edge of a cliff, not being positioned to make my throw. His words barely registered, nothing he was trying to teach me absorbed. Instead, I moved, did what he told me to and then… the axe hit the bullseye.

What made me turn and wrap my arms around his neck like I had a right to? Like this really was a date and he was a guy intent on impressing me? I expected him to stiffen, disengage, and set me awkwardly aside, but instead, his grip tightened. His eyes dropped down, watching me stare at his mouth as seconds, minutes, days went past, before I realised what I was doing.

Making my best friend’s brother uncomfortable.

He was probably mentally rehearsing a polite but firm brush off, so I stepped clear of him, my hands going behind my back, one wrapping around the other wrist. Focus on axe throwing, I told myself, on winning the bet, on?—

“OK, so, if that was your turn, then it’s my turn now?” I asked.

His slow smile let me know everything was OK and I turned, letting out a long breath as I walked away to retrieve the axes.

Keep my body loose, don’t grip the handle too tightly, don’t imagine the target as Clinton. I repeated the advice over and over as I stepped up and threw again. Not quite as good as when Hayden was helping, but still, it thudded into the inner ring.

“So that’s a ten?” I asked.

“What?” He blinked and then shook his head. “Um, yeah, so with the bullseye from before that brings you to 35.”

“And you’re forty.” I stared at the number on the scorecard like it’d personally offended me, but he grabbed his axe and then walked up to the lane.

Which was when inspiration struck.

When I played pool with the guys at the pub, there was a series of dirty tricks people pulled to put each other off. One was the guys flopping out their dicks when you were about to take your shot, something Millie had stopped firmly. Others were shouting something unintelligible the moment you moved your cue, queering your strike. I figured I could try something similar right now to even the score, but what? Flashing my vagina at the axe throwing place would get us thrown out, not help me win, and that’s when I looked down.

The bust of the dress was made up of two panels, each one hugging my breasts. The V dropped down low, but everything was secured by those cupped panels, so this might work. I moved closer, standing just beside him as Hayden went to throw.

“Do you think this dress is too low cut for a dinner date?”

“What?”

Tits, man, they got a guy’s attention every time, even men who thought of you as a surrogate sister. His head whipped around, his whole body twisting as he released the axe, the blade bouncing off the wire fencing panel that blocked off the other lane. I grinned as he stared at my bust.

“Ah… no, I don’t think…” His voice trailed away as I burst out laughing.

“My turn now?” I said, kicking up my heels as I went to retrieve the axes, but when I went to move to the line and throw, he was blocking off the exit.

“So it’s like that, is it?” I’d never heard his voice drop down into a low growl before. “Well, if we’re playing dirty…”

He was wearing a nice pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a shirt over that, sleeves rolled up over his forearms, but he moved slowly, pulling the shirt off with all of the finesse of a male stripper, before moving into a pose that made every muscle pop.

Damn…

There was no reason for me to stare. I’d seen him in the pool often enough, or just walking around shirtless in summer. Free the nipple, Millie asserted, and the guys had taken that campaign to heart. Yet somehow I was just standing there, tracing every line of his body with my eyes, as if they could peer past the thin cotton of his t-shirt.

And I wasn’t the only one.

The girls down the end had been shrieking and cackling all night, obviously having an awesome time on the bride’s hen’s night, but those sounds grew louder as several stampeded over. Teetering on perilously high heels, I frankly admired the girls’ ability to stay upright, but they did as they came closer.

“Oh my god.” One girl slapped her hand down on her chest. “You’re that guy from the… From the…”

“That billboard,” another sighed. “How the hell are you hotter in real life?”

“Um… thanks?” he said, taking a step back.

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