Page 64 of Twins For My Bestie's Brother

“I don’t know. I’d be nervous to have one somewhere I can’t hide,” Kayla says with a demure roll of her eyes.

I laugh. “You know your grandfather can’t be mad at you if you get a tattoo now.” I’ve done several for Kayla over the years. Mostly quotes from books and poems, all in secret spots that someone wouldn’t be able to see unless she was naked or wearing an itsy-bitsy bikini, which isn’t Kayla’s style anyway.

“I know he can’t, I just . . . ” Kayla trails off, a faraway look in her blue eyes. She can’t hide those looks from me though, especially not when they’re magnified through her glasses. “You know, I can’t shake the whole premise ofwhyhe didn’t like tattoos.”

I smile sympathetically. Kayla and Jackson’s mother is the reason for that. Of course, tattoos don’t account for drug addictions and misdemeanors. But it was one thing on a list ofthings that Peter Roy did not want his grandchildren engaging in. The only reason he never gave me crap for it in the couple of years he knew me as a tattoo artist before his death was because he was friends with my parents and saw that as a completely different can of worms. “One day when you’re ready. I’ll give you the best tattoo ever.”

“I know you will,” she says with a loving smile.

I grab the sandwich she brought for me, carefully unwrapping the wax paper. “I’m surprised you’re not afraid of needles like Jackson.”

“He told you about that?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Kayla laughs. “I shouldn’t be surprised at this point, just . . . takes some getting used to that I’m not the only one who holds his secrets.”

I get a small flutter in my belly. I won’t tell her he told me about that fear before any of the dates or ‘I love yous.’ But I’m honored to know he was already giving me intimacy then, and I didn’t even know it. “You’re still his sister. No replacing that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not jealous,” she snickers, then bops me on the arm softly. “I’m happy for you guys. Really.”

If she was jealous, I wouldn’t blame her. Jackson and I monopolize each other’s time, as tends to happen in the honeymoon of a relationship. Except this doesn’t feel like a honeymoon, it feels much deeper than that. I take a big bite of the sandwich and moan. “Mm. Roast beef. The best,” I say with a mouthful of food.

The door dings open and, surprise, surprise, in walks Jackson. He wears a ski bib under his sporty winter coat which dangles open. For someone who has spent most of the morning outside in the dead of winter, he’s running hot. Sweaty forehead, red face. “Hey, girls.”

My entire body tightens with affection.

Not to mention this morning he woke me up with an erection pressed against my back which led to some of the best, laziest sex I’ve ever had. I’m still flushed from that orgasm.

He holds up the coffee holder in his hand, all four slots filled with various sizes of coffee. “Got coffee.”

I swallow down my roast beef and then smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Kayla shakes her head. “I thought you’d be used to it at this point.”

I flush. I’m not. Really not. Will never went out of his way. And while I try not to compare Jackson to Will, sometimes it’s impossible not to reflect on how little I was accepting while giving all of myself. Now, I’m cherished and adored, and I feel it, even when it’s just a cup of coffee.

Jackson sidles up to Kayla. “Medium oat milk flat white, two pumps of vanilla, a sprinkle of cinnamon,” he says, handing Kayla a cup.

“Thankyou,” she says liltingly.

I eye the tray. “Is that a cold brew?”

Jackson laughs and threads his hand through his sweaty hair. “I’m so fucking hot.”

“Yes, you are, but that wasn’t my question.”

Kayla groans. “Eww.”

But Jackson appreciates the compliment. He leans in to kiss me.

“I just took a bite of my sandwich,” I warn.

“I’m sweaty. I think we’re a good match.”

He gives me a peck over the counter which every cell in my body savors, before pulling out a small Americano for me, then his cold brew.

“How was the . . . trek? Is that what you’d call it?” I ask.

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