Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Stop what?”
“I already told you she’s off-limits.”
The Jackson brothers have been telling me for years that their sister is off-limits. It just didn’t matter until last summer. I’d been busy with school and hadn’t seen Shayleigh in months when I came out to the Jackson family cabin with Carter. Shay was here and suddenly she was . . . more. It’s not like I didn’t know she was pretty before. She’s always been pretty. She’s also always been really fucking special to me. Something about Shay brings me peace when I need it the most. She’s the only person I’ve ever met who can chill my anxiety just by sitting next to me.
But sometime between when I’d seen her at Christmas and when I came out here last summer, she went from the pretty-but-quiet little sister of my best friend to the kind of beautiful it’s hard to look away from. Or maybe it happened long before last summer, and the swimsuit brought it to my attention. Because Shayleigh Jackson in a swimsuit, with her long legs, soft thighs, and full breasts—no idea when that happened. She wasn’t simply the Jackson sister anymore. She was a fucking siren, and I was going to drown trying to resist her. With her dark hair falling around her shoulders and that wide smile and easy laugh, how could I not notice?
And I noticed a few too many times, because Carter caught me staring and tore into me.
Carter looks to the house then to me, and I can practically see him calculating the pros and cons of locking his sister away to protect her virtue.
“I told you I wouldn’t hurt her,” I say.
Carter grunts. “Somehow, that’s not comforting.” He sighs. “She’s seventeen.”
“I know.”
“And you’re moving to California next month.”
“I know.”
“She’s so smart, East. She’s only a junior, and she’s already got colleges chasing her. Did you know she’s fluent in French?”
Did you know she’s incredibly fucking insecure and has no idea what her value is? I don’t ask.
I know I shouldn’t be the man to show her just how beautiful she is, but I want to be anyway. “Does she . . . does she have a boyfriend?” I ask. Carter’s glare would melt a lesser man, but I turn up my palms. “I’m not asking your permission to take her virginity. I’m asking if she has a boyfriend. This is normal conversation.”
“I can’t believe you just said that,” he growls.
“What?”
“I don’t even want you thinking about my sister’s virginity.”
“Again, I’m asking about a boyfriend.”
“No. She doesn’t. She’s too focused on school to date, I think.”
Or she’s too convinced that she’s . . . What did Hilary call her? A fat tagalong? Jesus. If I’d known, I never would have let that fly.
Carter studies me. “Why?” One word, hundreds of warnings.
I shrug. “Just curious how much she tells you.”
Carter frowns. “Wait. What’s that supposed to mean? Do you know something? Does she have a boyfriend?”
“You really are the protective big brother cliché.” I press my palm between his shoulder blades and give him a good shove toward the beach. “The party is waiting.”
As I suspected, it’s less than fifteen minutes until Carter is completely distracted and I can head back to the house without him noticing. I used the time to circulate and listen to everyone’s congrats. Carter’s right. I should be out there. This is my celebration. Lifelong dream accomplished. But there’s only one person I want to celebrate with. One person with killer soft curves and a beautiful smile who owes me a secret.
Shay’s not in the kitchen where we left her. Did she go down to the bonfire and I missed her? I check the basement. Nothing. I head back to the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge, ready to give up. Then I hear the screech of old pipes and realize a shower is shutting off.
Grinning, I stride toward the stairs and climb to the second floor. By the time Shay pushes out of the bathroom in a puff of steam, I’m leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded.
She jumps. “Jesus, Easton. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
I don’t answer. My own heart is having some issues. Mainly, it’s racing like it’s trying to force me forward with its momentum—toward her.
I did not think this through.
She’s in a fluffy light blue robe. It’s tied at the waist but gapes open at her chest, giving me a view of the swell of her cleavage. Her wet hair is combed out of her face and falls in light waves down her back.
It would be so easy to tug on the waistband of her robe, to pull her to me and slide my hands inside, to cup her breasts and lower my mouth to hers. Easy, but a fucking death sentence.