Page 2 of Too Sweet
If Cody didn’t want his car serving as a fuck-bench for the night, he should’ve parked in the garage. Although, he probably pulled the short straw with Colt and Conor, who form two-thirds of the Holy Trinity: identical triplets.
The garage has five spaces, but I own three cars, so one of my brothers parks under the clouds.They don’t complain.They can’t. I let them move in with me the summer after they graduated high school, so they could spread their wings like teenagers should, away from our overprotective mother’s watchful eyes.
That was two years ago. They’retwentynow, and that sure makes me feel old. I still remember the day they were born. They’re turning twenty-one in a few months, but Mom still treats them like they’re five at most. Maybe because they came as a surprise nine years after my parents decided four sons were enough kids to have.
Or maybe because they’re wild.
I insert the key into the lock and take a deep breath to cool my jets before I turn it, rather proud I didn’t smoke.
Stick to the plan.
Fifteen minutes. In and out. Shower, change of clothes, then out again, away from the mayhem till it passes, and my garden will be mine again by tomorrow.
I push the door open, and I’m fuming again.
Last year, after the triplets threw their first Spring Break Inauguration party, I remodeled the ground floor. Not by choice. The damage their idiot friends caused forced my hand, so this year, I set hard rules.
The main one: don’t let anyone inside the house.
Looks like that’s too much to ask for because the door to the guest bathroom down the corridor stands wide open. Conor is there, leaning against the frame. A puzzled expression taints his features, and he’s cluelessly scratching his chin.
Colt’s taking two steps at a time, almost flying down the stairs with a travel-sized bottle of mouthwash, toothpaste, and a toothbrush in hands.
And then, I hear it... someone’s puking.
“What the fuck is going on?” I boom, halting Colt at the bottom step. “Why are you here?”
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, anargh, fucklook crossing his face. “Sorry, bro,” he says, but there’s nothing apologetic about thatsorry. “There’s been a small incident, and Mia—”
“You brought a drunk chick in here to puke?!” I toss the keys into a decorative bowl on the side table by the staircase. “This is the last party you’re hosting in my house. Get her the fuck out of here before I do.”
He lunges forward, clamping his jaw as he drops everything he held to the floor to free his hands. He grips a fistful of my shirt, shoving me toward the living room, his eyes narrowed, chest heaving. “She’s not drunk. She’sscared, so you better shut up and let us handle it.”
I glance at where he holds me, wrinkling the fabric. That’s the first time he dared to get in my face. I can’t decide if I’m proud he’s got the balls to threaten me or if I’m pissed off he’s got the nerve to touch me.
I think, most of all, I’m confused. “Scared? She’s puking because she’sscared?”
Colt nods, opening his fist before stepping away, his back arrow straight. “Just give us a few minutes to calm her down, alright?”
How scared does a girl need to be to throw up?
A few scenarios fill my mind. The anger stirring within me like a thunderstorm morphs into a full-blown tornado.
Maybe someone died: drowned in my pool, and the cops are on their way, led by my eldest brother, Shawn.
“What the hellhappened? I swear, if you tell me someone died, you’ll be packing your shit in five minutes.”
“Died?” Colt’s eyebrows shoot up, and he snorts a derisive laugh. “Drama Queen much? No one died.”
“Thenwhatgot this puking chick scared?”
“Brandon forced her into his lap. She elbowed his face and broke his nose. Just get on with whatever you came here for. We’ll calm her down and get her out of here.”
I imagine a tall, overweight woman with a black belt in karate because there’s no way any other woman could take on Brandon Price. He’s a quarterback. Built like a true quarterback, too.
Relieved as I am that no one’s leaving the party in a body bag, I can’t draw a link between Brandon’s broken nose and the girl’s fear. She should be proud.
Colt’s gone before I ask any supporting questions, and I realize that I don’t give a fuck. My focus is on leaving the house as fast as possible without looking out the windows to assess the mayhem in my garden.
