Page 12 of Filthy Beautiful
Sometimes I was here to try to keep an eye on Cary. Sometimes I was just getting a break from Mom and Dad’s.
Other times… Well, the view from my window had a pretty clear view of the poolhouse.
Sometimes I came by at Christmas, too. For a bit. But Xander was usually away over the holidays, or he stayed with his parents, did family stuff.
And it was too depressing staying here over the holidays… so alone.
“Guess it’s just you and me this summer, snuggle face,” I told the cat, and he flicked his tail slowly back and forth, watching me like everything I said was so totally on point, he was already onboard.
If only more males were so agreeable.
I went to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out at the poolhouse below.
And there was Xander. He was standing at the edge of the pool—in all his gorgeous glory. Slutty fuchsia swimsuit and all.
It covered pretty much nothing but his dick, and he looked way too good crammed into it. His whole damn body was a work of art. And it was literally covered in art. He had tattoos all over his upper body, and all down one muscular thigh…
Why did his stupid leg tattoos have to be so next-level sexy?
He glanced up and saw me in the window, staring at him. He could probably feel me gawking.
He waved. Like a dick.
I shut the curtains. Would’ve loved to dramatically slam them in his douchy face, but they were on a smooth glider with a pull string, so it was slow and awkward.
Fuck me.
Could my summer get any worse?
Here I was, moving in with my brother, putting my life on hold for him, and he wouldn’t even see me.
And now there was a hot rock star—correction: filthy manslut—staying in our poolhouse. And I had several problems with that hard fact.
Problem number one: I hated his guts.
Problem number two: My brother would freak if I even thought about touching him.
Problem number three: I wanted to touch him.Badly.
Conclusion: Sometimes it really sucked to be me.
Chapter Two
Xander
Shit… She really did despise me.
I just kept telling myself that was a good thing. I’d been telling myself that for the last three weeks, every day since I last saw her, over and over again, like some fucked-up mantra.
Maybe eventually I’d believe me.
I watched Courteney disappear as the curtains on her window slid shut. Then I dove into the pool. I swam a few laps, then got back out, restless, and toweled off. Her curtains were still closed.
No sign of her.
What did I want, though? For her to come out here and start yelling at me again?
Yeah. Maybe.
