Page 57 of Filthy Beautiful
Because what the fuck was she doing, lounging around in a bikini and sticking her tits in my face anyway? She shouldn’t be anywhere near me in a bikini.
Did she not have any idea what she was fucking with here?
Didn’t I already scare her enough, that night in my car?
If I didn’t—what the fuck was I gonna have to do to get the message across?
I headed around back, trying to scrape my head together as I went.
Put my game face on.
The one that said,Everything’s cool, bro. Your little sister did not just put her tits in my face.Everything’s totally fucking fine here.
Best Friend of the Goddamn Year.
* * *
I sat by the pool, nursing a beer, pretty much watching Cary swim laps and trying to figure out what I was gonna do or say if he said something to me about Courteney.
He saw her out here, didn’t he?
His beautiful eighteen-year-old sister, in that skimpy bikini, with that body of hers… And then I came barreling out of the poolhouse like some horned-up bull.
And he knew something was up.
No, he doesn’t. Because nothing is up.
Just fucking chill.
By the time he finished swimming and climbed out of the pool, I’d managed to chill out. More or less. Because last thing I wanted to do was upset him.
Or disrespect him by drooling over his hot kid sister on his property. While hanging by his pool, living in his guesthouse, and drinking his beer.
Jesus Christ, I was a dick sometimes.
He came over and toweled off, took the water I offered.
“Thanks,” he said, sitting down in the chair next to me. The one Courteney had been lying on.
And that’s when I noticed the makeup on the table between us. Some sparkly tube of lipgloss or whatever with strawberries all over it.
Shit.
I tried not to stare at it. Had he noticed it?
Did he know she was just out here?
Why couldn’t I just fucking chill?
Because you’re a guilty asshole.
Cary guzzled some water, then sat back, putting his feet up. “You working today?”
“Yeah. Probably head over to the studio in a bit.” Cary always called it “work” when I played drums, even if I was just fucking around, staying in shape. To him musicwaswork, as much as it was his passion, because he was pretty much a workaholic.
“Made a decision about Steel Trap yet?” he asked me.
“Yeah, decision’s been made. I’m out.”
