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He had started a third cup, doing the sugar and the mixing and then waiting for the coffee to boil or cook or do whatever it did again.
“I know I don’t.” Grayson collected the two full mugs and padded back toward the stairs, the pot making a questionable noise as the water boiled faster than the last time.
“Pour that into the mug before it burns,” he called over his shoulder.
I flipped the burner off and did as he said, appreciating the rich and decadent smell of coffee made his way compared to the dry smell from the single cup pot Rob had. After a careful sip, I joined Flynn in the back yard. Sitting on the edge of the concrete beside him, I dunked my feet into the hot tub, enjoying the warmth with a groan.
“Do you want to overstay our welcome or go and get drunk on Bloody Marys at the beach?” he asked, eyes closed, coffee already half gone.
If the sun was out and we were awake, might as well face the day.
“The latter,” I said, kicking some water back into his face as I climbed up.
He flung himself over the edge and stood, shaking droplets off like a dog and soaking my underwear to my skin.
“You’re an asshole,” I told him, shoving him toward the door back into the house.
“Soon to be a day-drunk asshole.”
I closed the door behind me and locked it, finishing my coffee and rinsing the mug in the sink. Flynn came back dressed, with my clothes bundled up into a wrinkled ball in his arms.
“I hate you,” I muttered, looking at the mess he’d made of my underwear and my slacks.
“You’ll hate me less after your first drink.”
Above us, something—or someone—slammed into a wall. We both looked up, and Flynn chuckled under his breath.
“I sure hope so,” I said, shoving my legs into my pants and heading toward the front door with my shirt flung over my forearm. “Now, let’s get out of here.”
I’d seen enough people in love for one day.
Nothing that a little tomato juice and vodka couldn’t erase.
CHAPTER2
OWEN
The descentinto LAX was smooth and easy, a welcome reprieve from the otherwise turbulent five-hour flight. My knees and hips ached, my left foot was asleep, and I was fairly certain the businessman who’d fallen asleep beside me before our wheels had even left the ground had, at some point, drooled on my shoulder.
My cellphone had less than twenty percent battery, but I flipped it off airplane mode to tap out a quick text to my sister to let her know I’d arrived in one piece. I was, after all, in Los Angeles on her bidding.
Me: Landed safe. Phone is dying.
Mandy: Have I told you today how much I love you for this?
Me: When you dropped me off at the airport this morning you told me you hated me.
Mandy: Owen, it was EARLY.
Mandy: I love you for this.
Me: It’s the least I can do.
I flipped my phone over so the screen pressed against my thigh, the weight of my last message to her more truth than she would ever really know. In fact, I’d spent the majority of my adult life doing things for my sister. Anything and everything she asked of me I found a way to make happen for her because, while she knew a lot about me, the one thing she didn’t know was that the source of her biggest heartbreak had been me.
Well, actually it had been Archer Davidson, but…
TheFasten Seatbeltlight went off and everybody jumped out of their seats like there was somewhere for them to immediately go. Like we weren’t all trapped in the flying death tube until they opened the door and the twenty-some odd rows in front of us struggled with their baggage and made their way out of the plane first. The drooling businessman beside me grumbled his displeasure about me staying seated, but I didn’t budge, waiting until the row ahead of us was getting their bags from the overhead bin space before reaching for mine.
