I guess Marlowe is great at that too. I bet Vick taught her well.
The SUV rolls to a stop in front of the house. The storm is gone, but everything still smells earthy and clean. The moment the engine cuts off, my mother sighs, looking at the house with a soft smile, like she’s missed it. She turns to us, her expression warm. “Well, you boys must be starving.”
Bridger rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”
Cody clears his throat. “Sure, Mom.”
She can’t cook. Last time she started a small fire when she forgot she had eggs boiling on the stove. “We’ll order something, okay? You don’t have to cook.”
She waves a hand, already pushing her door open. “Nonsense. There’s probably stuff for sandwiches. Something easy. It’s not a problem.” She smiles again, softer this time. “It’s not often you’re all here visiting.”
I don’t correct her. I don’t remind her that this isn’t a visit, that she went missing, that we aren’t here because of some nice family gathering. I just nod and climb out after her.
When I glance at Marlowe, she’s already watching me. Judging. She must think I’m the world’s worst son for not knowing how to handle this, for not taking over the situation with grace, for standing there and lettingherfix everything instead. Her arms are jammed on her hips, and I can practically hear whatever sharp words she’s thinking.
But then my eyes drop.
And fuck me. Her shirt is drenched, still clinging to her like a second skin, soaked through from the rain. The material is pale, nearly translucent now, sticking to every curve, to the dip of her waist, to the swell of her breasts.
I can seeeverything.
A slow pulse of heat rolls through me, completely at odds with the exhaustion, the stress, the absolute shitstorm of a day.
Her nipples are tight, pebbled against the wet fabric, and I hate how my eyes track over them, how my breath tightens in my chest and I suddenly can’t get enough air.
She shifts and says something, but I don’t hear it. I’m too fucking distracted.
She yells, louder this time. “Damian.”
I finally drag my eyes back up—slowly, too slowly.
“My eyes are up here.”
I smirk before I can stop myself.
Then I meet her gaze. Fuck me sideways—her eyes are soblue. Bright and sharp, almost electric, the kind of blue that makes my skull hollow, that makes me hate that I’m noticing.
I tilt my head, still staring. “Not sure that’s any less distracting.”
Her lips part, something strange flickering across her face, but before she can fire back, Cody loops an arm around Mom and starts leading her inside.
She’s still babbling about church and lunch. I need to follow them inside, make sure she’s really alright. I take one more slow look at Marlowe, at the way her wet shirt clings, at the way her lips pinch up, like she wants to either slap me or smile.
Not sure which I’d prefer.
"Can I please go somewhere private and change?"Marlowe asks.
I don’t answer right away. It takes a second to pull my gaze off her. The wet fabric makes her look damn near obscene. And when she moves, when she takes a step closer, her breasts bounce slightly, the damp material molding to them, making it look sofucking pornographicI swear my brain shorts out for half a second.
I give a curt nod, tearing my gaze away. “Yeah. This way.” I turn, leading her inside and down the hall, each step tense and heavy.
It should be a short walk. Technically, it is. But every step is torture. She’s close behind me, her presence hot and sharp at my back, and all I can fucking think about is how good she smelled in the car, how soft her voice had been when she was talking to my mother, how quick her tongue is when she’s fighting me, how her lips look when she’s pissed.
I reach the bathroom and push the door open, stepping aside to let her pass.
She moves toward the doorway, and when she squeezes through, her chest brushes against me, just for a second, just long enough for the soaked fabric to press against my front.
A fuckingbrand.
