"Yes," Wes says.
"Why not?" Warner adds.
And then, from Wyatt. "Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?"
Jo rolls her eyes at him. "It's a good thing you're handsome," she says, and he slings an arm around her and kisses her long and loud, drawing groans from his siblings.
"Enough, enough," Juliette announces, using a hand on Beau's knee to push herself to standing. "Every man for himself. Get your drinks." She disappears, I'm assuming, to the kitchen.
There's a tweak deep down in my heart. My mom loved to cook.
Wyatt brings me a whiskey. "I hope you don't like drinks as fancy as your car, because you're shit out of luck. No pink martinis here.”
The guy likes to give me shit, and I don’t mind it. A therapist would probably tell me it has something to do with being an only child, and always wishing for a brother. I take the offered glass. "Whiskey works."
In truth, whiskey does not work. For me, it's wine or gin and tonic in the summer. I'd die before telling one of the Hayden brothers that. Jessie sits back, nestled into the couch cushions, watching me with subdued laughter on her face.
I tip my head up at her. "What?" I mouth. My skin prickles, even from this distance, the air between us charged with electricity.
She smiles and shakes her head, eyes squinting. Her eyes fall to the glass I'm holding. "Where's my drink?" she asks, maybe to Wyatt but also to maybe nobody in particular.
"You need to turn twenty-one, Calamity." It's Warner speaking, sitting back down with his own two fingers of whiskey.
"I already have, asshole."
He thumbs over to his two older kids. "Would you mind watching your language?"
"Would you mind not speaking to me in a patriarchal tone? I'd wager a bet that you setting Peyton up to tolerate or expect such from a man is far more damaging than a swear word she's undoubtedly heard countless times."
Warner throws up his hands. "I'm going to sit by the firepit." He leaves, and one by one everyone trickles out.
Wyatt, the last to leave, pats Jessie on the back. "You sure know how to clear a room."
She crosses her arms. "I'm not wrong."
He stops and looks her over. "No. You are not wrong, Cal." He gets her a drink. Not a white wine, like he poured for Tenley and Jo, but a whiskey. He gives it to her with a wink. "You're a badass. Don't forget it."
She takes the glass, and he walks away. Her eyes are on him as he goes. "He's my favorite," she says, when he's gone from sight.
"Do your other brothers know that?"
"Indubitably."
I choke on the amber liquid I've just swallowed. "That's a ten-dollar word."
"I went to college," she says, her joke delivered in a lofty tone. Her eyes slide away, like she's thinking of something.
"What?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "It's nothing." She stands. "Assholes or not, do you want to join my brothers out back? Wes is good at horseshoes, but that's just because he's quiet while he plays and everyone else talks shit. Keep your mouth shut and it'll throw him for a loop."
"Um, yeah." I nod. "Show me the way."
She walks closer, and I stay still. I'm rooted in place, mesmerized by the swing of her hips in those dark jeans, the dip of her waist in that white tank top. She pauses near me. Her chuckle escapes only one side of her mouth. "What?" she asks, almost shyly. It's not a quality I'd thought Jessie could possess.
"You are very pretty," I say under my breath. I say it like an admittance, though anybody with fully functioning eyes could see it for themselves. What I'd like to say is that her eyes match the color of the ocean at a certain time of day, when the sun hangs low on the horizon. And that her skin is burnished the same way I've seen on surfer girls, proving that California women may not be all that different from Arizona women. The sun kisses them both.
"Why do you say it like it's a bad thing?" She is directly in front of me, her shoulder just inches from my chest.
