I snort at that. Truer words and all that…
“Different circumstances have shaped us than most people,” he continues. “We’ve been incredibly lucky to have formed such a tight unit, to be able to trust each other so much. What we have with each other has always been different. And now we have Max and that’s different, too. As long as we’re respecting her, and each other, I think we can just let things be what they are.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I lift my eyebrows, nod, wheels turning. He’s right that nothing about our evolution as a group has been normal. There’s a freedom in thinking I can just accept this new salacious interest Max has awakened in me. I can just…let it be.
I take a deep breath, and a big sip of whiskey, the tightness in my chest loosening.
Just then, there’s a soft creak of a floorboard upstairs, then another.
Wyatt looks at me, and there’s a question in his eyes that he doesn’t voice.Are we good?
I hold my glass up in a cheers motion. “Here’s to being different,” I say, and he smiles.
Max appears at the top of the stairs in an oversized t-shirt, bare legs, shoulder-length hair mussed. I can’t take my eyes off her legs as she walks down the stairs—the smoothness of her skin, the surprising muscle for someone so small, the aching I have for the feel of those legs wrapped around me, or…one of my brothers.
That new, inconvenient part of me stirs awake.
When she reaches the bottom step she looks between us and smiles. “Why are you both looking at me like that?”
Wyatt’s mouth curves. “Can you blame us for not being able to take our eyes off a beautiful woman?”
Max’s eyes narrow. Then she huffs a soft laugh and swats him on the shoulder as she comes toward the couch, the hem of the shirt brushing mid-thigh as she perches on the end across from me.
“What time is it?” she asks.
“Eight fifteen,” Wyatt answers.
Her gaze flicks to my glass. “Oh.” Mock surprise. “Whiskey.”
I lean back. “Trying something new.”
Max snorts softly, reaching for my glass without asking. She takes a sip and shakes her head as she puts the glass down, sticking her tongue out. “Tastes like a campfire.”
She tucks one leg under her and pulls the hem of the shirt down and I can’t stop obsessively staring at her thighs. I wonder if she has any underwear on.
“Did you go for a walk?” she asks Wyatt.
“Yeah.” He pats his ribs—lightly. “Getting better I think. Moving is more comfortable.”
She narrows her eyes skeptically. “You lyin’ to me?”
He laughs. “No, ma’am.”
I get up and go to the kitchen and open a bottle of wine, a 2019 Pinot Noir, something Max will like, and bring it into the living room with three glasses.
“Might as well,” I say as I pour out the wine. “We’ve got nothing to do but wait.”
“What were you two talking about?” Max asks, taking the proffered glass from my hand.
“Us,” Wyatt answers.
She makes a face. “Helpful.”
Wyatt chuckles under his breath, then sobers. His eyes slide to mine, a quick check-in, before he looks back at her. “We were talking about Hellbent Night.”
“Oh,” she says softly. Her tongue presses lightly to her bottom lip, thoughtful. “So what were you saying about it?”
A pause. I can feel Wyatt waiting for me to take the lead. I can also feel the part of me that wants to grab her by the back of the shirt and haul her into my lap. I don’t say anything.
