“Aims—” Rhett began, but I held up a hand to stop him.
“No. Don’t ‘Aims’ me. This is the third date you’ve ruined in two weeks. This is supposed to be my post-Garrett slut phase where I reclaim my sexuality, and you’re turning it into a fucking joke!”
“Wait. Slut phase?” Rhett asked, tilting his head.
“Do NOT volunteer!” I yelled, and he raised his hands and took a step back. Rage surged in my chest. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to date in this city? To find someone normal and not creepy who might actually want to sleep with me?”
“Aimee—” Troy tried to cut in, giving me a pleading smile.
“And every time—EVERY FUCKING TIME—I bring someone home, you two are here scaring the guys away!”
Troy winced. “We thought you said you were going back to your date’s place.”
“That’s not the point!” My voice rose to a shout. “The point is that you’re always here! In my space! Eating my food, fixing things I didn’t ask you to fix, screening my mail, my dates, my entire fucking life!”
Rhett’s eyes were wide and pleading as he reached a hand toward me, then changed his mind and ran it through his wet hair, sending droplets flying.
“Why the fuck is your hair wet?”
Rhett’s usual goofball demeanor was nowhere in sight. “Aims, we’re just looking out for you.”
“You’re Ryker’s little sister, and we promised him—” Troy added, his face falling.
“I don’t need looking out for!” I was on a roll now, years of therapist-recommended emotional expression bursting forth like a dam breaking. “I need you to fix my goddamn sink and then leave so I can have some goddamn SEX and move on with my goddamn life!”
The last part came out louder than I’d intended, and I saw both men’s eyes widen slightly at my outburst. We stood in a triangle of tension, water dripping from their clothes onto my floor, my chest heaving with emotion.
“I’m going to my room,” I announced, turning on my heel. “When I come out, I expect my bathroom to be functional and you two to be gone.”
I stalked to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me, then kicked a pillow across the room—childish but satisfying. I paced the small space at the foot of my bed, struggling to calm my rage. Why couldn’t those two idiots behave like normal friends? For a long moment, I stood there, breathing hard, listening to the murmur of their voices as they presumably figured out what to do about the sink situation.
When I finally sat down, the rage had burned itself into something more complex and harder to name. Rhett and Troy were good guys, and they were trying to help, in their overzealous, boundary-crossing way. But maybe it was time for me to ask for my keys back. They’d still be there, right across the hall. Just without the unrestricted access to my apartment.
The thought sent an unexpected pang through me. Despite everything, there was something comforting about knowing they could get in if I needed them. With Ryker three states away, I didn’t have anyone in my life who would check on me if they hadn’t heard from me in a little while. Or anyone who I would trust to hold my keys in case I got locked out of my place. Which, with my ADHD, happened a little too often.
“Just so I don’t get locked out,” I murmured to myself, the lie flimsy even in my own ears. “Because I always forget my keys.”
Chapter 3
Troy
Rhettkeptwalkingaroundshirtless, and it was impossible not to notice the way his jeans slid low on his hips as he rooted around in the hall closet for something, showing off the dimples above his ass. Or the way morning sunlight from the tall, loft-style windows cut across his torso, highlighting every ridge of muscle on his abs and chest as he turned back to face me.
Rhett and I had been friends for years. We’d been rookies together, both new to town and new to the job, and we’d bonded instantly. But ever since we’d moved into Ryker’s apartment together, things had shifted. I noticed him in ways I hadn’t before. In ways I shouldn’t notice one of my closest friends. Hookups with guys were reserved for random strangers in a bar, or locker room fun at the gym.
Not Rhett. Rhett was my ride or die. He was fun, easygoing, and always up for an adventure, but living with him had reminded me he had a solid steadiness to him, too. I didn’t want to fuck that up with the tangle of weird emotions that came from messing around with straight guys.
Besides, he was crazy about Aimee. And Aimee was… well, I didn’t want to think about that, either.
As he leaned over and looked through a bin of junk, those treacherous jeans gave me a glimpse of his ass crack. I adjusted my jeans to make room for my hardening cock and tried to think of anything but sex. I needed to get laid. That must be it.
“Have you seen my belt?” Rhett asked, oblivious to my wandering eyes as he rummaged through a pile of clean laundry on the couch. “The brown one with the silver buckle. These pants don’t stay put.”
I noticed. “Check the hook by the door,” I said, forcing myself to focus on pouring coffee into my travel mug.
This was getting weird. Not the looking—I’d checked out plenty of dudes before. Hell, I’d done more than look with some of them. A drunk handjob in a bar bathroom here, a “let me help you with that” in the shower at the gym there. Normal stuff for horny guys willing to experiment.
But this was Rhett. My best friend. My work partner. The guy who’d seen me puke after too many tequila shots and made me drink Pedialyte the next morning. The guy who knew exactlyhow I liked my burgers cooked and what movies made me cry, though I’d deny that last part under oath.
