Nessa casually patted my back. “Easy there, killer.”
“I’m fine.” I wheezed, eyes watering.
Except, I wasnotfine. I was actively combusting. And the worst part was he wasn’t even trying.
I’d grown up around baseball players—locker-room peacocks who flexed for attention, winked at cameras, and treated every stretch like a performance review for their egos. Jared’s old teammates used to lift their shirts just to check if anyone was watching.
But Bennett King hadn’t been built from the same blueprint.
He didn’t flex on purpose or toss around fake charm. He was quiet, focused, a walking wet dream who short-circuited my brain anytime he glanced in my direction.
Which only made the fantasies worse.
It was one thing to lust after a cocky, pretty boy. It was another thing entirely to want someone who made my stomach flip simply by existing.
Bennett looked like the kind of man who could lift me, love me, and snap me in half—in the best way possible—and I had spent hours imagining all three.
And now he lived next door.
Lord, help me.
By the time they carried the last box inside, my hot chocolate was cold, my blanket had ridden up around my knees, and I had cycled through no fewer than twelve distinct fantasies.
When the guys finally tumbled back outside, shaking out their arms and stretching like victorious gladiators, my brother led the pack, stumbling onto the cement and making a beeline straight for Nessa.
“Did you enjoy the show, angel?”
He planted himself on the ground and rested his head on her lap.
“It’s been raining, babe,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “You’re going to get wet.”
“That makes two of us,” he teased around a wink.
I recoiled so fast I nearly whiplashed myself.
“Gross.” I yelped, burying my face in the blanket draped around my shoulders. “Can we please limit the horny banter when yoursisteris around?”
The rest of them snickered.
Trying to scrub my brain of whatever emotional damage my brother had inflicted, I hopped up and grabbed the small cooler we had stashed beside the porch.
“Beer and water,” I announced, flipping the lid open. “For your labor. Oh, and pizza is on the way.”
One by one, the guys grabbed their drinks. Soren thanked me with a tight nod. Diaz kissed my cheek. Pink, still sprawled across Nessa’s lap, stretched one arm back blindly until I shoved a bottle into it.
And then Bennett stepped forward.
His hair was damp from the rain and sweat, curling slightly at the ends. The fitted thermal he’d been torturing me with clungto him in ways that should be illegal. He didn’t posture, didn’t preen—just held out his hand with that quiet, steady focus that did terrible things to my internal temperature.
“Beer?”
He nodded. “Please.”
I held it out to him, and his hand brushed mine when he took it. Just for a split-second graze, but the jolt was instant.
“Thanks,” he murmured, voice low enough to vibrate.
“You’re—” I swallowed. “You’re welcome.”
