He’s as casually dressed as I’ve ever seen him, in a pair of cutoff khaki shorts and an old, faded, black Garth Brooks concert T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. He’s barefoot, which, for some reason, makes me horny.
Or maybe it’s just him; it’s probably just him. But there’s also something about his bare feet that makes me shivery and quivery.
Franco isn’t grinning, or even smirking. His gaze is hooded and heavy-lidded, his granite jawline pulsing as he grinds his molars together. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and his chest is rising and falling a little too deeply to be normal. I notice a surreptitious movement in one of his pockets, and I realize he’s adjusting himself; his zipper is tight, and seems to even swell further the longer his gaze remains locked on me.
I still have the knife in my hand, and I’m squeezing the handle so tightly my knuckles hurt. I’m breathing hard, my chest rising and falling raggedly, rapidly, just like Franco’s.
“Audra.” I hear a voice, saying my name, as if not for the first time. “Hello?”
I blink and shake my head to clear the hypnosis. “What?”
Nova puts the straw in her mojito to my lips. “Have a drink.”
I take a long pull, and discover she’s added an extra dose of rum because whoa. But it’s exactly what I need to burn away the effect of stupid, beautiful, mesmerizing Franco. Just for good measure, I take another long pull.
“Why don’t you just go ahead and give me this, huh?” Nova says, as she takes the knife from me, slowly and gingerly.
“Yeah, good idea,” I murmur without taking my eyes off of Franco’s.
Abruptly, Franco spins on his heels and stalks across the backyard like a hungry predator deprived of its meal. At the very farthest corner of James’s sprawling, acre-and-a-half backyard, there’s a downed tree, an elm that was struck by lightning. It has already been partially cut into huge chunks. Nearby is a shed, which narrowly missed being smashed by the tree when it fell; Franco goes right to this shed, yanks open the door as if it offended him, leans in, and comes out with a massive chainsaw, a heavy, wedge-headed ax, and a pair of safety goggles.
I almost laugh at the fact that even pissed off, or whatever Franco is in the moment, he still remembers to wear safety gear. I’m not laughing, though. He starts the chainsaw with a single furious jerk of the starter cable, and uses it to cut a six-foot-long chunk of the tree into smaller sections, and then tosses the chainsaw aside in favor of the ax. He sets a length of wood on end, hefts the ax up over his head and brings it down with slaughtering, vengeful force. The piece of wood splits apart into two, each half flying two or three feet in opposite directions. He grabs one half, splits it into halves again with just as much angry force, and then repeats it with the other half. All four newly split quarters he tosses into a pile, and then starts the process over again with another chunk.
Watching Franco split wood makes me horny.
I want to go over there right now, rip the ax out of his hands, and beg him to take me right up against the pile of wood.
His muscles shift and ripple as he swings the ax, and he lets out an audible grunt of exertion as he brings the ax down to slam into the wood.
“You finished with those drinks, Nova?” I hear James rumble in his growly, rippling, bass voice.
I blink, tearing my gaze away from Franco, and turn back to the kitchen just in time to see Nova topping the drinks off with slices of lime, her eyes on her work rather than James. But her attention, it’s still somehow clear, is entirely on James. The air crackles, sparks, and sizzles with energy.
His eyes are shielded by his Oakleys, but it is perfectly clear that his eyes are locked on Nova as she gathers three glasses in one hand and two in another, leaving James to snag the last two. They exit the kitchen together, not talking, a foot of space between them, leaving the last drink for me, even though I still have Nova’s original glass in my hand.
But somehow it’s empty.
I watch James bring his two drinks across the yard to where Franco is tirelessly splitting wood, each chop as viciously powerful as the last. James stands aside, waiting for Franco to pause, and then hands him one of the glasses.
Franco takes it, stirs the drink with the straw, and then sucks the entire thing down in a matter of seconds; he hands the empty glass to James and goes back to splitting. James shakes his head and walks away, sipping his own drink more sedately.
I’m lost, watching Franco split wood, and I can’t help wondering if he thinks I’m fooled as to why he suddenly feels an urge to hack at a poor innocent tree.
A few minutes later, Nova glides in, leans a hip against the counter beside me, and fans herself with a hand. “Holy moly…that man!”
“I know, right?” I say, still helplessly watching Franco.
Nova laughs. “I mean, yeah, but that’s not who I meant.” She gestures at James, who is currently locked in an arm wrestling match with Jesse; Jesse is a beast, all right, but he doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell against James, whose gargantuan bicep is bulging and rippling with exertion, the veins popping.
“Oh.” I sip at the new drink, knowing I’m acting like a lush, but unable to help it. “Yeah. James is…something else.”
“And those girls of his? God, they’re just darling!”
“I didn’t even know he had daughters,” I admit. “But I don’t know him that well.”
Jesse, Imogen, and James all troop into the kitchen right as I’m saying this, and James plops onto a stool next to Nova.
“If you’re in here, who’s watching the meat?” Nova asks. “I only came because Imogen promised me a thick, juicy steak.”
James gestures at the grill with his drink. “Ryder. He’s a better griller than I am. I got ’em started, and he’s finishing ’em. We have a system.”
Jesse laughs, a mocking guffaw. “Yeah, a system we had to figure out after you ruined I don’t even know how many hundreds of dollars in steaks because you suck at grilling, but you’re too damn stubborn to admit it, or ask for help.” He glances at Nova and then at me. “We had to agree to let him start the grill and put the meat on, but then when it was time to actually flip it and finish it, either Ryder or me take over, because Franco is almost as shitty at a grill as James.”
“Hey, I can make a hell of a grilled cheese, okay?” James says, defensively.
“Yeah, but Nina’s are better.”
“And who taught her?” James asks.
“Me, dumbass!” Jesse says, stabbing James in the back of a hand with plastic drink sword. “You don’t even use mayo!”
James rumbles something unintelligible, which I assume isn’t polite. And then, louder, “Whatever, fucker. So I’m not a great cook? Who gives a shit?” Still not polite, but I feel for James.
I pat him on the shoulder. “I’m on your side, James. I can’t even boil water.”
Imogen laughs. “No kidding! You tried to make spaghetti once in college and damn near burned down the entire hall.”
“How do you even do that?” Jesse asks. “It’s water.”
“She forgot about it, let it boil over, and then it totally evaporated, and then the pot started scorching.” Imogen is laughing helplessly now. “I came over to borrow her notes and found the pot on fire. Audra was in her room, the door closed, with—uhh—” she trails off awkwardly, not wanting to embarrass me quite that much, apparently.
“I was exploring the mysteries of the female orgasm,” I say, affecting a prim tone. “And I may have gotten a little carried away. It could happen to anyone.”
Of course Franco chooses that moment to enter the kitchen, dripping sweat and breathing hard. He hears my statement, stiffens, his jaw clenches, and he turns right back around and goes back outside. He crosses over to the grill where Ryder is flipping the steaks, burgers, and hot dogs, a drink in one hand and tongs in the other, gesticulating with the drink as he tells a story to Laurel, who is visibly hanging on every word, her eyes locked on him, watching h
im, clutching her own drink in both hands as if for dear life.
Franco snatches Ryder’s drink from his hand mid-gesture, slams it back, and then returns the empty, and walks away without a word to either of them. Ryder stares mournfully into the empty glass, calling a sarcastic “Yeah, sure, help yourself, dick!” after Franco.
Laurel laughs as Ryder shakes his head in disgust before turning to finish flipping the meat. She takes a tiny sip of her drink from the straw, and then fits the straw up to Ryder’s lips. He turns his eyes to hers, quirks an eyebrow, and then takes a long sip. He says something, she nods and shrugs and smiles.
Ooh, things are heating up in here! James and Nova, Ryder and Laurel…? I wonder which will be the first to pair off?
Nova and Imogen are exchanging glances, and then Imogen kicks my shin gently with her bare foot. “I think he heard you.”
I snort. “You think?”
She shakes her head. “The sexual tension between you two is so thick you could cut it with a spoon.”
Nova laughs. “Cut with a spoon and eat it like ice cream, because that tension is delicious. You should’ve seen the way they stared each other down. I’m pretty sure Audra might be pregnant from how hard Franco was eye-fucking her.”
I huff, wishing I could come up with a witty, searing denial. But I can’t. Because I’m also fairly certain I could be pregnant from the way he was eye-fucking me. “It’s a little sexual tension, so what?” I glance at James. “We’re both adults. We can handle a party with mutual friends.”
“Yeah, but the question is can the rest of us handle the tension between you?” Imogen says. “Because it’s so thick the air is dripping with it.”
“So, James.” I say, a little too loudly. “How did I not know you had two adorable daughters?”
Imogen laughs. “I didn’t know either until I showed up here today, and if you count my original call to Dad Bod, I’ve technically known James longer than I’ve known Jesse!”
James rolls his shoulders. “I’m protective of them. I don’t bring them around work very often. I work with my three best friends, so it’s already hard to keep work and personal separate, but I try not to let my work life bleed into theirs too much.”
I gesture at the kitchen and the backyard in a sweep of my hand. “But we’re all here?”
He nods. “This is entirely personal. Me, my three best friends, my buddy’s girlfriend, and a few of her friends, just so it’s not a total sausage fest.”
“But I’ve known you, on at least a little bit of a personal level, for months now, and the fact that you have two daughters has never once come up,” Imogen says. “It is a little weird.”
James sighs. “Like I said, I’m protective of them. I wasn’t keeping them a secret from you, I just…” He shrugs. “They’ve been through a lot. I’m a little weird about it, I guess.” He pushes off the stool. “I’m gonna go see how Ryder’s doing with the meat.”
After he’s gone, Jesse raps his knuckles on the island countertop. “He only brings certain people around the girls. Me and the other guys are it, usually, plus the nanny he’s had watching them after school since…well, since things changed for him. It’s his story to tell, though, not mine, which is why I’ve never said anything either.” He gestures at Nova, Imogen, me, and Laurel as she enters at that moment. “It’s actually a really huge step for him to let outsiders into this party. It’s usually just the four us and the girls every year.”
Laurel is looking flushed, her tan skin pinking at her cheekbones. She’s visibly bursting with something to say, fidgeting with things on the counter, glancing at me and the other girls, and then at Jesse.
Imogen notices this, and pushes at Jesse’s shoulder. “Hey, Jess? I think Ryder and James and Franco could use a little more help out there.”
Jesse eyes the other men, who are standing around the grill talking, occasionally glancing this way. “Oh, they’re fine.”
Imogen smiles up at him, lifting an eyebrow suggestively. “I think they could use your help, actually. I’m pretty certain.”
Jesse’s eyes widen. “Ohhh. Right. Yeah. Got it.” He heads for the doorway, pauses, turns around and flips open a cabinet over the fridge and snags a bottle of Dalmore. “Just gonna take this.” And then he’s gone, only to return to grab four glasses from a different cabinet. “And these. Sorry. Leaving. Bye.”
Imogen laughs at him, covering her love-smitten grin with one hand. When he’s actually, truly gone, Imogen shakes her head. “Gosh, I just love that guy.”
I shake my head, my stomach flipping at the way she’s looking at him, at the obvious and ice-melting love between them. “You look like you’re about to pop, Laurel. Spill it!”
Laurel squeals, clapping her hands. “We’ve got a date!”
My eyes bug out. “A date? Already?”
Laurel nods, barely suppressing giggles of excitement. “Next Friday!”
Nova is just smirking. “That was fast.”
“No kidding,” Imogen adds.
Laurel shrugs, batting her eyelashes with a cutesy grin. “What can I say? The man clearly can’t help himself. He just knows a good thing when he sees her.”
I laugh. “Where are you going, do you know?”
She shakes her head, her jet-black hair waving loose around her shoulders. “Nope! He asked me if I wanted to go out with him sometime soon, and I said yes, and he suggested Tuesday or Wednesday, but I have late meetings both days and he has a union softball game Thursday, so we’re going out Friday!” She’s positively vibrating with excitement. “I asked him if he had anywhere specific in mind, and he said yeah but it’ll be a surprise. Which I’m fine with.” Laurel squeals, claps her hands again, and then settles, turning to Nova. “Soooo, Nova…I saw you and James getting a little cozy over by the beer cooler earlier.”
Nova keeps her expression blank. “We…were…just talking.”
Imogen rolls her eyes. “Why are you playing coy, Nova? It’s just us girls.”
Nova shrugs. “I’m not playing coy, I’m just…a little reserved about some things.”
Laurel snorts. “What is there to be reserved about? You like the guy, he likes you. You were cozied up on the cooler, talking. So what?”
Nova busies herself mixing drinks—something complicated with a lot of rum and a lot of vodka and not a lot of mixers—probably more for something to do than because anyone really needs another drink. “My life is complicated and there’s no room for anyone in it, especially not a guy with two daughters. So yeah, I like him, he likes me. But that’s as far as it goes.” She shrugs, not looking at any of us. “Just how it is, whether I like it, or want it that way, or not.” Her gaze sweeps us. “There. You wanted to know, now you know. I think it’s time to eat.”
Nova abandons her effort at making drinks, taking one and leaving three finished and several half-begun, and exits the kitchen. Her long, loose, shimmery, fiery copper hair sways down her back as she moves out into the sunlight, which catches on her hair and on the many bangles and bracelets on her wrists, lighting her up with sparkles and glints and shimmers.
Imogen takes one of the drinks and sips it. “No sense leaving these to go warm.” She sighs, watching Nova. “I was hoping she’d loosen up a bit once she got here, but I guess I was wrong.”
“She seems super cool, though,” I say. “I like her.”
Imogen nods. “She’s awesome. We met in the cafeteria, as we tend to work similar shifts a lot and usually take lunch at the same, and have ended up eating lunch together pretty much every day. She doesn’t talk about herself very often, and I just get the sense she keeps her personal life very buttoned up, you know? But on any other topic, she’s, like—she’s this firecracker, just exploding with energy and opinions and personality. I just love her to pieces, but I wish she’d let me in a little.”
“Well, you do tend to want people to spill their every secret to you the moment you meet them,” I tease, exaggerating just a little.
; Imogen rolls her eyes at me. “I’m personable. It’s what makes me such a good bedside nurse. Any time there’s a really cranky, difficult patient, I get sent in because I can handle them and get them to calm down and open up. It’s just one of my gifts. But Nova? She’s a tough nut to crack.” She pokes at me with a finger. “Nova is a lot like you, actually, Audra dearest. You have this inner wall around yourselves where you keep all your painful little secrets, and you never let anyone in, or even anywhere close. The only reason I know as much about you as I do is because I’ve known you since before either of us got our first periods, and I’ve been there for literally every major and minor life event since.” She gestures at Nova, who is watching Franco chase Nina and Ella around the yard with what looks like a live snake. “I just can’t help wondering if she has her own Imogen. I feel like she doesn’t.”
I rest my head on Imogen’s shoulder. “Everyone should have their own Imogen. But they can’t have you—you’re mine.”
She pats my head. “I think Jesse might disagree with you on that point.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I guess I can share you with him.” I point at Laurel, faking a glare. “But don’t get any ideas, missy. You try to steal my best friend, and you’ll be in trouble.”
Laurel just laughs. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Calm down, Audra. No one is stealing anyone. Plus, there’s enough of me to go around, I’m pretty sure.” She pats her butt. “No matter how many burpees you make me do, Audra, I think I’ll just always have a big ass.”
Laurel cackles. “Honey, you’re preaching to the choir, here. I lost sixty-six pounds in a year and a half, gained about ten pounds back, and literally all of it is on my butt! No matter how I eat or work out, those ten pounds are just stuck—right here.” She grabs and shakes a butt cheek in gesture.
“Like I’ve been telling Imogen for literally years—” I start, but Imogen cuts me off.
“You shush, woman,” Imogen cuts in. “You know as well as I do that build and genetics play a part in all of this. You work your ass off and you’re fanatically devoted to how you eat. I get that, Audra, I see it, and I respect it.” She leans against Laurel and they bump hips. “But some of us are just doomed to have big butts.”