C4 4

Carter grunts. “Somehow, that’s not comforting.” He sighs. “She’s seventeen.”

“I know.”

“And you’re moving to California next month.”

“I know.”

“She’s so smart, East. She’s only a junior, and she’s already got colleges chasing her. Did you know she’s fluent in French?”

Did you know she’s incredibly fucking insecure and has no idea what her value is? I don’t ask.

I know I shouldn’t be the man to show her just how beautiful she is, but I want to be anyway. “Does she . . . does she have a boyfriend?” I ask. Carter’s glare would melt a lesser man, but I turn up my palms. “I’m not asking your permission to take her virginity. I’m asking if she has a boyfriend. This is normal conversation.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” he growls.

“What?”

“I don’t even want you thinking about my sister’s virginity.”

“Again, I’m asking about a boyfriend.”

“No. She doesn’t. She’s too focused on school to date, I think.”

Or she’s too convinced that she’s . . . What did Hilary call her? A fat tagalong? Jesus. If I’d known, I never would have let that fly.

Carter studies me. “Why?” One word, hundreds of warnings.

I shrug. “Just curious how much she tells you.”

Carter frowns. “Wait. What’s that supposed to mean? Do you know something? Does she have a boyfriend?”

“You really are the protective big brother cliché.” I press my palm between his shoulder blades and give him a good shove toward the beach. “The party is waiting.”

As I suspected, it’s less than fifteen minutes until Carter is completely distracted and I can head back to the house without him noticing. I used the time to circulate and listen to everyone’s congrats. Carter’s right. I should be out there. This is my celebration. Lifelong dream accomplished. But there’s only one person I want to celebrate with. One person with killer soft curves and a beautiful smile who owes me a secret.

Shay’s not in the kitchen where we left her. Did she go down to the bonfire and I missed her? I check the basement. Nothing. I head back to the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge, ready to give up. Then I hear the screech of old pipes and realize a shower is shutting off.

Grinning, I stride toward the stairs and climb to the second floor. By the time Shay pushes out of the bathroom in a puff of steam, I’m leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded.

She jumps. “Jesus, Easton. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

I don’t answer. My own heart is having some issues. Mainly, it’s racing like it’s trying to force me forward with its momentum—toward her.

I did not think this through.

She’s in a fluffy light blue robe. It’s tied at the waist but gapes open at her chest, giving me a view of the swell of her cleavage. Her wet hair is combed out of her face and falls in light waves down her back.

It would be so easy to tug on the waistband of her robe, to pull her to me and slide my hands inside, to cup her breasts and lower my mouth to hers. Easy, but a fucking death sentence.

“Easton!” She tugs the top of her robe tighter. “Ohmygod. Were you just looking at my breasts?”

I take a deep breath and drag my gaze back up to meet hers. “I love that you call them breasts.”

“What else am I supposed to call them?”

I shrug. “Most girls your age would dodge calling them anything at all. Or maybe vaguely refer to their chest.”

“I think you’re wrong. I’m not twelve anymore.”

I hope my arched brow conveys the obviously I’m not allowed to say.

She swallows. “And, well . . . I guess I’m not afraid of words.”

What are you afraid of?

It’s a question I won’t ask. Not when it would invite her to turn it back on me. I don’t want to talk about my fears any further than I did in the kitchen. Not tonight. Not when she’s so close and soon she’ll be so damn far away. I didn’t anticipate it would bother me so much, but the realization eats away at my gut. “That’s good,” I say. “Because you owe me a few.”

She blinks. “What do I owe you?”

“Words.”

“Must you speak in riddles?”

“Your secret. I told you mine, so now it’s your turn.”

Her face pales, and I wonder just how innocent she is that she doesn’t want to talk about it. “You already guessed it. I’m gonna go get dressed.”

She turns toward her room, and I grab her wrist to stop her. “We can do this one of two ways,” I say, and she slowly turns back to face me. “You can just tell me, which would be fair, since that was our deal. Or”—I lift the beer I grabbed from the fridge—“we can play a game.”

She studies the bottle. “What kind of game?”

“Never Have I Ever.”

She snorts and folds her arms. “Seriously? As I mentioned a minute ago, I’m not twelve anymore.”

I turn up the palm of my free hand, moving it up and down opposite the beer in the other hand, as if I’m weighing them against each other. “Your choice.”

“Fine, the game, but I’m getting dressed first.”

“If you must,” I say. I can’t stop grinning. Damn it. She does that to me.

I wait in the hall while she disappears into her bedroom, my eyes fixed on the door the whole time. Carter would definitely kick my ass if he knew I was about to play a drinking game with his little sister. But it’s not like we’re playing with tequila. One beer split between the two of us can’t get me in too much trouble. That said, if she’s as innocent as she claims, I’ll be the one doing most of the drinking.