Page 42 of Eye Candy

“Matty Patel!” Decades of saved hostility exploded out of my brother. “Remember her? I was in love with her, and you walked into my room when I was showing her my rare card collection. She was in the palm of my hand and you ruined it!”

I fought a laugh. “Joe, you were thirteen. She was your babysitter and in grad school. Your crush was embarrassing for everyone.”

Almost as embarrassing as when Dad slept with her.

But Joe didn’t know about that.

“I hate you,” he said.

“I know.” I shoved my brother into the shower and used my body to block him from running back out. He was bigger than me but not at his fighting best. “Don’t worry, I know.”

From behind me, Floss shouted, “I’ll get towels!”

My intention was just to rinse Joe’s front, but he was being annoying and wouldn’t stand still, so I flipped the water on cold and doused him, face-first. He spluttered, but he wasn’t so drunk it was dangerous, and it had the desired effect of shutting him up for five seconds.

My little brother shook his hair like a dog and said uncomplimentary things about my parentage, 50 percent of which was correct, although he didn’t seem to realize it applied to him as well.

A fluffy white bundle was thrust in front of my face. “Towels!”

“Thanks. Put them on—ow, fuck, no Joe!—on the chair.” Joe had used my distraction to lunge for the showerhead and spray me in the face.

“Vengeance!” my brother shouted, kicking water at me. “Take that! And that! I hate you, you uptight, sanctimonious, babysitter-stealing motherf?—”

I wrestled the showerhead back from my brother and resisted the urge to dunk him in the toilet. Smaller hands joined mine as Floss slipped under my arms to help. But the shower space wasn’t built for three, so when Joe slipped—as a crowded, unbalanced drunk invariably would—and she lunged to catch him, her ass pressed into my crotch. Perfectly.

Dripping, Floss blinked up at me over her shoulder.

I had no hope of hiding my expression.

She looked obscene. Wet and messy, her ass right there, teasingmy cock like she teased the rest of me. I forgot about Joe. I forgot about the party. All I could think about was peeling that wet denim off her and bending her over again.

That was problematic.Iwas fucking problematic. Something about this woman made it difficult to keep a tight grip on what ethical conduct looked like.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re right there.”

I grunted something.

“I… I think Joe’s as clean as he’s going to get.”

Right. Joe. That was the issue: my infuriating, belligerent little brother who always drank too much and wouldn’t let me love him.

I hoisted him out of the shower, cursing every single overdeveloped muscle on his body. Again, Floss hovered. I liked the way her hands flapped at my back—superfluous but ready to help. She swaddled Joe in towels despite his protests. The water had done wonders for his sobriety, but I was drenched.

Joe muttered something rude but stayed put.

“Go change into something dry, Joe. Take anything you want from my closet.”

“Gee,” Joe drawled, “which brown sweater will I choose?”

Floss beat me to a reply. “Shut up, you big baby. Go.”

Joe blinked. And did as she said.

“Here, Chase,” she tossed me a towel, and pulled one of the guest robes off the hook behind the door. “You should get out of your wet stuff too.”

“I’m fine.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Are you shy? Want me to turn around, Mr. Moral?”

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