Page 35 of Dr. Attending

“Because,” she says, drawing out the word like I’m an idiot. “Cass made the room assignments. She said Wes needed the privacy, which is dumb because it’s not like he’s getting any right now.”

“Just have a baby, and you’ll get the basement too.”

“Ew, gross,” she whines. “I think I’m just bitter because I’m horny and not getting any either because of Beau’s stupid residency.”

I snort, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “Wow, Claire. Really going through it, huh?”

She cracks open the can and takes a long sip. “You have no idea.”

The creak of the screen door interrupts her next thought, followed by Beau’s unmistakable southern drawl.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he calls, making an incredibly inappropriate gesture with his hips. “Wanna go make some waves in a no-wake zone?”

I nearly choke on my wine because he’s completely lost his filter now that our brother has gone to bed.

“Sorry, big boy,” I tease, raising my glass. “I’ve got a date with the hot tub. Maybe next time.”

Claire elbows me in the ribs as she reaches for the boat keys on the counter.

“Be right there!” she calls back, sticking her tongue out at me on her way out of the door.

My grin doesn’t leave my face as I make my way outside. Being around the two of them makes me feel like a completely different person. Like someone carefree and fun. Someone who isn’t constantly chasing perfection and can just let loose. Someone I’ve never been but have always wanted to be.

I slide the door shut behind me and step onto the deck, pausing to take in the way that the moon’s reflection shines on the glassy surface of the lake. The sky is so clear now that the rain has stopped, and it reminds me of how I used to love sitting out here at night, staring at the stars and wondering if our dad was up there somewhere. Tonight, I know for a fact that he is—right next to our mom.

“Hey, princess,” Weston’s annoyingly sexy voice calls from the direction of the hot tub.“Finally decide to teach me the difference between a dad and a Daddy?”

I feel my jaw clench, the happiness instantly draining from my body. You would think that it would be easy to avoid someone in a house the size of ours. But he’s been ever-present all day, swarming around me like one of those fruit flies that you can’t quite smack.

“Were you not watchingForgetting Sarah Marshallin the basement with Morgan and Walker?” I ask sweetly, schooling my face into indifference as I pad across the rain-soaked wood.

“Keeping tabs on me?” He man-spreads his surprisingly toned arms across the edge.

His golden gaze dips to my chest, blatantly staring at my black triangle bikini top.

I ignore the thrill that races up my spine as I climb the steps.“I just figure someone should be watching your son. You know, like a responsible adult.”

I know I shouldn’t keep treating him like this—like he’s the same man that I remember from summers at the lake. But it’s just easier for me to bite back, to play the part of the skeptic than to admit that I’ve seen glimpses of change. Because that’s all they are—glimpses.

He’ll show me these moments of maturity, flashes of selflessness, like he did last night. But then, just as quickly, he snaps back to his default setting—the cocky and infuriating guy I’ve always known. It’s like I’m getting emotional whiplash. And honestly, it’s so much easier to stick with what I’ve always believed—that he’s an asshole.

An annoying, attractive asshole.

“Relax,” Weston drawls, his eyes flicking lazily back to my face. “He’s been out for over an hour.”

He nods his head toward the corner of the hot tub where the baby monitor shows his son fast asleep in his travel crib with a pacifier in his mouth.

I feel my cheeks heat as I sink into the water. “Oh . . . good.”

“I love your concern, though,” he teases, his smile widening like he’s enjoying every second of this. “It’s kind of hot.”

I scoff into my wine glass before taking a long swig.

“You’re thirty-three years old, and you still haven’t come up with a better pickup line than calling women hot? That can’t seriously work for you, can it?”

What am I saying? Obviously, it worked—the man has a son.

Weston snickers, pushing himself up a little so that the water splashes against the sides. “First of all, I didn’t say you were hot. I said your concern for my son was hot. Two different things.”

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