Kelly

YANKING OPEN THE FRONT DOOR OF MY HOUSE, I lumber through the mud room, pass through the living room on my way to the kitchen, where I grab two beers from the fridge. A wet nose sniffs the empty hand at my side, and I absently pet the head of my dog, an aging golden retriever named Lexi. She follows me as I cross the spacious room, slide open the deck door, stepping out into the muggy night. I pause on the stoop, Lexi by my side, and the motion detector lights instantly flicker to life. I squint against the sudden brightness, bow my head and slink into a creaky, wooden rocking chair. Popping the top off one of the beers, I tip it into my mouth, swallowing a good third of the cool liquid before I relax into the chair on a sigh.

Lexi ambles off to the yard to do her business and eventually makes her way back to the deck, spinning in a circle a few times before plunking her body down next to me, exhaling a breathy sigh. I lazily rock the chair back and forth, the groans of the old wood the only sound, other than the faint clinking of chimes in the distance. It's breezy tonight, the airflow keeping the mosquitoes at bay.

I take another pull of the beer and pause mid-drink when the lights turn off suddenly. Instead of moving to activate the lights, I still my movements to avoid tripping the sensors, the darkness a welcoming presence.

Thank fuck today is over. It dragged on with endless bumps and worse case scenarios. Running my own business is tireless, thankless work, but I have no regrets leaving my dad's construction company, much to his roaring disapproval. I got the house flipping bug after my grandpa left me money in his will and I used it to buy my first fixer upper, and it just kind of stuck.

I click my heel against the sturdy boards of the deck. This house was my first flip. Well, it was supposed to be, but I moved in temporarily and then never left. It's been a learning curve, and I learned most of my lessons in this very house during the renovating process. That's why I'm not surprised today was such a shit show. Sometimes you just have days where nothing goes exactly right. Today, it was delayed parts that are vital to our current project, which subsequently pushes back the timeline. Again.

That stuff feels insignificant when compared to my afternoon pop-in guest. My father stopped by to ram more guilt and passive-aggressive bullshit down my throat. I'm not visiting my mom enough, he bitched. It's a shame I left him high and dry at the company (very fucking untrue, by the way), because now they're struggling to find adequate help. Same old lines he's been throwing at me for years.

I cringed when I saw him waiting in the office for me, and I wondered if I could sneak out and text one of the team members that I had to run an errand, be back later. But I knew I would just be prolonging the inevitable. The man obviously felt the need to unload; me, his unfortunate victim.

I swallowed my groan and faced the music, barely tuning in as he droned on and on.

A mosquito buzzes around my ear and I swat it away. I discard the empty beer bottle, lifting the second one to my lips. The liquid has lost its cool temperate, warming slightly in the hot summer night. It's still refreshing as it makes its way down my throat.

At least tomorrow is Friday, and I don't need to put any hours in on Saturday since the delayed parts have paused any major work. Friday means Roxy's for beers with friends. Well, mostly Jensen's family, really. They kind of adopted me into their tight circle when I was a kid, and I was no idiot then nor am I now. I know a good thing when I see it, and being part of the Andersons' inner circle is a good thing. Probably the best thing.

My own family never felt quite right. My dad's never-ending criticisms paired with my mom's passive positivity didn't make for the most welcoming or healthy environment. I always tried my hardest to be away from the house as much as possible. It was pretty easy since I was barely noticed at the always chaotic and bustling Anderson house anyway. What's one more body to shuffle around or mouth to feed when you already had a full house and a full table.

My phone buzzes, and I dig it out of the front pocket of my jeans. It buzzes in my hand again, rapid fire. A series of texts from Sutton.

I grin at the screen, picturing her sending the first message and then quickly regretting it and following it up with a few more blubbering ones in way of explanation. Jesus that girl drives me crazy, but not in a frustrating, I fight the urge to strangle her kind of crazy. The kind of way that I shouldn't be feeling. The kind of way I know will surely get me in trouble. The kind of way that has me thinking about her way too fucking often. I have to resist picking up the phone to text her randomly throughout the day, even though I've had entire conversations with her in my head, complete with her bratty comments.

I tear the hat off my head, draping it over my knee, and I drag a hand through my hair. Blowing out a breath, I look at Sutton's texts, figuring I left her simmer in her own embarrassment for long enough. And what I find on my phone doesn't disappoint. I chuckle at my screen as I read.

SUTTON: Who's ready to go big dick hunting tomorrow?!!

SUTTON: Oh shit, wrong text!!!!!

SUTTON: Ignore that. You didn't see that. Wash it from your eyeballs.

SUTTON: You know what, never mind. You can see it. I've no shame.

SUTTON: But also know that was meant for Vivi & JJ. Not your nosy, judgy eyes. So fuck off. I can feel you judging all the way over here.

SUTTON: And stop laughing. I know you're laughing.

SUTTON: You know what, jerk. You're leaving me on READ to fuck with me.

SUTTON: *middle finger emoji*

SUTTON: *gif of Kristen Bell applying lipstick with her middle finger*

I set the nearly empty beer bottle down so I can use both hands to text. It's a two-hand kind of conversation.

ME: Baby girl.

SUTTON: Don't baby girl me. I just spewed a whole bunch of crazy and that's all you have to say?

ME: I'm used to your crazy. Doesn't faze me.

SUTTON: *eye roll emoji*

ME: I like your crazy.

ME: Know what I don't like, though? The big dick hunt.

SUTTON: Surprise, surprise. The judgy Kelly has graced us with his presence.

ME: I'm not judging you, baby girl. You have needs. We all have needs. Just prefer you being careful. Not all men are as upstanding and trustworthy as me. Some men are really big fucking assholes that shouldn't be anywhere near you.

SUTTON: I get it. You're the ideal man. All broody and sexy and plain good while also seeming kind of bad. But unless you have a clone I can mount, I'm shit out of luck, aren't I?

ME: Jesus, Sutton.

SUTTON: Whatever. I'm gonna peace out now.

SUTTON: *peace out emoji*

"Shit," I cuss, the word loud in the quiet backyard. Running a hand down my face, I debate whether to reply or let the conversation die with her exit. We're constantly playing with fire, Sutton and I, the way we toe the line of what's appropriate. Innocent touches that linger too long. Sexual innuendos hidden in sarcastic comebacks. Silent conversations using only body language and facial expressions. All the while never acknowledging or dissecting the interactions. Pretending the underlying pull we have toward each other doesn't exist has become an artform we perfected years ago.

An act I fucking hate.

My phone clunks against the small wooden table as I discard it next to me and retrieve the beer that is by now on the wrong side of warm. I finish it off anyway, sinking back into the chair and groan.

Sutton fucking Anderson. Screwing with my head since she grew boobs and I realized my best friend's bratty baby sister is, in fact, drop dead fucking gorgeous. Ten out of ten. Dream girl material. Also, completely forbidden.

Jensen hasn't wavered in his thoughts on me going anywhere near his sisters, specifically Sutton, since he first issued the warning as teenagers. He's only since made it quite clear on a consistent basis that the rule still applies.

Take the other night Sutton and I were at Jensen and Teddy's for supper, and Teddy broached the topic of Sutton dating a trusted friend instead of a stranger. Pretty sure Teddy has guessed what most probably suspect by now anyway, and she wanted to test the waters with her boyfriend for us.

But even faced with the possibility of an unknown man who could be a rapist or killer versus me, his trusted best friend of decades, he still won't budge on that stupid rule.

I pick up the empty beer bottles and my phone, the light flickering on as I stand, blinding me. I leave the light behind as I enter my dark kitchen, Lexi on my heels, and I blink to adjust. Setting the bottles on the counter to deal with later, I walk up the stairs in my dark and silent house to my bedroom. It's time to call it on this day.

Tomorrow is Friday. Roxy's. Her.

Fuck.

-

THE DIN OF THE BAR NOISES GRADUALLY increase in volume as the night goes on. What started as a low buzz when we first arrived has escalated into an indistinguishable roar, the sounds mixing into a cacophony of noise that reverberates in my head. Moments like these make me feel old. Once upon a time I suppose I wouldn't have been so acutely aware of the change in volume. Now I swear the tempo of my pulse matches the bass of the speakers surrounding us.

My eyes make a tour of Roxy's, starting at the entrance and then weaving around the mix of low and high-top tables, down the length of the bar and over the dancing heads on the makeshift dance floor. When my search comes up empty, I return my gaze to the high-top tables we've shoved together in the corner of the bar we've claimed as ours since we've been coming here every Friday for as long as I can remember.

Roxy's is one of the only three bars in Lake Hope. With slim pickings, we've gravitated here over the other two more townie bars where the local drunks and older crowd frequents. Although, looking around, I'm wondering if maybe we're transitioning out of the younger crowd phase and into the dreaded older one. If my grumblings about the noise level is any indication, it's safe to say maybe our days here at Roxy's are numbered.

I attempt to focus my attention on Finn, Jensen's stepbrother, as he tells a story about one of his latest hookups, but my eyes keep flicking to the front door, waiting for the one Anderson sibling who hasn't shown up yet. I fake amusement when my friends laugh at Finn's story, hiding the disingenuous sentiment behind my beer mug as I take a large drink.

"Ooooh," Rylie sings, the sound turning into a whistle. I look at Rylie, Teddy's best friend, to determine the source of her excitement. She cups a hand around her mouth and shouts, "Looks like our little Sutton is not so cute as a button tonight!"

At Rylie's words, I lift my head, my eyes instinctually hunting for my girl. I suck in my breath when I find her, the sight of her always knocking me off my ass a bit. I don't process anything other than the way my eyes are locked with hers in some sort of unconscious greeting—resigned recognition—slowly exhaling my breath in resignation that I feel inexplicably right again. As if my mind didn't settle right up till the moment she was in my view again.

Shit, I whisper-shout in my head, visibly shaking the thoughts away, severing the intense eye contact. When I find her again, everything comes into full view, and I see her outfit for the first time. I rewind the past few seconds in my mind, recalling Rylie's words; and she's right. Sutton looks hot. Really fucking hot.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief, steadying moment before settling on her again. Her white-blonde hair pools around her face, the soft curls flowing over her shoulders, partially concealing her cleavage. The cleavage that is pushed up in a tight red dress, a dress that leaves little to the imagination. My imagination, to be specific. Not like I need more material to spoil my imagination. It's plenty creative on its own.

I run a hand down my face once my eyes finally travel down the rest of the dress, which doesn't take long since it's short as fuck. Although my body's reaction would say otherwise, I am not happy about the length of her dress. In fact, it pisses me right the fuck off. I know she said she's on a big dick hunt tonight, but hell if I want to see it in action.

I look around the table to see her brothers' reactions. Besides Jensen scolding her about missing part of her dress and Finn harassing her for being on the hunt and Charlie's disapproving head shake, they don't seem overly concerned. In fact, they've gone back to whatever conversation they were interrupted from, leaving Sutton to do as she pleases; and, apparently, she pleases very much judging by the way she lifts onto her tiptoes and looks around the bar.

I'm mentally daring her to look my way again, to lock eyes for one of our silent conversations. She ignores me, though, completely oblivious to the way I'm stewing in my unwarranted anger that I have exactly zero place to legitimately feel. She isn't my girl. I don't have any claim on her. And despite how I feel entitled to such opinions, I honestly have no true right to them.

I'm aware of how unreasonable I'm being, but I give less than zero fucks at the moment. I scoot off my chair and round the table, grabbing Sutton by the wrist and tugging her away from the group. We're cocooned in a false sense of privacy by the loud music and number of bodies surrounding us, when I lean in close to her and whisper, "What are you wearing, baby girl?"

With the hand that was holding her wrist, I dust it along her arm, the contact brief but electric. She sucks in a breath, her hands instinctively reaching out to me. She fists the material of my shirt at my stomach, her eyes snapping up to meet mine. The bright blue eyes glimmer in the low light of the bar, and I brush the flyaway hairs aside that are blocking my view, fingering the softness before tucking the strands behind her ear.

I pinch her chin, tipping her head up to me. "If you were mine, you'd wear this only for me."

I release her to remove the light blue button-down shirt I threw on after my quick shower this evening before leaving my house. This undressing leaves me in only my white t-shirt. I drape the button-down shirt over Sutton's shoulders, guiding her arms through the sleeves. I wonder how long she'll let me manhandle her before she snaps back into her normal Sutton Sass.

It's moments like this, when she reacts to me in telling ways, that I know my feelings aren't one-sided. I'm not in this torture alone. She wants me as much as I want her. It's a relief as much as a curse. If it were one-sided, I could force myself to move on. But knowing if the situation was different, she'd be as open to exploring whatever this is with me as I am with her. This knowledge makes it impossible to willingly accept that we'll never be anything other than friends.

"There," I say once my shirt shields most of the bits of her that were showing. "Now dickwads won't be looking at you with certain thoughts and ideas."

I clock the moment she returns to herself, and I fight the smirk from overtaking my mouth. I love this tug and pull game with her. She shrugs my hands off her and takes a half step away from me. "Isn't that the point?" she asks in a huffy voice, then clears her throat as if to reset her tone. Her next words are calmer, laced with a sultriness I love and loathe equally. "Maybe I want them getting certain thoughts and ideas. Why do you care, though? Are you afraid you might see little ole Sutton Button as someone other than your best friend's bratty baby sister?"

My eyes trail over her body as I say, "Oh, I've seen you, Sutton. Trust me, I've seen you."

"And, what, you don't like it? Or maybe you like it too much? And, let me guess, you don't want to like it?"

I groan, shaking my head, the frustration obvious in my voice as I grunt, "Just keep the shirt on, baby girl. It's either that or I haul you out of here over my shoulder."

"Mmmm. Didn't realize that was an option. What'll you do with me then?"

I know she's baiting me. I know it, and still I fall into her trap. "Don't test me, baby girl," I grit through my teeth.

She burrows her face into my shirt and inhales my scent. "Thanks for the shirt. Might wear just this tonight. Maybe I'll think of my big brother's best friend during my solo sexy time. I'm obviously not getting laid with this overprotective asshat babysitting me."

Stepping into her space, I grip the shirt closed tightly over her body. "If you don't want to be seen as a brat, Sutton, don't act like one." I button up the shirt partway, tucking her tits away. "Leave. It. On."

"Yes, sir," she purrs before turning away.

I grab her elbow before she can leave, and I whisper in her ear, "Brat."

Looking over her shoulder at me, she mouths the word, "Dick." And with a sexy grin, she walks away.