Straightening my shirt, I make up my mind.
I’m done living by other people’s rules.
5
Logan
We’re shooting the shit in the kitchen, sitting around the bar when, three big gulps into my iced tea, I choke.
What is Joey wearing?
At first, all my monkey brain can process is skin. Golden skin. Smooth planes with faint freckles. And curves. So many fucking curves.
Despite my hacking cough, I still manage to ogle the woman, who’s now decked out in what have to be Tori’s clothes. Because I have never seen Joey put so much on display. Even when we go swimming, she always wears a giant T-shirt over her suit.
I’m not judging. Women should wear whatever they want. I’m not some Neanderthal. I’m just not used to my friend in this context. The limited clothing context.
As I stare at her, two words come to mind: Mouthwatering tits. Damn, she’s stacked.
Is it hot in here? I take one more gulp of my tea, feeling like I got struck in the face by a two-by-four. How have I not ever noticed that my best friend is alarmingly attractive? It’s like my head always knew this, but the rest of me is only now catching on.
Awkwardly, she tugs at her tank, to pull it away from her stomach. She’s shy, and judging from the flush crawling up her neck, she’s feeling it now too.
I wonder where else she gets flushed.
Not cool, dude.
I’m about to turn away when I catch a glimpse of her round little ass in those snug shorts. Fuck me.
My cock agrees with a hearty nod.
Clenching my eyes shut, I think of all the disgusting things I can. Like that time Patrick puked up eggs through his nose after going on a bender. Or how much horse shit I have to shovel when one of our ranch hands calls in sick. Or when my nephew crapped all over my lap when he was two.
Better.
My dick stands down enough that I can lean back in my seat, but now I’m wary. Joey and I have spent tons of time together over the years, and I’ve never been so affected by her presence.
Is that why I was acting like a tool out on the front stoop, grabbing her and telling Patrick to piss off? I’ve been a dick to him all day for no good reason, except maybe he’s right… I’m feeling territorial about Joey. More than my typical BFF concerns.
I’m gonna need something stronger than tea to wrap my head around this.
Sure, I’ve missed her. Been upset with her for disappearing on me. Wanted to straighten things between us, but the thoughts hurtling through my brain have more to do with exploring that tight little body rather than reuniting with an old pal.
And that’s a line I’ve never crossed. But given how my friends and family constantly encourage the “Team LoJo” relationship, it’s no wonder my thoughts are going haywire.
I’ve had her firmly placed in the little sister category for so long that even when she grew curves, I’ve always tried to ignore it.
Except…
Except for that one spring.
A flash of a memory from my senior year breaks out of the box I keep all the shit from that time locked down.
Of her laughing. Of us talking in the barn. She was only fourteen and so fucking beautiful. It was always her eyes that got me. Pierced me down to my soul—the way she looked at me. The way she trusted me.
And as someone once pointed out, women should never trust me.
No, the year my father passed away changed everything, and there’s no going back.
Angrily, I thrust my hand into my hair and lock the past away where it’s been for the last eight years.
“We need food!” Mila chants, and I pause my mental bullshit long enough to give my niece a noogie.
This thing with Joey will pass. I’m just tired. Been working seventy-hour weeks, here at the farm and at a side gig that’s not such a side gig anymore.
Something’s gotta give.
My sanity, it appears.
About an hour later, we’re all settling around a mountain of food at the dining room table—the kids, Ethan, Tori, Joey, Patrick, and myself—when the front door creaks open and my mother yells, “Is she here?”
The moment Mom spots Joey, Beverly Carter’s in motion again. Our very own whirling dervish is a silver-blonde ball of energy with a dust cloud behind her feet. My old fears subside as I study my mother’s level of energy. She’s having a good day.
“Darlin’, you are a sight for sore eyes!” My mom collides with Joey in a fierce hug, beaming with delight.
Over the years, I’m pretty sure Mom wanted to trade one of us in for Jo.
I reach for the bowl of mashed potatoes before I hand it to Patrick, who takes the seat next to me. When he’s done, I scoop some onto my nephew’s plate and then push Cody closer to the table so he doesn’t end up with food all over his lap.
Leaning over to him, I whisper, “You feeling better, little dude? Heard you had to go to the doctor.”
“He gave me dwops.” He points to his ear and smiles. “All bettuh.”
I give him a high five.
Today, he’s my shadow, mimicking me every time I reach for my drink or take a bite. When I make a silly face at him, he imitates me.
“Eat your dinner, goofball. Or it’ll get cold.”
Five minutes later, my mother is still gushing over Joey like she hasn’t seen her in years. “Child, my garden has missed you! I swear everything wilted after you left.”
Hell, I wilted after she left.
I smile as I watch my mom and Joey bond over the vegetable garden they always worked on together.
Joey pulls out her phone. “I saw this really cool technique for growing fruit trees we could try. Since you’ve always wanted peach trees…”
I zone out, content simply to have Jo back in our house, but then my mother starts fawning over her again. “Look at this gorgeous hair. I miss the pink you had in last winter, but I love this shade too!”
Next thing I know, my mom’s talked Joey into taking her hair out of the bun, and then her thick, golden locks are spilling over her shoulders and down her chest. Across that tiny tank top and amplifying that killer cleavage.
Fuckkk.
I stare, slack-jawed, like I’m watching one of those models on Instagram shake out her hair before she vamps for the camera.
But Joey doesn’t vamp. She blushes fiercely and glances down, somehow looking more enticing through that veil of shyness.
Patrick bumps me, murmuring under his breath, “Think I just came in my pants, bro.”
I press both of my palms into my eye sockets until I see stars behind my lids as I try to right this ship.
One, I won’t kick Patrick’s ass for having the same thoughts I’m currently entertaining.
Two, I won’t give into the urge to wrap a blanket around Joey.
And three, I definitely won’t haul her, caveman-style, back to my place.
Thankfully, after my mom stops doting, Joey tucks her hair back up into that big twisty knot, an action which I avoid watching.
Across the table, my brother’s having a private conversation with Tori. Well, it ain’t private enough because they’re making goo-goo eyes at each other, and I can almost hear Marvin Gaye crooning Let’s Get It On in the background.
Their love for each other is so palpable, I’m almost jealous.