My phone alerts me that the Uber Eats driver has just left my coffee on the porch, so I throw my legs over the side of the lounge chair, but before I can push to my feet, my side gate rattles, and my head snaps that way.
Beretta hops over the fence with a wink, and I cross my arms as he opens the gate, revealing Ransom and Arsen on the other side of it.
Arsen smirks, holding up his hand, my coffee tucked inside it, an entire tray of coffees in the other.
Ransom grabs it along with another from the drink carrier and slips ahead of them, so I drop back in the chair and let the guy bring it to me.
He offers me both, and I gladly accept.
“Thank you.” I tilt my head.
Ransom must be wondering what exactly lies behind the dark lenses over my eyes, because he pushes them up onto my head.
He frowns. “I’m not seeing anger.”
I scoff, and bring my drink to my lips, reveling in the rich aroma before taking a small sip. Delicious.
I shrug. “I will never be angry when a hot latte is placed in my hand, and I have two.”
The corner of his mouth tips up and my shoulders ease a bit.
“Listen—” I begin, but then he’s pulling off his shirt, his tight body commanding my eyes to take inventory of each and every inch.
Ransom’s body is something to be admired. His skin shines like the finest of silks, glowing a deep gold, and he’s toned at every inch. The cuts of his abs are natural and deep. He’s not burly by any means, rather tapered to precision, as are the sharp cuts of his hip bones pitted perfectly, inviting on their very own. I follow the length of the lines, and only then do I notice he’s wearing swim trunks.
They all are, and at some point, the other two managed to discard their tops, too, both having already dropped in the chairs to my right, hot drinks at their lips.
Ransom claims the one at my left.
“You were saying?” He raises a brow.
A laugh sputters from me, and I push my glasses back down. “Yeah, yeah. Sun, swimming, and seriously delicious coffee it is, but only for a few hours. I’m busy this afternoon.”
“Right, ‘the man.’”
I point a brassy smile to Beretta.
Honestly, I’m surprised he remembered the day he eavesdropped on mine and my parents’ conversation.
“Man?” Ransom pushes.
“Oh, you mean he didn’t report back to you with every little detail from that day?” I joke, and Beretta chuckles. “Interesting.”
Ransom’s glare grows deeper and I laugh.
“I’m working on the next phase of spoiled rich girl, that’s all,” I mock myself before he can.
“And deeper into the pit she goes.”
“I was born in the pit, Ransom. It’s all about navigation.”
“And you’ve got all the direction you need, huh?”
I give a simple shrug. “Some people go to college after high school, others go to the altar.”
He looks my way, so I push my glasses up on my head.
After a short stare-off, in which his face remains blank, he scoffs, sips his drink and sits back, so I do the same, refusing to dwell on his little trip inside my head last night.
It’s a new day, yesterday forgotten, so for the next couple hours, we simply hang out.
No one whines for fresh-squeezed orange juice to complete their mimosas, complains the water is too cold, or throws a fit over their hair getting wet. There’s no hint of coconut oil in the air and no photo sessions.
It’s pretty damn nice.
Right as I think it, a splash of water blurs my vision.
Arsen grips me by the hips and lifts me into the air. A quick squeal escapes me, and I’m forced to wrap my legs around his body for stability, knowing full well we’re going in.
Sure enough, with me wrapped around him, he jumps into the deep end. His legs come up, crossing under mine, slowly allowing us to fall to the pool’s floor.
At the bottom, he releases me, and we try to sit with our legs crossed as gravity sends us back to the surface.
Laughing, I swim to the opposite end, where we set up some snack trays with items we found in the fridge from Gennie.
I pick up a small crab cake and push the entire thing in my mouth as Arsen swims up, opening his.
I shove one in, laughing when he nips at my fingers and nods toward the pitcher of water, his empty glass in his free hand.
As I pass it to him, I catch Ransom staring, and he doesn’t turn away, but Arsen pats my thigh, so I refocus on him.
He nods toward the waterfall.
“Go for it.” I laugh. “But you’re on your own with that one.”
With a grin, he takes off underwater.
His head pops up and he climbs out as Ransom lowers himself beside me.
He watches Arsen, a strained look in his eyes. “He likes you.”
I study him a moment and then decide. “That surprises you?”
As if he’s unsure my statement is true, his brows pinch.
“He doesn’t sign,” I ease, and Ransom looks to me. “Does that mean he can speak but doesn’t?”
“As long as I’ve known him, I’ve never heard him say a word,” he shares. “He saw some shit as a kid, things his dad did to his own mom. When someone finally called social services, his dad told him if he spoke a word, he’d find him and do worse. He told anyway and later, they gave him back to his dad, and the asshole made good on his promise. He couldn’t speak after, and once he got better, he decided he didn’t want to.” He shrugs.
My muscles clench and I look to Arsen. “He doesn’t need words. He speaks in his own way.”
“He’s fluent with you. Normally he just... stares or glares around other people, avoids as much as he can. Not with you.” A small frown mars his forehead. “He motions, and you understand, without annoyance or pause or frustration. People aren’t like that with him.”
“People like Scott.” I remember that day in cooking class.
When he doesn’t speak, I look his way, and his eyes are already on me.
“You’re not like them,” he says suddenly, a thick sense of certainty in his tone, and while I hold his gaze a moment, I’m forced to look away.
Sure, they’re superficial rich kids in every sense of the word, preparing to live the lives their parents laid out for them, but am I not doing the same?
At least they’re enjoying themselves as they wait, rather than watching the clock and wishing to get it over with already, like me.
Maybe I should be more like them than I already am.
Fact is, I am ‘like them.’
A low sigh leaves me, and the corner of my lip pulls into a tight smile. “You’re wrong.”
“But you don’t want me to be.” His arm stretches out behind me, allowing him to lean closer, my shoulder nearly touching his chest now, his lips almost meeting mine. His breath is warm and minty, rich with a scent I can’t place but screams him. “Tell me I’m wrong about that...”
If I tell you you’re right, that means you see what you shouldn’t and understand what no one else does, but that can’t possibly be true. I’ve never failed at hiding and I can’t afford to start now.
“I didn’t drink and drive,” unexpectedly flies from my mouth.