14. Montana
“Sold” by John Michael Montgomery plays from the speaker of Ellison’s phone beside her on the lounger of her parents’ pool. Her pretty face is pointed toward the sun, and even though sunglasses cover her eyes, the quirk of her lips is enough to tell me she remembers this song as well as I do.
Growing up, I’d thought that song was all I needed to know about wooing a girl, and I practiced my slick dance moves on Ellison. She’d rolled her eyes and told me I was bein’ ridiculous, but really she was mad the girl in the song had blonde hair and hers was a rich dark brown.
She hasn’t spotted me yet and I make up my mind on the spot—kicking my shoes off and dropping my keys and phone softly in the grass. Ellison’s head lolls to the side, and her smile widens as I join in on the next chorus, shimmying and reviving some of the rusty dance moves I’d retired in our youth.
Ellison laughs, her breasts bouncing in the hot-pink bikini top, and I can barely focus with the way her sun-kissed legs look with one knee bent and the other stretched out toward me. She’s hot as hell, and just because I know she’ll love it, I change the words to brown hair, brown eyes and really belt it out.
She claps along, whistling and catcalling me before falling sideways in a fit of giggles in the lounge chair.
“What do you think? Did I live up to the original?”
“I mean,” she says when she’s gained some composure, “it’s hard to match perfection, but your enthusiasm is noted.”
I snort as she swipes at the corners of her eyes. Offering her my hand, I pray she’s too distracted to see through my intentions. When her soft palm slides against mine, I don’t wait. Rushing forward, I use her momentum and drop my shoulder, hoisting her up and off the lounger before she can react.
Ellison squeals and latches on to me like a spider monkey, her hands grabbing at me as I take two steps toward the pool and launch us into the deep end.
She lets out a colorful string of curses before we hit the cool water, both of us weightless for a split second before going under. I love the initial drop below the surface, the displacement of water that leaves you suspended before forcing you up again. Bubbles surround us, and I grunt as Ellison’s foot not so accidentally makes contact with my stomach, but it’s so worth it.
I’m just about to tell her that, but instead of sucking in a lung full of air when I surface, I suck in the wave she splashes at me. Coughing and sputtering, I can’t help but laugh, the denim of my jeans plastered to my legs and no longer as fun as when I first had this idea.
“Really proud of yourself, aren’t you, Max?” Ellison asks, her dark ponytail stuck to the side of her head.
“A little.”
“Well good, because my sunglasses are currently in a relationship with Davy Jones’s Locker.” I follow her gaze, shamelessly taking a perusal of her body in the water before locating said item gently swaying along the bottom.
“Don’t worry, Eddie, I’ll?—”
“Oh no,” she says, her expression mischievous as we both tread water, “lose the shirt and pants, good sir.” She points at the diving board and I roll my lips inward. “And make it good, because you know how much I like to judge your technique.”
I try not to react to the suggestive lilt she puts on the word technique, but it’s impossible as I pull myself out of the pool and strip out of my shirt. The fabric lands in a wet plop on the patio next to me, making Ellison pump her fist in the air while yelling take it off and other things that have heat creeping up my neck.
My jeans are heavy and rough against my skin, and the friction as I push them over my dick has me swallowing a groan and then a chuckle as Ellison motions for me to turn around—the girl is really after the full show today.
And dammit if I don’t want to give it to her.
“You getting a commission for wearing those boxer briefs?”
“Shut up, Eddie,” I say on a laugh as I toss my jeans and socks next to my shirt before stalking toward the diving board. This is a game we’ve played a hundred times before—minus the sexual tension and innuendos of course. My need to constantly try and impress Ellison was only matched by her drive to make sure she could nail every trick, jump, and flip I did too.
Girl always did know how to keep me humble.
“Let’s see it! Double backflip with a triple tuck!” she yells like she has any idea what that would actually look like, but I nod seriously before stepping onto the board and blowing out a breath. Locating the glasses at the bottom, I lock eyes with Ellison before jumping on the end of the board.
She throws her head back and laughs the minute I tuck my arms around my legs, cannonballing into the water. It’s the last thing I hear as I break the surface of the water, and this time, I let myself drop as far as I can before kicking my legs and swimming down. My fingers wrap around one of the lenses, and it’s enough of a hold for me to shift toward Ellison before kicking up like a rocket. I emerge from the water like a breaching whale and she yelps, no doubt in surprise, before clapping and cheering.
“Bravo!”
It’s ridiculous.
Childish.
But it’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time and that’s saying something.
“Your protective eyewear, ma’am,” I say as I gently place her sunglasses on her gorgeous face.
“Why thank you,” she replies, and even through the darkened lens I can feel the heat in her gaze, and it no doubt mirrors my own. The urge to reach out and pull her body against mine is almost unbearable, but we have plans.
Because of course we do.
“We need to, uh…” I start and then have to clear my throat when she reaches out and her calf brushes against my thigh. Fuck. “We need to dry off and head over to Mason’s for game night.”
“Game night,” she deadpans before pushing her sunglasses onto the top of her head and narrowing her eyes at me. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah, and he’s really excited.”
“Okay, well, I can just see you when you come home.”
“Nope, you’re coming.”
“What? Why? I don’t even know him.”
“I’ve told you about Mason and his brother, Bodhi.”
“Foster brothers, right?”
I nod. “Came down here and have been working for Case and Otto Thayer doing landscaping…”
“That’s all great but it doesn’t explain why I have to go.” She pouts and it’s as frustrating as it is adorable.
Worrying my bottom lip with my teeth, I try and figure out how to accurately describe Mason but then shrug and go with, “You’ll understand when you meet him. Guy is…hard to say no to.”
“That’s never been a problem for me.”
Tell me about it.
I swallow the words and swim to the side of the pool, wiggling my ass for her benefit before pulling myself onto the patio.
“Let’s go, Eddie, the guys want to see you.”
Her steps falter as she grabs the towel she left lying on the lounger, her head whipping to me so fast that water droplets fan out in an arc off her hair.
“Guys? As in plural?”
“What? Yeah, for game night. Mason and Bodhi live together so…”
“You’re not sellin’ this, Max.”
Rolling my eyes, I grab my wet clothes off the ground and hold them in my fist, already resigned to the fact that I’m driving home in my boxers.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
Won’t be the last.
“It’s not a big deal. It’s Archer and Bea—you met her already—Jensen and then Mason and Bodhi.”
“Oooh, the sheriff, huh?”
“Hey now,” I start with my hands on my hips, but she just giggles and shakes her head.
“Fine, I’ll go to your game night but don’t expect me to have fun.” My lips twitch but I nod solemnly.
“Course not.”
“Well, let’s go so I can shower and get dressed.” She motions down her still damp body. “Someone threw me in the pool, and I don’t want to be wet for game night.”
Making no effort to hide her perusal of my body, Ellison grabs her things and then saunters out the side gate, leaving me to catch up in a hurry.
Whistling, I take my time because Ellison Mills is a hell of a view.