Chapter 19
19
Preston
S hane, Natalie, and I stand in line, waiting for my turn in the Jell-O pit.
“Good thing you didn’t wear a suit,” Natalie says, eyeing me up and down in a way that I like way more than I should.
“If I were wearing a suit, no way would I agree to this,” I say.
I’m wearing cutoff sweats and a T-shirt—clothes I can stand to sacrifice to the god of purple Jell-O.
Natalie is wearing a pair of capri leggings and another of her tunic tops, this one a tank. Her arms are luscious, bare expanses of satiny skin. I can’t look too directly at them, or I start to think about what that skin would feel like under my tongue. What the rest of her would feel like.
“Next,” Kane Wilder—Jell-O pit supervisor—says. Natalie gives me a shove in the small of my back, and I step forward.
“Who’s your opponent?”
“I am,” Shane says, stepping forward next to me.
By this point, the pool has largely lost its audience because all the kids have moved on to playing some kind of mammoth game of capture the flag, the older kids keeping the younger ones in line. And I’m grateful for that at least.
“Oh, this should be good.”
I turn to see Hanna standing next to Quinn and Natalie.
“I put my money on Shane. He has a personal trainer,” Hanna says. “And this guy”—she gestures at me—“he’s got a desk job.”
She’s grinning, and I’m feeling pretty good about actually doing something that makes my sister happy instead of angry and miserable.
“Shit,” Shane says suddenly, reaching for his phone in his pocket. “I have to take this. Natalie,” he says, “will you take over for me? You’re my champion. Your victory is my victory. Tickets to my next premiere if you win.”
What? What fresh hell is this? I glare at my brother, then turn the glare on Natalie, willing her to refuse. Not because I don’t want to have my hands all over her in a pool of Jell-O. I do. Way too much.
It’s exactly the sort of situation I should avoid with her. Like playing with sex toys and getting a couples massage and smashing things.
I’m batting a thousand.
Natalie doesn’t refuse. Instead, she beams at Shane. “Of course ,” she says. “I would kill for those tickets. Wrestling your brother into submission should be a piece of cake and would be my great honor.”
Wrestling your brother into submission .
That should not be sexy.
And yet blood has reversed itself from key locations like my fucking brain and reoriented itself to where I definitely don’t need any more of it.
“Don’t let him wimp out,” Shane instructs Quinn and Hanna, then swipes his phone and jogs off, saying “Ernst? What’s up?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Hanna says darkly. “No way he’s wimping out. He owes me some good entertainment.”
They’re seriously going to watch me Jell-O wrestle my hot coworker. That’s?—
Probably illegal in several states.
Kane Wilder has been watching and listening with more amusement than I think is warranted. Now he says, “Okay, people, let’s keep this moving. Lots of demand for the Jell-O pool. Hop in.”
Kane helps Natalie into the pool. She stands in the middle of the purple mess, grinning at me, and fuck me if I can’t marshal any resources to refuse.
“Preston,” Hanna says sternly, and Quinn takes a menacing step toward me. Aside from Tucker, who could fell a giant with his left hand, Quinn is my biggest brother and probably has fifty pounds of sheer muscle on me. I quickly step into the pool.
Natalie gives me a tentative shove. The Jell-O underfoot is way more slippery than I was expecting, and it takes me a second to find my footing. I give her a tentative shove back.
She’s smiling.
“Why are you smiling?” I ask.
“Because I know something you don’t know.”
It’s a line from The Princess Bride , which I’ve watched more times than—than I care to admit.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“I played women’s club rugby for years,” she grunts, and then, before I can prepare myself, she lowers her shoulder, wedges it against my thigh, and shoves, surprisingly hard. And even though I must have fifty pounds on her, she’s strong and she’s currently much lower to the ground. I go back onto my ass, and Natalie, who may have put more power into the move than was strictly necessary, lands on top of me.
I smirk at her.
“Why are you giving me that smirky face?” she asks.
“Because I know something you don’t know.”
“What’s that?” she asks.
“I was on the high school wrestling team.”
I neatly flip her, pinning her beneath me. And we’re both laughing, our faces inches apart, and it feels so fucking good to laugh with her?—
And then we’re not laughing. Because she’s all generous curves, but beneath the softness is surprising strength, and she’s fighting to get her advantage back, writhing under me, flexing against me, and?—
Fuck .
It feels good and her gaze locks on mine and neither of us looks away and?—
“Time!” Kane calls, and suddenly I remember that we’re in a giant kiddie pool of purple Jell-O, that we’re at a family party, and that my sister and brother are standing over us watching.
The world rushes back, and I scramble off her, trying to figure out if I stand up how obvious my arousal will be. I catch her eye, and she bites her lip like she knows, moving to stand between me and our audience. Which…I mean, it helps with one problem, but now she’s standing there, her delectable heart-shaped ass inches from my?—
Bond price formula!
Price = (Coupon × (1-(1+r)^-n)/r) + Par Value/(1+r)^n
It takes a few times through, but it works like a charm.
I’m able to accept the congratulations of my family members without ruining the whole party’s good time.