Chapter 28 Gage
GAGE
Bellamy pulls out of his embrace and glances between us with a grin. “Chicken? God, the last time I played that was here, with—”
“Me,” I finish for her. “And we were reigning champs that summer.”
The memory brings a smirk to my lips. I remember the way she got so competitive that summer, her face flushed pink from the sun and something fiercer, eyes narrowed to slits when Becky Simmons sauntered over in that white string bikini that left nothing to the imagination.
Becky had tossed her bleach-blonde hair and trailed her French-manicured fingertips down my forearm, purring about how we'd make the perfect team.
But Bell had stepped between us, water droplets still cascading down her golden shoulders, and fixed it with that knife-edge smile of hers.
I lock eyes with Bell now and repeat those exact words, watching for the spark of recognition. “It’s bad luck to break up a winning team, Cruzie. You understand, don’t you?”
She inhales sharply before sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. “You thinking we need to defend our title, Gage?”
“Unless you’re scared?” I arch a brow, laying the challenge at her feet like some kind of offering.
She shoves her beer into Cruz's abdomen for him to hold, never breaking eye contact with me as her fingers work the button of her cutoffs.
The zipper slides down one metal tooth at a time, the sound lost beneath the thrum of music but I swear I can hear it.
She hooks her thumbs into the belt loops and tugs the tight denim over the curve of her hips with a deliberate slowness that makes my mouth go dry.
The shorts catch for just a second on the swell of her thighs before surrendering, pooling around her ankles.
I catch only a fleeting glimpse of smooth, sun-kissed skin, a constellation of freckles dusting her upper thigh, before her shirt falls back into place.
In the next heartbeat, she crosses her arms at her waist, gathering the worn cotton between her fingers, and pulls the shirt upward in one fluid motion.
The material drags across her skin, revealing inch by torturous inch of toned stomach, the gentle dip of her navel until finally she's standing before me in nothing but that black bikini, the thin straps cutting across golden shoulders, the fabric clinging to every curve like it was made for her body alone.
I always thought it would be a job gone wrong, a lucky shot, or something reckless and undoubtedly fun.
But staring at Bellamy Hale in that black bikini, knowing those thighs are gonna be wrapped around my head in the pool in mere minutes—her skin pressed against mine, her laughter vibrating through my bones—that sounds like my kind of way to go.
The only way it would be better is if I was buried between those thighs with her nails digging crescents into my scalp, her back arching off the mattress, my name torn from her throat like a goddamn prayer as I taste every inch of her until she shatters against my tongue.
But I’ll take what I can get.
I whistle low, my feet carrying me toward her like a magnet. My fingertips brush the warm skin at her waist, just starting to curl around the curve of her hip when Cruz's arm shoots between us. His shoulder bumps mine as he wedges his body into the space, his grin all teeth.
“Water's waiting,” he says, jerking his chin toward the glowing blue rectangle where bodies splash and shout. “Let's see what you've got, Bells.”
Cruz's fingers wrap around her wrist, tugging her forward. Her head tips back, throat exposed, as laughter spills from her lips. The sound cuts through the party noise like a blade. Her hair swings with the momentum as she half-turns, one foot already stepping toward the glittering water.
Those dark eyes find mine over her bare shoulder, pupils wide in the fading light. Her lips part, the corner of her mouth lifting in a way that makes my stomach tighten. “Are you coming?”
My throat goes dry. My gaze catches on the curve where her waist dips in before flaring to hips that sway with each step. The black fabric stretches tight across her ass, riding high enough that I can see the constellation of three freckles on her left cheek that form a perfect triangle.
“You gonna let Cruz take her into the pool like that?” Rafe drawls from next to me.
I swallow my flinch and glare at him. “What the fuck, Rafe? Why is everyone sneaking up on me tonight.”
Rafe flashes me his teeth in a grin. “Didn’t you hear? It’s a party, brother.”
My shirt sticks to my back as I reach behind my head, fingers fumbling for the collar.
The fabric stretches across my shoulders before surrendering with a soft snap of static.
Humid night air hits my skin as I toss it onto the patio chair, where it lands in a crumpled heap atop her neatly folded cutoffs.
I take three big strides, and then I’m launching through the air in what feels like an epic cannonball.
I break the surface with a gasp, chlorine burning my nostrils.
“I see you still have it.” Bell treads water inches away, her head thrown back, droplets clinging to her eyelashes as laughter spills from her throat.
“What can I say? It’s a gift.” I swipe my palm across my face, blinking away the sting. My fingers catch in my soaked hair, pushing it back just as Cruz's shadow looms. His arm arcs back, water cupped in his palm, teeth flashing in a wicked grin.
“Oh shit.” My hands find Bell's bare waist, slick and warm despite the cool water. I yank her against my chest, her surprised yelp cut short as we plunge beneath the surface in a swirl of bubbles and tangled limbs.
Her arms wind around my neck and her legs hook around my hips, locking us together as we sink under.
The pool water is icy against my skin, a shock that wakes up every nerve ending.
I open my eyes underwater and she’s right there, hair floating like golden halo, eyes dark and wild. She smiles at me through the ripples.
We break the surface, gasping and laughing.
She spits a stream of water at my face and shoves off my chest, but I catch her around the waist before she can get away.
I swipe water from my eyes, watching as she floats backwards, arms spread, the black bikini top fighting for it’s life and clinging to her chest. Water drips down the curves of her body, the droplets catching the blue-white glow from underwater lights.
Cruz surfaces in front of us, shaking water from his hair like a dog. He’s grinning, his eyes locked on Bellamy as if she’s the only thing left in the world worth looking at. “Rematch?” he says, and his hand splays across the water, palm-up.
Bell's lips twitch at the corner, her left eyebrow arching just enough that a tiny crease forms above it. My stomach tightens in anticipation—I've seen this look a hundred times before, usually right before chaos erupts.
“Absolutely.” She dips her hand below the surface, then sweeps it upward in a perfect arc that sends a glittering sheet of water straight into Cruz's face.
Before the droplets even finish their descent, her fingers dig into my shoulder, nails pressing half-moons into my skin as she yanks herself behind me, using my body as a human shield.
Cruz laughs, water streaming down his face. “Damn, Bells. Savage.”
“Strategic,” she corrects, chin resting on my shoulder.
I reach behind me, fingers finding the warm curve of her hip, and pull her flush against my back. The slick press of her skin against mine sends electricity crackling down my spine, her heartbeat a wild drum I can feel hammering between my shoulder blades.
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
Her breath tickles my ear. “I know.” Her thighs tighten at my sides as she shifts.
I bare my teeth at my brother, my eyes narrowing as I walk backward through the water. Droplets cascade down my chest with each step.
“C'mon, Cruzie,” I say, the childhood nickname sliding out like a knife. “If you want her, come and get her.”
Cruz's jaw tightens, a muscle flickering beneath his stubbled cheek. His gaze holds mine for three heartbeats before he turns his head, water spraying from his hair. “Who wants to play a fucking game?” he calls, voice carrying across the pool.
The pool fills with bodies, people crowding around the edges to watch.
The game is simple: chicken, just like we’ve always played since we were kids. Except we’re not kids anymore, and Bell’s hands gripping my scalp aren’t shy about digging in.
Not that she ever was.
Cruz has some blonde in a pink bikini on his shoulders. Her manicured nails dig into his scalp, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. His eyes are locked on us, jaw tight, nostrils flared.
Nah, my brother is playing a different game entirely as he wades closer, water rippling around his chest in circles, the pool lights casting shadows across the hollows of his face.
We play like our lives depend on it. Bellamy's competitive streak blazes hot—her thighs tightening around my neck when she nearly topples, her triumphant laugh cutting through the splashing chaos. But it's nothing compared to the electric current running between Cruz and me.
In the end, Bellamy lunges forward with a warrior's cry, her fingers tangled with the blonde's as they grapple mid-air.
The girl in pink teeters backward, mouth open in a perfect O of surprise, her free arm windmilling.
Not even Cruz can stop momentum and gravity.
They crash into the water with a splash that sends waves slapping against the pool's edge, and the crowd cheers.
She leans to the side and I look toward her, her face hovering inches from mine. Her wet hair falls around us like a curtain, dripping cool rivulets down my temples. All I can make out is her wide grin, her bottom lip fuller than the top, dimple winking from her right cheek.
“Your brother’s gonna be so mad we beat him,” she says in a sing-song voice.
“He’ll live,” I murmur, my lips a hair away from hers.
God, do I want to fucking kiss her.
“How about that dessert?” She doesn’t move away, but she doesn’t move closer either. The corner of her lip catches between her teeth for just a heartbeat before releasing, leaving the smallest indentation behind.