30. Ryan
CHAPTER THIRTY
Ryan
My hand lifts to knock on Parker’s door, but the door snaps open at the same time.
“Look at this tan motherfucker,” he says, pulling me into a man-hug. We didn’t use to hug much, but ever since his daughter became old enough to notice how her aunt always hugs her friends while Daddy doesn’t, that changed.
“Uncle Ryan,” Chrissy screams, running into a hug.
“Did you get taller while I was away?”
She giggles while I ruffle her hair. Unlike her dad’s dark brown shade, hers is a honey blonde. She has his eyes, though, sharing the same tint of chocolate brown. She wears her favorite light blue sweatsuit, one that is already getting short at the sleeves, with how fast she’s growing.
“No, silly. You’ve only been away for a week.”
“Well, it sure seems like you did. Who did you get all dressed up for? Me?”
Once again, she falls into a fit of giggles. No wonder I love hanging out with her, she does great things for my self-esteem.
“Auntie Joy is picking me up for a sleepover. You owe me one, by the way.” She points a stern finger at me.
“I know, I know.” I lift my hands in surrender. “How about next time you come, you stay the whole weekend?”
She taps her chin with her finger, considering my offer. “Will we do something fun?”
“Pfft. What do you think?”
“Fine.” She reaches out her hand and I shake it, shaking my head with a smile.
“Go grab your bag, Princess. Auntie will be here any second now,” Parker says.
“Have fun,” I say after her as she rushes up the stairs, and I head toward Parker’s kitchen.
Their house is something between a bachelor pad and a cozy home.
Colorful pillows adorn the dark gray sectional, family photos decorating the stand underneath the mammoth wall-mounted TV.
I proceed to the kitchen, finding a large, state-of-the-art fridge covered in drawings and Wes sitting on a bar stool at the white quartz kitchen island.
“Hi, man. How was the trip?” He fixes his glasses before hugging me, too. His white polo is ironed to perfection, and he already has the book lined neatly in front of him.
“It was great.” I grab myself a soda from the fridge, something I’ve done in Parker’s house since I was fourteen, and sit next to Wes.
The looks he gives me is puzzled. “Great? I thought you were dreading it.”
“Yeah, well, it turned out okay.” I downplay the answer.
Wes has already sniffed out something fishy. Luckily, he doesn’t probe. Instead, he rolls his lips and takes a sip of his own drink.
Parker joins us in a minute, grabbing a beer from the same fridge. He doesn’t drink when Chrissy is home, so it must mean she left. The cap of the bottle clinks on the counter as he leans on it, crossing one leg over the other.
“Gentlemen, ready for the first meeting of PBC?” he asks with a smug smirk on his lips.
“God, I hope so,” I mutter, and a laugh escapes Wes.
“You can head into the living room, and I’ll join you in a second.”
Wes and I share a look before grabbing our soda cans and getting up. We should have taken something stronger to drink.
“What is he doing?” Wes asks, peeking back into the kitchen.
“Damned if I know.”
It takes him a few minutes before he enters the room with a massive wooden platter. He places it on the coffee table with a loud thud and a proud smile on his face.
“What’s this?” Wes asks.
“A snack platter. Book club meetings typically have them.” Parker shrugs.
My eyes widen as I stare at the so-called snack platter.
Instead of curated salami and cheeses, the platter hosts barbecue meat for at least six adults.
Chicken wings, sausages, onion rings, bacon strips, and pork chops.
There is also at least a loaf of bread on there, and a cluster of white grapes. A chuckle bubbles out of me.
Wes decides on a more rational approach. “You do realize that book clubs involve books? And you chose the world’s greasiest food to accompany it?”
“The shit I saw online seemed out of my cooking range, so I did what know, okay?” Parker says defensively, and I full-on belly laugh.
The pulsing behind my eyes is pretty much forgotten, drowned by the ease of spending time with my favorite people. Parker crumples a napkin and throws it in my face. I catch it before it hits the ground, pretending to wipe my laughing tears away.
“Excuse me for trying to do something nice, fuckers,” Parker adds.
“No, it’s nice,” I say in the midst of laughing. “Just unexpected.”
“Let’s eat before it gets cold. And we’ll do the book club thing after. Can I bring you anything else?”
“A plate. And some utensils,” Wes deadpans.
“I meant a beer.” Parker rubs his hands on his jeans.
“That, too.”
I lift a finger to show him I want one as well, considering our book club turned into a barbecue. He comes back with the beers, plates, and utensils, and the three of us dig in, with no hope of finishing the crazy amount of food he made.
I load my plate with a little of everything. “Fuck, I really needed this laugh. Ever since we got home, my head’s been killing me.”
Wes stops his knife in the middle of the air. “How was your head on the trip?”
“Better.” I glance down at my plate. “The last few days on the island were headache free.”
“Hmm.”
Being the analytical mind that he is, Wes has been trying to figure out my triggers for months now. He’s also trying to figure out my ‘glimmers’. They’re supposed to do the opposite of triggering me, helping me regulate my nervous system, which is a term he taught me.
“That means the trip was good?” Parker asks, destroying a chicken wing, his fingers already greasy with gravy.
“Yeah, much better than expected.”
“Did you have time to relax? Having your own space at last.” Parker knows how challenging it was for me to adapt to living with someone again after I moved back home.
“Erm…” I haven’t mentioned sharing the villa before. “Actually, I was in a suite with the daughters and the daughter’s wife.”
Wes has now completely forgotten about his food, focusing on me instead. “You shared a suite with three people you barely know, but don’t like, on a trip you didn’t even want to go to… and your headaches were better?”
I know, Wes. I know. It makes no sense to me either. “Yup. Maybe it was the air. Or the ocean.”
“Maybe…” He doesn’t sound convinced.
“It’s either that or he finally got laid.” Parker waves his greasy finger at me.
I guess I make a face, because he tilts his head to the side, and a slow smile builds on his face. Great. The one time Parker is the more perceptive one.
“You did, didn’t you?”
“Parker…” Wes scolds, but it’s too late.
“Don’t tell me you don’t see it. Look at him!” He points at me. “That is the face of a man who doesn’t want to share that he got laid.”
Wes narrows his eyes at me, and my neck itches. I try to play it cool, knowing I’ll be busted if I do anything, but Parker continues, “Why wouldn’t you tell us you got laid? We’re nothing if not supportive.” He shakes his head.
My throat constricts and my headache returns.
“Unless…” Wes adds.
“No.” Parker lets out a loud gasp, slapping a hand over his mouth. “You think?” He glances at Wes. “I was right?”
I swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So you haven’t fucked the single daughter?” I hesitate a second too long, so he continues, “She’s technically your stepsister, you dirty dog. No wonder you didn’t want to tell us.”
Like always, bile rises in my throat at the word. “She’s not my fucking stepsister.”
He winks at Wes. “Got him.”
My head drops and I rub a hand over my face. It does nothing to clear my mind.
“So you did it? You slept with your mom’s fiancé’s daughter?” Wes asks.
I let out a sigh. “It wasn’t intentional. It just happened.”
“Gee, Wes. I’ve been sexually active for plenty of years now, but I never heard of sex just happening.” He adds air quotes. “How about you?”
“Me neither, if I’m being honest.”
“Traitor,” I tell Wes. They have now both ganged up on me.
“Chill out, man. You’re both adults.” His face transforms into one of disgust. “I hope.”
I return the napkin he lobbed at my face earlier, and it hits him straight on the nose. “Of course we’re both adults. Paige is twenty-eight.”
“Aw, Paige,” Parker teases me while wearing a proud expression on his face.
“Cut it.”
“Care to tell us how it just happened?” Wes asks.
I let out a groan. “I don’t know… She’s cute.
” She’s fucking gorgeous, but I don’t want to reveal too much.
I also don’t mention the fact that she’s the girl I delivered all those dildos to.
I’m not about to share her business. “You know how it goes. Tropical paradise, bikinis, beach games, a room mix-up…”
“What the hell are beach games?” Parker says at the same time as Wes asks, “A room mix-up?”
A deep sigh escapes me. “Her dad, Roger, is eccentric. Apparently, he loves doing over the top things, such as organizing Survivor-type challenges on a deserted island in the middle of the Bahamas.”
“Fuck, some people really don’t know what to do with all the money they have,” Parker comments, taking a sip of his beer.
“Yeah. How nice it must be.” Wes’ lips pull into a thin line.
“He’s a cool guy. But obviously loves the drama,” I add. “Anyway, Paige and I were paired together, since we were the only singles in the group.” I tap the neck of my beer bottle, avoiding their focused gazes. “We won. And she…” My neck breaks out in hives. “She practically jumped into my arms.”
It’s ridiculous. I’m sharing innocent details with my peers, not talking to my mother about sex. Why do I feel so awkward? Why can I remember the feel of her lithe body against mine?
“I’m failing to see how that lead to sex, considering both of your families were present for the so-called beach games.” Thankfully, Parker drops his gaze back to the food.
“That’s just one detail.”
“Yeah, you still need to explain the room mix-up,” Wes adds.
“Our rooms shared a bathroom.” I clear my throat. “And they were pretty identical to each other.” Why is my heart pounding? “Turns out she thought my room was hers, and I might have seen more than she planned.”