Why can’t I ever seem to make things work? The answer to that question nags at me, but I’m not ready to hear it.
Inside my bedroom, I shut the door and head into the adjoining bathroom. I crank the faucet to hot and step under the spray of water. Soaping myself up, I wash the scent of Samantha from my skin.
After I’m dressed in a clean T-shirt and another pair of jeans, I grab my keys and phone. I press a kiss to my grandma’s cheek and head out.
Maren’s apartment is in a neat tidy row of older homes that were turned into duplexes in the eighties. The rent is reasonable, and street parking is plentiful. I park in front of the brick building and climb out.
I knock on her door, and after a moment, it opens. Maren is dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, her long dark hair tied up in a messy bun. She’s five foot five, but barely comes to my chin.
“Hayes.” She smiles when she sees me, lifting up on her toes to hug me. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she pulls me close.
I touch the middle of her back, patting it once, and then release her, needing to put some distance between us.
If she knew all the dirty thoughts I have when she presses her soft tits to my chest like that, she wouldn’t come so willingly into my arms. But Maren’s always been affectionate. She’s like that with everyone. I don’t think she understands the meaning of personal space, so I try not to read into it.
Smiling at me, she asks, “What are you doing here?”
“Wolfie sent me. He said you’re sick.” But she doesn’t look sick. Her cheeks are rosy and she’s still smiling.
Maren’s eyes widen and her cheeks flush. “Um, no. I’m not.”
I shift my weight on her front porch. “He said you called into work sick today.”
She meets my eyes again. They’re the color of bright emeralds and golden autumn leaves with melted milk chocolate in the very center. Technically, the word is hazel, but it’s much too simple a word to describe all the life and depth I see when I look into her eyes.
There are a lot of things I feel about Maren. Confusion. Misplaced lust. And irritation—because I’ve never felt about this girl the way I should have.
“Well, that part’s true.”
“Care to fill me in?”
She groans. “You might as well come inside.”
I follow her into her one-bedroom apartment. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean and always neat. A gray couch sits in the living room on top of a colorful rug. Plants in mismatched pots are lined on the windowsill, and her tiny kitchen is spotless.
“Coffee?” she asks.
“I’m good.”
When Maren heads into the living room, I think I detect a limp, but she lowers herself to the couch before I can be sure.
I sit down beside her. “Talk to me, dove.” It’s a nickname I gave her ages ago because she’s as beautiful and innocent as a white dove, and it stuck.
“It’s totally embarrassing.” She frowns, pulling her plump lower lip between her teeth.
Her mouth is literally perfect. I want to kiss it. And then fuck it.
See my problem?
If Wolfie knew the thoughts I have about his sister, he’d cut off my balls and shove them down my throat. And I’d deserve every second of it. Everyone knows that sisters are off-limits, and we live by a strict bro code. We have to—we’re not only friends, we’re best friends, and we run a business together. Keeping things appropriate and PG are my only options.
I smirk. “You want to hear embarrassing? I’ll tell you about my morning and why I was nearly naked on Halsted Street, if you tell me yours.”
Her eyes widen. “What the hell,” she says with a laugh.
“Want me to go first?”
She nods.
I tell her about how Samantha pushed me from her bed, then banished me from her apartment when I was only in my boxers. I tell her about the neighbors who watched from their windows. The kids in their pajamas pointing and laughing.
But if I was expecting any sympathy from Maren, that’s the last thing I get.
She chuckles into her fist, her eyes dancing on mine. “I swear, Hayes, you have the worst luck with women I’ve ever seen.”
You can say that again. “Believe me, I know.”
She shakes her head. “One of these days, I’m going to take you under my wing and teach you how to be a proper boyfriend.”
A deep laugh falls from my lips. “Any place, anytime. But first, why don’t you tell me why you’re skipping work today and lying to your brother?”
Her gaze drops to the floor. “I had a little accident.”
My heart thuds once. “A car accident?”
Still avoiding my eyes, she shakes her head. “A waxing accident.”
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “A what now?”
She lets out a nervous laugh, and her pretty cheeks blush again. She touches one with her hand. “I wanted to save some money. So instead of going to the waxing salon like I usually do for my bikini wax . . . I bought one of those at-home kits. But I think the wax was too hot.”
Fuck. Me. If I thought my morning started out rough, it’s nothing compared to the agony of having to sit here and face this gorgeous girl telling me she burned her pussy with hot wax.
“Shit. Are you okay?” I ask, barely managing to get the words out.
She chews on her lush lower lip. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a little sore. And don’t you dare breathe a word of this to my brother.”
I hold up both hands. “Believe me, I don’t go around talking about your vagina with your brother, and I have no plans on starting anytime soon.”
This gets a grin out of Maren. “It’s mortifying enough that you know.”
I nod
