Scorched

“It’s beautiful.” She turned that grin to Sydney. “Wow.”

“And you haven’t seen the rest. Kyler’s mom sent us pictures of it. There’s a living room on the other side of the kitchen, then a sunroom. Five bedrooms upstairs—three of them have their own bathrooms.”

“And there’s a media room in the basement, fully loaded,” Kyler added.

That caught my attention.

We crossed into a room I wasn’t sure had a purpose other than to look nice. With its white wicker furniture and thick cushions in pristine condition, I would bet money no one had ever used it. The stairs leading up were to the left, just outside the kitchen, and Jesus, the kitchen was bigger than my mom’s kitchen and living room back at home.

Andrea stared at the stainless-steel vent hanging from the ceiling above the gas grilltop stove. “I’m going to make this kitchen my bitch.”

Sitting the luggage down, I pushed my sunglasses up. “You can cook?”

She shot me a long look. “Yes. I can do things other than drinking my weight in liquor.”

Normally I would’ve fired back with something equally biting, but I managed not to. I deserved an award. “So what are you going to make me for di

“Ha!” she laughed, sitting the groceries on the counter. “Keep wishing for that. Never going to happen.”

Sydney gri

“Yep.” She shoved a large pack of ground beef in the fridge. “Yep. I can.”

Leaning against the counter, near the sink, Kyler grabbed a water bottle from the stash his girl was trying to put in the fridge. “Her lasagna is banging.”

I frowned. “You’ve eaten her lasagna?”

Kyler flipped the water bottle in his hand. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s fucked up,” I muttered, oddly…jealous.

Andrea giggled as she looked at me over her shoulder. “Maybe you should’ve been nicer to me, huh?” She turned back, picking up the case of beer and shoving it onto the bottom shelf of the fridge. “Then you’d be all up and familiar with my lasagna.”

“That’s not what I want to be all up in,” I said under my breath.

She stiffened. “What?”

“Nothing. Just clearing my throat.” I ignored Kyler’s wide-eyed gaze as I picked up the luggage. “But guess what? I have your stuff and I’m going to pick your room for you.”

She whipped around, arms at her side. “You are not picking my room.”

“Oh, yes I am.” I took a step back and waited as Sydney and Kyler exchanged looks.

Andrea’s eyes narrowed.

Our gazes locked, and then I wheeled around, heading for the stairs, not even attempting to keep the grin off my face when I heard her curse. I was acting like a fourteenyear-old boy desperate for attention. And I was—desperate for her attention, that is. Like a kid with a new toy, I didn’t want to share her with Kyler and Sydney. A second later, she was right behind me. “I’m picking my room,” she insisted.

“So, you say.” I climbed the steep stairs at a rapid clip.

She groaned. “You’re a tool. And your legs are too long. And you walk too fast.”

I laughed as I reached the landing. When I glanced down, Andrea was still several steps below me. “It’s not my fault your legs are short.”

“My legs are not short.” She finally joined me at the top, her cheeks flushed pink. “Your legs are just abnormally long. You have freak legs.”

“You know what they say about long legs…”

Her eyes rolled. “They do not say that about long legs.”

“They do in my world.” I stopped at the first door and elbowed it open, revealing a massive room with a bed big enough for the four of us to sleep comfortably in. Across from the bed, a huge-ass TV hung from the ceiling. “I think this must be the master.”

“Let’s leave that for Syd and Kyler.” Andrea closed the door, and then strutted forward, opening the next door. I didn’t see it, but she huffed and then closed the door. The same with the next, and I guessed the third time was a charm, because she squealed as she pushed the door open. “This is mine.”

My brows rose as I followed her, and I had to give it to her. She had good taste. The bed was large, not as big as the master, but nice. The room was rustic—exposed beams in the ceiling, the wood-paneled walls painted grey.

She skipped into the room, placing a purse the size of a baby on a chair situated in the corner. Then she headed straight for a large white door. Thrusting it open, she clapped her hands together. “Oh my God. This bathroom. I could live in it.”

Setting her suitcase on an old wooden trunk by the door, I dropped my duffel on the floor with a thunk and followed her over to the bathroom. “Damn.” I leaned against the doorframe. “You could sleep in that tub.”

“I could! I just might.” She turned and looked up at me, smiling widely.

Something tugged in my chest, causing me to straighten as she whirled back around to the bathroom. “It’s a claw-foot tub. I’ve never actually used one of them before or seen one this big. It’s kind of…romantic,” she said wistfully.

I said nothing as she opened another door. “Oh, this bathroom must share with these two bedrooms.” Closing the door, she brushed past me, back into the bedroom. The peachy scent trailed after her, like a lure. “This place is really nice. Kyler’s mom has good taste.”

“Yeah.” I watched her walk over to a standing mirror, and of course, that meant I watched the way the snug jeans hugged her shapely ass. Andrea definitely was not lacking in that department either.

Shaking my head, I turned and walked around the bench placed in front of the bed. I glanced at her. She raised her brows. I power-bombed the bed and stretched out across the center. I only had to wait maybe three seconds before Andrea responded.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting comfy.” I folded my arms under my head as she froze in front of a dresser. “This bed is nice.”

“And it’s my bed.”

“No, it’s not. It belongs to whoever owns the house,” I pointed out gamely.

“No shit, Sherlock, thanks for clarifying.” She glanced at the open door and then whiskey-colored eyes met mine. “Thanks for carrying my luggage up.”

I winked. “You’re welcome.”

Interestingly, she sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth for a moment. “That was kind of me saying nicely it’s time for you to get the hell out of my room.”

“I know.”

Both brows flew up. “And you’re still here.”

“I am.”

She took a step forward and then stopped. “Don’t you have anything to do? Like go explore the rest of the house? Snapchat pictures of your dick to random chicks? A

“Not really.” I paused. Needless to say, I’d never sent anyone pictures of my cock, but now I kind of wanted to send one to her. “Guess what?”

She eyed me as she shuffled closer to the bed. “You’re a total chicken butt.”

Chuckling, I rolled onto my side, facing her. “That was pretty lame.”

“It was.” She shrugged, moving closer. “I’m not ashamed. I excel at being lame.”

“Nah, that’s not what you excel at.”

A frown creased her face. “If you say drinking is what I excel at, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“You excel at distracting me and driving me crazy. Not necessarily in a bad way. Sometimes, but not always,” I admitted. Her eyes widened, and nothing that I was saying was a lie. “You also excel at being beautiful.”

Her lips parted. “You…” She shook her head. “…are still not getting laid.”

I laughed, but then my gaze dipped over the pale blue tank top she wore. The way her full breasts stretched the material snagged my attention. With great effort, I lifted my gaze. “I’m picking the room next door.”

Color pinked her cheeks. “Of course you are.”

“I think it’s awesome we’ll be sharing a bathroom. We can bond.” I smiled at her, the kind of smile that drew girls from across the bar like bears to honey. “I think we need to bond.”