Chapter Seven

RUE

I follow the guys through the house, uncertain what to expect. I can count on one hand how many houses I've visited in my life. My father kept the perfect household and lost his shit if anything was ever out of order, and that included me. The environment was so sterile that even the air felt stifling.

I'm pleasantly surprised to find the entryway to their mansion is light and airy. Though the space is pristine, it's not a museum for a dead woman. It feels lived in, almost like what I imagined a home would be like.

"The formal dining room is that way." Hicks waves an arm to indicate a large hallway that leads to the left. "But we mostly eat in the kitchen."

He heads toward the back of the house, then turns left, guiding me into a massive kitchen with vaulted ceilings. A giant counter takes up most of the space, with half a dozen chairs circling it. Farther back is a breakfast nook that contains a smaller table with chairs.

What captures my attention, though, is the back wall. It's made of pure glass and offers a majestic view of a patio oasis sprawled across the back lawn. A huge fireplace dominates the space, a number of chairs and benches placed strategically around it in a way that invites a person to relax.

A massive grill is situated off to the left, large enough to roast a whole pig. It's a combination of bricks and sleek steel, obviously some man's pride and joy. To the right is a small garden that leads to a luxurious pool that seems to go on forever.

Everything is top of the line, but that's not what captures my attention. It's like what I imagined a real home would look like when I was younger. There is a sense of hominess to the space that invites a person to grab a cup of tea and spend the day reading.

As if sensing I'm overwhelmed, Hicks shoos the boys away, giving me precious time to process everything. The twins head toward the kitchen, pulling out bowls from the industrial-sized fridge, while Gunner walks outside toward the grill. From the way he settles into his spot, I can tell it's his command center. Everything is sorted exactly where he wants it, the spice drawers stocked with everything imaginable.

Hicks grabs drinks from the fridge. Jameson takes a beer, along with Hicks and Gunner, but I just take a water, as does Ellis. I stand back and watch the boys joke and jostle around as they head outside, each flashing me a smile as they pass.

"They can be a bit rowdy," Ellis says, giving me a wry smile as he pushes his glasses up. "Come, let's set the table."

I could hug him for giving me something to do. When he sets his water aside, I do the same. He gathers plates and utensils, leaving me to grab the napkins, salt, and pepper. I tuck both water bottles under my arms, then follow him outside.

I pause by the large sliding doors—two of them next to each other, so it looks like the whole wall is pushed open—and admire how at home the guys appear to be with each other. Jameson laughs at whatever Hicks is saying, the man waving around his beer as he tells his story, while Jaceson just smirks as he adjusts the dishes on the crowded table.

Hicks is seated at the firepit with his feet up, looking so relaxed and at ease in his body that I'm jealous. I also can't look away from the way his lean form is stretched out, almost like a lazy cat. Not that he isn't aware of everything going on around him. There is a coiled tension to him that says he's ready for action. He isn't the type of man to sit back if trouble comes calling.

Jameson is like a hyper puppy, unable to sit still. He bounds over to me and relieves me of my items…only to shove them in Ellis' direction before he grabs my arm and drags me away.

I stiffen a little, not used to physical contact. His eyes search mine, those light blue eyes seeing too much. Beneath the humor, there is a seriousness to him that catches me by surprise.

It isn't insecurity, just a steady watchfulness.

It's almost like he's putting on a show, not letting anyone get too close. Knowing that feeling all too well, I lean over and cover his hand with my own. He startles for a moment, his eyes dropping to my hand, the expression on his face almost harsh.

Afraid I overstepped, I begin to pull away when he blows out a heavy breath. When he looks up at me, his expression is softer, more genuine, and the tension leaves his shoulders.

"Come, we should go inspect Gunner's meat." He wiggles his eyebrows playfully, then drags me behind him.

Gunner turns at our approach, giving Jameson a severe, if slightly exasperated, look. "Why do you continue to call it that when you know you're going to be sitting down with the food and eating it in a few minutes?"

Jameson's gleeful smile widens, completely unrepentant. "What? Your meat is the best in the group. Nothing to be shy about."

A giant shiver goes through Gunner, and disgust twists his features. "There is something seriously wrong with you, man."

Heat fills my cheeks at their banter. Maybe I should be disgusted by their lewd comments, but there is something sweet about the way Jameson tries to draw Gunner into the group. With a small nod of greeting to me, the big man focuses on turning over food on the grill.

Jameson nudges me a little, situating me until I'm at Gunner's shoulder, then he shoots a wink in my direction before sauntering off. Something about the wink and slight eyebrow wiggle has my skin warming. It's almost like he was antagonizing Gunner for my benefit.

Against my will, I find myself scanning the big man and the way he handles his…meat. Oh my god, Jameson's dirty mind is catching, but I'm too focused on studying Gunner to be truly horrified.

His thick arms are packed with muscles, and I'm hypnotized as I watch him work. It's obvious he's done this hundreds of times with his smooth, confident movements. I like standing next to him, almost in his shadow. It makes me feel protected.

Gunner watches me out of the corner of his eye, then he grudgingly makes room for me at the grill.

"Do you cook?" he asks, his voice so low and grumbly that it does funny things to my stomach.

I shake my head, fighting a blush at my reaction to him just speaking, but I don't move away. I like it too much. "No, I wasn't allowed in the kitchen."

I lean over to see what he's making, recognizing things from the internet, and my mouth waters as the rich aroma fills my senses. "Do you need any help?" I ask, mostly to keep myself from grabbing something off the grill and shoving it into my mouth and gnawing on it like a wild beast.

Gunner hesitates for a moment, then he hands me a brush and a bowl with some tangy sauce that teases my nose. "You can put the BBQ sauce on the meat."

I nibble on my lip as I look up at him, then my eyes drop to his chest, and a hunger of a different sort roars through me as I imagine painting him with the brush then licking it off him. "Um…"

Completely oblivious, Gunner sticks his pinky into the bowl, then holds it up. "Taste."

I'm a dolt, so instead of copying him and putting my finger in the bowl, I lean forward to suck the digit in my mouth, running my tongue over the tip of his pinky. Flavors explode on my palate—the spicy taste of the sauce and the even more delicious taste of him.

When he stills, I realize my blunder, and I hastily pull away, completely mortified by my actions. I struggle to contain my panic. "I?—"

"Good?" His gruff question cuts me off, and my gaze snaps up. His dark blue eyes are intense as he stares at my mouth like he's craving a taste. I nod and hastily lick my lips, thinking I have sauce smeared across my face.

A tortured groan rumbles from his chest, which is swiftly cut off as he spins to face the grill. I follow his lead, watching him from the corner of my eye. Wanting to put him at ease, I dip the brush in the sauce and begin spreading it over the food—I can no longer call it meat without thinking of him. "Am I doing this right?"

Like he's glad for something to do, he looks over, then nods. "Yup." He roughly clears his throat, and a lock of dark hair falls over his forehead. There is a curl to it that gives him a boyish look, or as much as he can look boyish being giant sized. "Repeat that over all the pieces until you run out of sauce."

Pleased to have something to do, I give a happy hum. Standing shoulder to shoulder with him feels peaceful, and I find myself shuffling closer. He smells of grease, smoke, and clean man. It's very distracting. He remains still, like I'm an animal he might frighten away, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

He absently nudges the food, doing nothing other than watching me.

It's…peaceful.

When the bowl is empty, I'm disappointed. I don't want the magic to end. "That was fun. Maybe we can do it again sometime? Cooking is a survival skill I really need to learn."

"You don't know how to cook? At all?" He looks appalled at the thought.

Suddenly feeling inadequate, I shake my head and look away, wanting to be anywhere else. "Nah, I never got the chance. The cook would chase me out of the kitchen if I dared enter his domain."

As the silence stretches out just a little too long, I blink back tears and take a step away, ready to flee.

"I can teach you…uh…if you…um…want." Gunner runs a hand down the back of his head, then scratches his neck. He purposely doesn't look at me, a slight blush darkening his cheeks that I don't think comes from the heat of the grill. His offer seems like it was made against his will, but I refuse to let him back out now.

I want to know how to cook, and I'd love to spend more time with him in a way that doesn't make me sound too needy. "Yes, I'd like that." Not wanting him to back out or make excuses, I quickly confirm a time. "Tomorrow?"

He turns to look at me, a scowl on his face as he studies me. I stand up straighter under his perusal, hoping I measure up. It's almost like he's trying to judge if I'm being sincere.

When he takes a beat too long, I can't stifle my disappointment. "If you don't want?—"

"No, tomorrow is fine." His stoic expression doesn't change. "Your place?"

I nibble on my bottom lip, desperately trying to remember what Nan has in the fridge. "Um, sure, but I don't know if we'll be able to find anything to cook in the house. While I love Nan, she's not the greatest in the kitchen. Everything is prepackaged or takeout."

My answer seems to please him. The tension in his shoulders finally melts away, and he snorts. "Yeah, we can pick up some supplies first. Your nan can burn water. We can smell burned food and hear her fire alarms when she tries to cook."

I wince, unable to suppress my chuckle. "Yeah, dinner my first night in the house was…an experience." I grimace at the memory, still sometimes able to smell the charred odor of burned onions when I enter the kitchen. "I didn't know anything was wrong until smoke started billowing out of the oven. The food was burnt on the outside and still frozen on the inside. I'm still not sure what she was trying to make."

Gunner turns back to the food and begins putting items on a platter. "I work until noon, but if you can wait, I can pick you up afterward."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to take up your free time. I forgot tomorrow was Saturday. You probably already have plans." I can't seem to stop babbling as I struggle to contain my disappointment.

"Nah, I was only going to hang out with these assholes. Spending the day cooking will be nice." He sets the tongs aside, shuts the grill, then picks up the large platter. "Should we join the others?"

I smile up at him, then my eyes widen when I see the amount of food. "Th-That's enough to feed an army," I sputter, completely awed by the massive mound of meat.

"Or just a bunch of teenage boys," Gunner mutters, then he leans down as if to share a secret. "Just wait. A mouse will be lucky to find a crumb once these guys are done."

As we head toward the table, the rest of the guys begin to gather. Gunner places the food in the center. From his description, I almost expect the guys to fall onto the food, but they seem to be waiting for something.

Ellis pulls out a chair for me. I go to him with a smile and take a seat. There is a slight scuffle, but when I look up, the boys are busy settling themselves around the table, although Ellis is scowling at Jameson. I glance at them suspiciously, but they only begin passing around the food.

I'm both in awe and jealous that they were able to make this all on their own. If pressed, I'm not sure I could even turn on an oven or run a microwave. Any time I was caught in the kitchen, I was punished. I stopped trying when the cook slammed my hand in the fridge door for trying to steal some food, the asshole nearly breaking my fingers.

At ten, I was already old enough to know what it felt like to have my bones broken. Cook only bruised my hand, but I learned my lesson. In my house, learning fast was a survival mechanism. You didn't get a chance to make a second mistake.

I'm at the head of the table, seated directly across from Hicks. Gunner has claimed the seat to my right, while Jameson smiles brightly at me from my left. Jaceson sits next to his brother, while Ellis is between Hicks and Gunner.

Jameson picks up a bowl of…mangled lettuce?

"I made the salad," he states proudly, not the least bit ashamed of the half-ass job. "Try some."

I'm an idiot, because I can't resist his sweet, earnest expression. I grab the tongs and put a little on my plate. Before I even set the tongs back down, he snatches it from my fingers and puts another pile on my plate, studies it carefully, then nods in satisfaction.

My eyes widen at the massive pile of greens, but I don't have the heart to say anything.

"Here," Gunner says, pointing toward the meat platter. "Do you want chicken, steak, or pork chops?"

I look at his plate, hoping for answers, but it's still empty. He's serving me first. Nibbling on my bottom lip, I glance at the pieces on the platter, conscious of the rest of the guys waiting.

I panic, locate the smallest piece, then blurt out, "Chicken, please."

Instead of grabbing a wing, he finds the biggest piece and sets it on my plate. I can only blink at the huge piece as it takes up nearly half the surface. That's more food than I usually eat in a week. My eyes widen with panic at the thought of it going to waste, but I quickly blink to cover my reaction and smile up at him. "Thank you."

My voice is a little thin, but he smiles and grabs a thick steak and a piece of chicken before passing over the meat fork. My eyes lock on the mass of food on his plate, then I take in his size.

I guess he wasn't lying about teenage boys.

I watch in awe as the guys pile their plates full. Each time a new dish comes my way, Gunner or Jameson takes it upon themselves to add more items to my plate until food is practically spilling over the edges.

I'm both flustered by the attention and charmed. It's almost like they've never had a girl over before, but even I know they are too handsome for them not to have dated.

I'm used to being ignored, so their attention is almost too much.

Although it's sweet, it also makes me nervous.

I learned at a young age that attention isn't always good. I don't sense anything malicious from them, though, so I pick up my fork, conscious of all their eyes on me. I'm just about to stab the first thing on my plate when I catch sight of Jameson's curious gaze.

For some reason, it seems important that he be chosen first.

I stab the salad that's drenched in too much dressing and take a bite. Flavors explode in my mouth. I'm not used to anything more than a tiny splash of vinaigrette. Though heavy, the dressing is good, and I smile at him. "Yum."

He smiles proudly, his chest puffing up, then he digs into his own food. When I look up, I catch Hicks watching me. I brace for a biting remark for not cutting my salad like a lady—rules my father beat into me at a young age—but he only gives me a curious half smirk.

Silence fills the table as everyone begins eating. After a while, Ellis turns toward Hicks. "Did you get the keys to the college rental?"

Hicks nods, taking a drink of his beer. "They arrived earlier today. I contacted the cleaning services. The house should be ready in time for the beginning of school."

With the attention off me, I focus on what I should eat next. When I look at my chicken with a frown, wondering how the hell I'm supposed to eat it, Gunner gently nudges me. He picks up his chicken and tears off a large piece with very straight, very white teeth.

Something about the way he eats—so visceral and with obvious enjoyment—has dirty thoughts flickering through my mind. It's the sauce. It's smeared at the corner of his lips, and my mouth waters for another taste.

To keep from leaning over and licking it from his face like a freak, I gingerly pick up my piece of chicken and take a huge bite. Heat and spice fill my mouth, and I groan, not realizing how hungry I was until now.

I moan in pleasure as I chew, so used to eating bland food that it feels like I've gone to heaven. I didn't realize that food could taste so good! Thinking back, I realize I forgot to eat today with the furniture being delivered, Nan leaving, and fixing my room.

I'm on my third bite, oblivious to my surroundings, when the silence reaches me, and I realize the others are watching me eat. Heat spreads up my neck and blooms in my cheeks. I hastily lower my chicken to the plate, grab my napkin, and dab my face.

I must look like a child eating their first meal, but I can't say I'm sorry.

The food is fucking amazing!

"Did I get it?"

The guys nod obediently.

Gunner scowls down at my plate, then nudges it toward me. "Eat."

It's impossible to disobey, and I take a small bite. He narrows his eyes dangerously, grunting when I swallow. Desperate for a change of topic, I take a sip of water, then glance at Ellis and Hicks. "Which college are you attending?"

"We decided to go to the state university so we could all stay together," Hicks answers, then he takes a careful forkful of food like a gentleman.

Something about the cautious way he sits and the meticulous way he eats is telling. I suspect he's been through the same training as myself—punishment if not done right. I glance around the table and notice Ellis has perfect posture as well. When you know the signs, it's easy to tell who comes from money.

It's more than just clothes and fancy cars. It's the smaller mannerisms, like the way a person speaks or holds themselves. It's been drilled into us at birth. Even when Hicks tries to act relaxed, it looks slightly uncomfortable.

Gunner is the opposite, as if he's more comfortable in his own skin. The twins fall somewhere in between.

"So you're all heading off in a few weeks?" I'm incredibly disappointed, and my shoulders slump slightly. Although I only just met them, I'm going to miss them, and a pang of loneliness and self-pity pierces my chest.

"Yes." Excitement gleams in Ellis' eyes. "Gunner is going part-time, but classes start in two weeks."

"We move into the house in five days," Hicks corrects him, though a frown mars his face.

"Where are you going?" Jaceson leans forward, and everyone pauses to listen to my answer, as if genuinely interested.

Despite my disappointment, their interest warms my heart. "I've been taking classes online."

"Can you switch?" Jameson asks almost before I finish speaking.

The thought of going to campus and being surrounded by thousands of people is beyond intimidating. It would be a nightmare, but that doesn't mean I'm not tempted.

"I'm not sure," I hedge, then I answer truthfully. "I'm not enrolled at state."

"Hicks knows someone on the board of directors." Jameson's expression is earnest. "If you want to go with us, I'm sure we can figure something out."

Everyone turns to Hicks, including me, only to find him staring at me intently. He must see something in my panicked gaze, because he covers for me. "Admissions for freshmen have been closed for a while. I would have to check into it."

"Then it's settled." Jameson bulldozes ahead, a pleased expression on his face, and he practically rubs his hands together. "We're going to have so much fun."

I'm already shaking my head. "Um, I'm not a freshman. I've been taking online classes for a while." A blush fills my face when everyone glances at me again. While Hicks looks disinterested, Ellis appears curious, and Jaceson just looks like he's listening to be polite. Gunner and Jameson are attentive, but their focus is on shoveling as much food into their mouth as possible.

My hands are sweaty as I fiddle with my fork, suddenly anxious that they'll make fun of me. "I'm a senior majoring in business with a minor in economics. I have two semesters left, but I am taking some computer classes as well."

Ellis perks up at my announcement. "Hicks is enrolled in business classes, but I'm focused on computers. What kind of classes are you taking?"

"Oh, just some basic programming," I say innocently. I don't mention that the computer class is a special master class from Caltech, where you have to hack into a website to even be eligible to enroll in the class.

"But you're only eighteen," Jameson exclaims, a furrow appearing between his brows. "What happened to high school and dating and partying and stuff?"

"Seventeen," I mutter, taking a drink of water to avoid looking at anyone. I shrug at the other part of his question. "I've never been to school. I've had tutors."

I grimace at the reminder of my nightmarish tutors. They were my father's minions, handpicked by him for their brutality. Hell, one even thought that women didn't need to be taught and acted particularly brutal whenever I failed to grasp anything.

Another life lesson from dear old dad.

Let's just say that I never skipped my homework. After a while, even a dog learns to do whatever it takes to avoid a beating.

"That's just wrong!" Jameson looks offended and heartbroken, then he narrows his light blue eyes, a determined glint entering them. "We'll have to make up for lost time."

My smile breaks free, along with a spurt of excitement and a touch of nerves. "Really?"

He nods his head and continues nodding, even as he yanks out his phone and raises it in the air. "We need to make a list!"

"After supper," Hicks interjects, his tone uncompromising, and I wouldn't be surprised if this was a common theme with Jameson.

Jameson scowls at the order but does as commanded and sets his phone aside…not that it stops him. Refusing to be muzzled, Jameson leans toward his brother, and the two of them begin whispering to each other, glancing at me every so often, and it's all I can do not to fan my face at the combined force of their attention.

Maybe it's because I've never been around guys my age, but I suspect it's an ability unique to them alone. With their heads bent together, their similarities are striking, and it's hard to take my gaze off them. They are stunning, especially with mischief dancing in their blue eyes. They peer at me through their dark lashes, and I have to turn away for fear of falling under their sway.

Noticing Gunner is quiet, I lean toward him. "Everything okay?"

He nods, then takes a sip of his beer, avoiding my gaze.

Hurt by his demeanor, I look down at my plate and push the food around. It's not until he places a hand over mine that I still.

"I'm sorry," Gunner mutters, slowly sweeping his thumb across the back of my knuckles. "I'm not smart like the others, and it messes with my head sometimes. I didn't mean to be an ass."

Slightly reassured, I peer up at him, a furrow forming between my brows. "But you're a mechanic, right? From the nicks on your hands and the grease stains, it looks like you've been at it for years. How is that not just as impressive? Being smart isn't just about book learning. You have a talent that is just as important and impressive."

His blue eyes darken, his suspicious gaze searching mine as if looking for a lie. I hold as still as possible under his regard. It's only when he nods that I relax.

Ellis leans over the table to look at us. "I've been telling him that for years, but he won't listen. The things he builds are amazing. He might say he's a mechanic, but he's really an engineer. With training, he could easily become top in his field."

I'm not in the least bit surprised by the revelation. He oozes competence. No matter what he does with his life, he'll succeed. I find myself nodding at Ellis in complete agreement. "I could see that."

"You can?" Gunner says with a gruff whisper, a touch of disbelief in his voice.

I tilt my head to the side and study him. If I answered instantly, he wouldn't believe me. His dark hair is tousled, his shoulders are broad, and his chest is thick with mouthwatering muscles. He straightens under my attention, then stills, almost like he's afraid of my reaction.

I don't leave him waiting for long. "I do. What we see in the mirror is not the same as what other people see. The image we have of ourselves is distorted. We see all our doubts and flaws, but they are just a manifestation of our fears. I've been put into these little boxes my whole life by other people, but it's the box that I put myself in that's the hardest to escape."

When he doesn't look convinced, I lean forward and grab his hand, rotating it until his palm is turned upward.

"Your hands are big and rough, full of calluses, scars, and grease." I tighten my grip when he tries to pull away. "They are battle scars, proof they can do anything." I lightly run my finger down the center of his palm, loving the way his fingers curl toward me like he wants to keep me close. "They are strong. They can do anything you set your mind to. The only limitations are the ones you put on them."

I reach up and tap my finger against my chest. "If you don't believe me, then trust your family…not the one you were born with, but the one you chose." I wave my hand at the guys seated around the table. "You chose them for a reason. You trust them. Why wouldn't you trust them now when they say you would be amazing?"

Gunner doesn't speak or move the whole time I'm speaking.

The rest of the guys are just as silent, but I don't allow them to pull my attention away. His intensity should be off-putting, but I find it spellbinding. His blue eyes slowly brighten, his posture straightens slightly, and his expression eases until he looks younger and hopeful.

He slowly wraps his hand around mine, his grip warm and firm, the calluses brushing against my skin, but I don't mind. They have the same intensity as him. When he finally looks at his friends, they nod, each wearing a no-nonsense, serious expression.

He grunts in acknowledgment, not saying a word. Though his mind is a million miles away, he squeezes my fingers, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the pulse in my wrist. It's distracting as hell.

Combined with the guys looking at the two of us, it's too much stimulation after a long day. I practically lectured them. How awkward. If I needed proof that I need to learn to be better at peopling, then the supper confirmed it. Untangling my fingers from Gunner is like peeling off a layer of my skin, the separation hurting something deep in my chest. To cover the pang, I awkwardly clear my throat, grab my napkin, and dab my mouth.

"I should probably get going." I drop my napkin on the table, then push my chair back and rise to my feet.

The guys all stand at once, each of them scowling, and I barely resist the urge to step back. It's instinct not to react to outward stimuli or risk more bruises. Any sign of weakness is like blood in the water to a shark.

"Wait." Jameson crosses his arms, his eyes narrowed on me. "Are you trying to leave early to avoid cleanup?"

I blink at him, then my eyes widen. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Of course not."

Feeling like an ass, I grab my plate and head toward the kitchen. This is one of those etiquette things I missed growing up with my father, and I'm mortified I tried to skip out without doing my share.

I'm so focused on my mistakes that I barely register the guys muttering to themselves behind me. I grimace when I see a few of them hastily shoveling food in their mouths before they follow, and I tighten my lips to keep from apologizing, not wanting to make things worse.

Ellis quickly catches up to me, then heads toward the sink. He pulls out the garbage, demonstrating how to clean off the plate, before setting the dirty dishes on the counter. He shows me all without speaking a word.

A quick glance at his brown eyes shows the questions he has for me, but he doesn't ask, and I'm grateful.

I'm not ready to share my past yet.

Maybe not ever.

The rest of the guys begin hauling in the dishes. Jaceson heads toward the sink and fills it with water, squirting soap into it. I watch intently, blinking at all the suds from such a small amount of soap. Catching my fascination, he casts me a measured look, then he silently passes me a white towel. "I wash, you dry."

I immediately nod and unfold the cloth, grateful for the simple task. We work in companionable silence until the dishes are nearly done.

"You were very kind to Gunner," Jaceson says out of the blue, startling me so badly that I almost drop the plate I'm drying.

Refusing to look at him, I focus on my task. "I said nothing but the truth."

"Maybe." He shrugs, then rinses off another dish before passing it over, and our fingers brush. "It was still kind. Not many people would go out of their way for people like us without expecting anything in return."

My nose scrunches as I look up at him. "Kindness is easy. What would I want in return?"

He lifts a sudsy hand, then boops me on the nose. "That, right there, is what makes you special. You honestly don't know."

My eyes cross as I look down at my nose, then I use my shoulder to brush away the suds. I'm still confused, but Jaceson doesn't elaborate further.

As much as he might look and act like his brother, they are complete opposites in personality. I like that he doesn't need to fill the silence. It's comforting and allows my mind to reset after such an exciting day.

By the time we're done, Jaceson is so close that we're practically touching. He smells of sunshine and outdoors, and I find myself leaning closer, seeking more. When he drains the water, he grabs my towel, then drapes it over the edge of the sink to dry.

Before I can escape, he holds his hand out for me. I glance at the exit, but the urge to flee is gone. I take his offer, and he pulls me along as we head back outside.

We arrive just in time to see Jameson soak Hicks with a water gun aimed at his back. Hicks stills, and I cover my mouth to keep from gasping. He looks ready to commit murder. When he turns slowly, Jameson just smiles and dances away.

They take off running. The others join them, plucking up guns from the table we just ate from. Jaceson slips a plastic gun into my hand, the thing nearly longer than my arm. I instinctively grab it, wrapping my fingers around the plastic, but he must see my confusion.

He turns it sideways and points to the trigger. "Just point and shoot."

He waits patiently until I slip my finger over the trigger and give it a try. Water sprays from the end in a long stream, and I can't help but grin. He winks, then tilts his head to the side of the patio in invitation, and I nod eagerly.

Instead of abandoning me, Jaceson remains by my side, silently stalking the rest. Every time his brother tries to shoot me, he stands in front of me and takes the shot meant for me. When Gunner sees me being targeted, he bellows and charges Jameson.

It's not long before the others join the fun.

"No fair! You're ganging up on me," Jameson yells, then he casts me a pleading look. "Save me!"

I tilt my head to the side, then glance down at the soaked edge of my skirt before slowly shaking my head. "I'm sorry, but infractions must be punished."

I lift my gun and shoot him square in the chest.

He sputters for a second in outrage, then he clutches his chest dramatically. "I concede!" He holds up his hands. "I surrender. I'm now your prisoner."

He saunters toward me, water dripping off him, his shoes squelching with every step. I narrow my eyes suspiciously at his innocent look. When he's standing a foot away, he grabs the tip of my gun and pushes it lower.

I allow it.

Then he shakes himself like a dog, scattering water everywhere and soaking me in an instant. I try to jerk the gun away, but he holds fast. I release the gun, then step back, swiping at my face. The rest of the guys were smart enough to keep their distance, and I narrow my eyes on them.

"You knew!" I glare at each of them in betrayal. The guys instantly sober, and I send a pleading look toward Gunner and Ellis. "I demand that you avenge my honor."

Big grins split their faces. Ellis immediately turns and shoots Jameson right in the face. While distracted, Gunner drops his gun and charges. He hits Jameson low, picking him up by the waist. Jameson bellows, attempting to squirm free, and Gunner slows as he struggles to contain him. Hicks and Jaceson join them, using their combined weight to push Gunner, and my eyes widen in horror when all four of them disappear as they plunge into the pool.

Ellis and I hurry after them, only slowing when their laughter reaches me. Ellis nudges me along until we're at the edge of the patio. As the guys splash and mock fight in the water, I lean against Ellis in contentment, unable to stop a smile from spreading across my face.

Their friendship is something I never imagined was possible, and the fact that they would include me in their circle makes me feel special, almost like I'm one of them.

Being near them is intoxicating and addicting.

It's everything I hoped to find when I escaped my father, and it makes me more determined than ever to put my past behind me.

I just need to find a permanent way for the dead to stay dead.