K. Bromberg - Bend

"No, I'm not following you, big brother," I semi-snapped. "It's not as if I fucked them on the spotless floor of your family room, while you and Lindsey were watching 'Criminal Minds.'"

His green eyes blazed an ultra shade of pissed.

"You're loud and disruptive when you… entertain , Paige. It makes Lindsey uncomfortable, and uh…me too. Lindsey and I would prefer that you not do that anymore. It'd be better if you stay over at your boyfriend's places in the future."

"Boyfriends?" I snorted with a laugh. "They weren't boyfriends , they were hook-ups. And are you seriously gonna sit there and act like you never had casual sex? That every chick you've ever laid was a girlfriend ? Because if you say yes, then I'm calling you out on it."

I started to get up to leave the room, but Trace wasn't finished with the lecture just yet.

"Hold up, Paige. Look, I'm not one to lecture you on the moral fine points of 'hooking up' or having fuck buddies. And for the record, my sexual history is none of your goddamn business, and it's not part of this conversation, because I'm not gonna preach like that. What I am gonna tell you is that this is our home and you will respect the ground rules, or you'll have to move out. Got it?"

Fuck, he's pissed.

I shrugged, clasping my hands together. "Sure. I apologize, Trace. It won't happen again."

Right then and there I knew that my living arrangement wasn't going to work. Somewhere along the way, Trace had been domesticated.

Huh, who'd have thought?

It wasn't like I’d seen him a lot over the past say, twelve or thirteen years, but Holy Mother of Christ, I could see that my good ol’ big brother was indeed pussy-whipped. Certainly not the same guy that left Napa all of those years ago with a bevy of blondes mourning his departure.

My other older brother, Easton, was even more of a stranger to me than Trace. Probably because he hadn't been born to my mother. I had only brief, scattered memories of him growing up. He would stay with us during the summers back then. I had been in pigtails and braces at the time, but I had seen more of him over the past few weeks since I'd been here, than over the twenty-two years that I'd been on this planet.

His wife, Darcy, seemed like a pretty cool chick. She and Lindsey were tight, both being the same age and having been friends before they became sisters-in-law, but for whatever reason, I could relate to Darcy more than I could to Lindsey.

Yeah, they were like a little over a year older than me, but with having kids and all that, I guess it put them in a different maturity category; though, if I were a betting person, I'd say that Darcy had done her share of dudes, more so than Lindsey for sure.

I filed that away for future reference. If Trace and Lindsey were going to be so fucking uptight, maybe Easton and Darcy would open their huge house to little sister. I doubted that my craving for… male attention would be as off-putting over there as it apparently was over here.

Pfft!! Was Lindsey up-tight or what?

I was overjoyed that she'd taken the rug rats with her today. I don't think I could've accomplished everything she had put on my 'to-do' list while having to drag those two along with me. Harper was at least somewhat manageable at two and a half, but Jackson was another fucking story. I mean, I don't do diapers.

At all.

I knew that someday I would, because having a little rug rat of my own was in the plan—eventually. But that was a long ways off.

I'd been at Trace and Lindsey's for about six weeks now. I had started going through my P.T. at Quantico a few weeks ago. (P.T. means Physical Training for those of you not familiar with military lingo.) And let me add that physical training is a bitch under any circumstances, but for someone who hadn't bothered to condition before starting the program (like me) it was damn near suicide.

I gathered up the groceries, taking them into the kitchen and setting them on the countertop.

Fuck!

Lindsey had added yet another one of her pink post-it notes to the fridge.

What now?

She must've stopped home while I was out.

(Beotch.)

Paige - Forgot to tell you that I have a plumber stopping by this afternoon between one and two. He's to fix the shower in the master bath and leave the bill with you. - L

Okay, whatevs.

At least I didn't have to go back out. Trying to navigate around the metropolitan D.C. area was a bitch. Hell, I don't know how many times I ended up in Maryland instead of freakin' Virginia!

I had just finished putting the groceries away when there was a knock on the door. I opened it to a dark-haired, brown-eyed dude that had a fucking tool belt on.

Damned if he wasn't built, too.

"Hey," he said, and I noticed right off that his voice was deep and sexy. "I'm scheduled to check out a leaking shower faucet in the master bath. Are you Mrs. Matthews?"

"Hi," I said, flashing him a smile as I opened the door wider to let him in. "Actually, I'm the sister-in-law from hell," I joked. "But Lindsey did leave a note saying you'd be here. Come on in."

Now it was his turn to flash a smile at me, showing perfectly even white teeth. The name embroidered on his blue work shirt read "Jason."

"Well, Jason," I said, with just a hint of flirtation, "Let me show you the way."

Fuck, his hair was thick and curly. His arms and shoulders were muscular; belly flat. I was guessing he was late twenties, possibly thirty.

Did I mention he was wearing a tool belt?

Yep—definitely loved the tool belt, especially the way that it was slung low on his hips. It even made a sexy jingling sound when he walked.

He followed me upstairs and then down the hallway towards the master suite. I gestured my arm towards the bathroom door that was just off of their bedroom.

I couldn't help but notice his sexy swagger as he walked past me into the bathroom, bending over just a bit to place his toolbox on the tiled floor. This guy exuded sexual energy from every fucking pore. Trust me, that's something I pick up on within seconds of meeting someone.

"I'll just leave you to it," I called out, going back downstairs. "I'll be in the kitchen if you have any questions."

"Yep," he called back, already starting to assess the plumbing situation in the bathroom.

He returned downstairs no more than ten minutes later, wiping his hands on a rag. "Just needed a washer replaced and I had one in my toolbox. I went ahead and checked the fitting and it was fine, so I went ahead and re-greased it. Tested the shower head out and it's working fine. No more dripping."

"That was fast," I said throwing a bit of a double entendre into the remark. "I guess that's a good thing sometimes , huh?"

He gave me a good-natured laugh, his eyes glancing down to my legs in a subtle, but obviously not too-subtle way. I bit back a girlish grin as I watched him swiftly pull out the bill slip from his back pocket and jot some numbers down on it. Ripping the top copy from the pad, I caught the sexy-ass grin he tossed my way as he handed it to me.

Oh yeah. Game friggin’ on .

And before you go and get all judgy on me? I’m a woman who has an affinity for hotties with a Y-chromosome.

Sue me.

And I could tell that this guy wasn’t interested in anything serious.

The good news? Neither was I.

“You’re good to go,” he said with his grin still in place, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

“Replacing that washer must've given you quite a workout, huh?” I asked him, feigning innocence.

He looked back over at me, the smile stretching even further across his face. “Why do you ask?”