The low, unmistakable growl of a motorcycle cuts through the birdsong and chlorine breeze. She lifts her head. Perks up like a feral cat hearing a treat bag crinkle.
Jett.
He pulls up like he’s got no patience for the laws of man or machine. All black tank top and tattoos, long legs swinging off the bike, a wet dream summoned by chaos and lube.
She beams.
“Holy fuck,” she whispers. “Jett looks like he’s about to demolish someone’s morals.”
Then, before I can even react, Rhys’s sleek, quiet car glides in behind him, parking like a gentleman. A gentleman with legs for days that are now fully visible as he steps out in designer swim trunks, Ray-Bans, and a linen button-up that’s already halfway undone.
My brain short-circuits for half a second.
Okay. Okay.
So apparently I’m not the only poolside Adonis today.
Delilah practically vibrates as she hops up, towel half-draped, boobs bouncing as she waves with both hands. “Hi, my darlings! Broody! Pool boys! Come to Mama!”
I exhale slowly through my nose.
Not jealous. Not exactly.
Just… Aware.
Rhys gives a small, amused smile and a two-fingered wave. Jett doesn’t wave at all, just stalks over.
And she’s glowing. Lit up from the inside. For them. For me. For this whole fucked up, stitched-together family of ours.
She reaches for Jett first, gives him a loud smacking kiss on the cheek. He scowls, but his ears go pink. Then she bounces over to Rhys and throws her arms around his neck.
He catches her. Doesn’t pull away.
They talk quietly for a second, her hand on his chest like she’s checking for signs of life, or planning a heist involving his shirt buttons, and then she turns, eyes finding mine instantly.
And fuck.
She walks back to me like she’s still mine. Like she never left.
“Don’t worry,” she says as she straddles my lounge chair without asking, towel slipping to reveal a ridiculous amount of thigh, “you’re still my favorite pool boy.”
I slide my hand to her waist, grip gentle but possessive. “Yeah?”
She grins, leaning in, nose brushing mine. “Yeah. You have the best floaties.”
Jett groans and turns away.
Rhys chuckles under his breath.
And Delilah settles back into me like the human storm she is.
I’ll hold her. Even when there’s thunder on the horizon.
Rhys brought grapes. Of every possible thing to show up with at a Saturday pool hangout, he rolls in with a carefullyrinsed bowl of green and red grapes like he’s starring in some off-brand Greek god spread for Better Homes & Harems.
He sets them down on the little side table next to me. I can’t tell if it’s a peace offering or a challenge.
Delilah lets out a delighted gasp. “Holy shit. Dr. Wet Dreams brought fruit. All is forgiven. Mostly.”
