Page 35 of Making His Bones

I glanced at a new text on my phone. Normally I wouldn’t have been so rude as to step away, but it was from my assistant in Downers Grove. I went to the café window and tilted the phone away from Unity, a longtime habit.

Mari: Results are in on that McDonald’s burger. It is not Bud Pitchfork, but someone in his immediate family. Again, it is a right-handed male with brown eyes. DAT1 tells us he has ADHD. MAO enzyme indicates thrill-seeking impulse. Klotho is indicative of long life. Emailed you data file. Hope this helps.

It sure as fuck helped. How long would it take me to find fast food burgers from all Bud’s shitty relatives in town? Not that long. I’d start with Bud’s son, Upton. He owned an auto mechanic’s shop in Seeker and was a member of the Chamber of Commerce.

I was hot on the trail now.

A

I swam my ass off.

And yes, I was wearing my bra and panties.

Gray’s pool was a godsend on baking hot days like this. When he was at the archery range or “on a run,” I’d strip and take a plunge. As he advised, I only wore bra and panties, and I planned to buy a real bathing suit once I got down to a mall. So far, I’d avoided Gray seeing me dressed like this. Although he’d of course seen me in my birthday suit when he’d fingered me to orgasm in the shower, I’d avoided talking about that. Our main focus was narrowing down the target on the Pitchfork family’s back.

But man, Gray Whaley was, as Unity put it, “hot as Africa.” The past couple of days I’d just grabbed my coffee and ran back into my room, afraid he might put his talented hands on me. Once again, I lingered by his workout room, as if he didn’t see me peeking as he flexed his pectorals, the floor fan instantly drying the sweat on his tanned skin. And I’d verified. He was tan. He didn’t have a tanning bed. His skin was this vibrant, robust sandstone like one of the layers of earth that surrounded our house in a bowl.

He was impossible to ignore.

I really wanted him to return home and see me swimming. It had been way too long since I’d flirted with a man—ten years since Brandon, and I was with him for twelve—so my technique was very passive-aggressive, I know. I was also aware that on Sundays, Gray returned home around this time.

I swam way longer than usual. I even got out at one point to put on my sunglasses. Then I swam some more.

I released a sigh of relief when I heard his Harley barreling up the street. Floating to a step, I hovered above it on my back. I held onto the step with my fingertips, allowing my feet to bob in the sunny water.

Gray’s boots clomped through the house. “Hey, I got my wingsuit from FedEx. What’re you—oh.”

Raising my shades to my forehead, I glanced sideways at Gray, like I had no interest in his wingsuit, whatever that meant. He brandished a box raised above shoulder level as though he lifted weights with it, as indeed he might have been, with his biceps shimmering like that. His other hand dangled at his side like a heroic Roman warrior. He was clad in his usual wifebeater and khakis that were tight in the butt, loose in the bottom hem. They seemed designed to display his sluggish penis, lightly restrained in those boxer briefs I’d seen kicked to the floor of the bathroom.

I knew how big it got when stiff, because he’d rubbed it, clothed, against my hip until he ejaculated.

I dangled a hand in the air. “Hey. Come here. I need to ask you something.”

Gray looked around, as though he was on a spy-cam. I understood. I wasn’t known for being bold or up front about my desires. In fact, I wasn’t known for having any desires. I understood why Gray came forward hesitantly.

He took off his boots and socks sat on the edge of the pool, dangling his calves in the warm water. I was encouraged when I saw he was unable to keep his eyes off my buoyant breasts. It had been so, so long since I’d felt desirable. Booker Maverick and others wanted to be around me, to “date” me I suppose you’d say, but they’d never made me feel desirable. Gray got all seven of my dopamine receptors going. I actually felt myself stir between my thighs.

My dangling hand brushed his calf. “When you came into my shower, remember?”

He laughed. Was he nervous? “Remember? How could I ever forget? It was one of the prime experiences of my life.”

Really? Is he kidding? I became even more daring.

Rolling onto my side, I knew my boobs appeared bustier. Gray didn’t try to be polite by looking into my eyes. He looked at my breasts. “You were rubbing yourself against my hip. Did you, ah . . . “

Now he laughed, utterly relaxed. “Did I come?” How white his teeth were! How his Adam’s apple bobbed enticingly when he threw his head back. “Of course I did. Who the hell wouldn’t? I came inside my fucking pants, is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes,” I admitted. I knew my face was shining with pleasure.

Now he let his head dangle on his neck as he shook his head with wonder. He’d put the box behind him, and he clasped his hands together between his muscular knees. “Okay, make fun of me. But don’t tell any of my brothers.”

I slapped his leg gently. “Of course not! But only if you come up to this outdoor shower with me. I need to get this chlorine off.”

“Sure!” he said, boyish now. He leaped to his feet and held a hand down to help me up the stairs.

I was aware of how water dripped from my nipples over my super-supportive bra. It was always so hard to hide my nipples, constantly stiff even under the padding. Although I was soft from no exercise, I was shapely and strong as I paraded to the outdoor shower.

When I turned on the water, Gray started reaching for me. I grabbed his wrist.