Startled by his invasion and absolutely pissed expression, I stammered out a response. “I … I f-forgot my towel … ”
“Oh, is that all? You sure gave my friends a nice show to add to their spank bank.” His voice was a low growl, pitched to keep the conversation from being overheard. “Now I've got no chance in hell of keeping them off you. Not that it was gonna be easy before—”
He was so ridiculously pissed that my own anger flared up in response, overpowering my paralysis for a moment. “What are you even talking about? Who are they?” And why was he blowing his stack over this? If anyone should've been getting mad here, it was me.
“Teammates of mine, Fox and Logan.”
When he didn't continue, I realized that he thought he was done explaining. “Um, okay?” That answered my second question, but didn't even come close to my first. I cocked my head and opened my hands in a so what? gesture. My next question just tumbled out. “Why do you care who sees me?”
He raised his eyebrows as if I was being stupid. “Teammates, Avery. We were deployed together.”
I just looked at him dumbly until he elaborated further.
“They also haven't seen a woman in nine months.”
Oh. Now I get it. Did every girl with an older brother have to deal with this overprotective crap? I folded my arms and gave him my best death glare. “Get a grip. I'm your stepsister, not your fourteen-year-old daughter. I'm perfectly capable of deciding who I date.” Just to irritate him even more, I added, “And who I sleep with.”
“Really? Because running around naked seems pretty—”
“Shut up! You can't pull the 'concerned big brother' act on me one moment and try to fuck me the next!”
“The hell I can't,” he snapped. “Now put some goddamn clothes on. Preferably sweatpants or a turtleneck or something.”
“What? In August?”
But he had already slammed my door behind him. I sat down hard on the bed, fuming. Sheesh, what was his damage? If I didn't know better, I might call him jealous.
Then I jumped up again and went to my closet. Well, I'd just have to tell Nixon where he could stick his opinions—and I knew exactly how to do it. I picked out the most provocative, yet still casual-looking outfit in my entire wardrobe: cut-off Daisy Dukes that barely covered my ass, a tight white tank top, and no bra. Then I swiped on a little bronzer and nude-toned eye shadow for a light, natural look. This'll show him what I think of his stupid temper tantrums.
My stomach growled at the smell of frying breakfast. Trying to forget my earlier disaster, I took a deep breath, dug deep to find my bravado, and did my best sashay into the kitchen. “Sorry about that, boys,” I announced cheerfully.
Nixon looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. I held back an evil laugh. Oh, you don't like my outfit? Good luck yelling at me about it without looking like a jackass in front of your friends.
“There's nothing to be sorry for,” one of the other men said. There was an unmistakably flirtatious lilt to his voice. He looked closer to my age than Nixon was, with a rockin’ body and a bright, easy grin.
The second guy just nodded, his eyes glued to mine. It was almost cute how hard he was trying not to stare at the rest of me. The strong, silent type, huh? Or maybe just shy. He was noticeably older than the guy who had spoken up first. His face was serious, yet calm and kind, which somehow downplayed the fact that he was even more massive than Nixon. I hadn't thought that was possible.
Nixon slapped the first guy upside the head and spoke over his indignant yelp. “This idiot is Fox. The one who knows his manners is Logan. Guys, this is Avery.” The introduction already sounded grudging, and then he added meaningfully, “Remember, the new stepsister I told you about?”
I wanted to roll my eyes. How long was Nixon going to keep up this territory-marking macho bullshit? Instead, I gave the two other men a sunny smile. I'd been too busy panicking to get a good look at them before, but they were both pretty hot in their own way. One stoic and polite, the other energetic and a little naughty. Like the difference between a Saint Bernard and a Border Collie. Even if it didn't get under Nixon's skin, I would've been interested in talking to them. And since he was still visibly pissed … hey, two birds with one stone.
“Nice to meet you!” I chirped. “Nixon might've told you already, but I'm going to UC San Diego. I'll be living here until I graduate in December.” And then I’ll be out of here. I nodded toward the heaping skillets. “Need any help cooking?”
Logan finally piped up. “We just finished, but thanks. You want to eat with us?”