Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(61)
“Exactly,” Beau whispered. “The point is to make her laugh, so you should be joking when you say it. The cheesier, the better. She’ll pick up on the intention and she’ll laugh. Got it?”
Despite myself, I listened, absorbing my brothers’ advice. I mean, they were definitely the experts. As insane as it was, at some point over the last two minutes and without expressly realizing I’d done so, I’d gone from incredulous to irritated to interested.
Not waiting for me to answer, Jethro placed a hand on my shoulder, but he looked to Beau. “Sorry if this next part is weird for you, Beau.”
“No. It’s fine.” The redhead waved off Jethro’s concern. “She’s my sister and her happiness matters, I don’t need to contemplate the details.”
“What?” I looked between them, again certain I was missing something.
Holding my eyes, Jethro continued, “Here’s the deal, and this is true with most women, ninety-nine percent of the time. If she touches you, like your hand or your arm or your leg—”
“Especially the leg.” Beau nodded firmly. “If she touches anywhere above the knee and leaves her hand there, that’s like the universal ‘ride below the crupper’ invitation.”
“Anyway, if she touches you, that means she wants you to touch her, the sooner the better.” Jethro explained with an academic air. “Do what she does. If her touch is light and flirtatious, do that. If her touch is more purposeful, well . . . then, there you go. Proceed as directed. But, the important thing is, if she’s opened that door and you don’t walk in, that’ll leave her feeling like you’re not as into her as she’s into you. In which case, verbal communication, boundary setting, and gentle—but firm—honesty are required.”
“Right. I knew that.” Now I was nodding, my mind working, remembering all the times and all the women who’d wrapped fingers around my bicep and squeezed, or touched my leg under a table, or dragged a hand down my chest. Once upon a time, I’d known what it meant and I’d taken note. Over the years, I still knew what it meant but I’d become indifferent.
“Okay? We got a plan?” Jethro gave my shoulder one more pat and then dropped his hand, making like he was going to walk over to the picnic.
“Wait.” I stopped him, the reality of what had just transpired finally catching up with the surprise of it.
Jethro turned back to me, his eyes questioning. “What? What’s wrong?”
I inspected him and asked before I thought better of the impulse, “Why’re you doing this?”
His eyebrows ticked up, like my question confused him.
I hazarded a glance at Beau and saw my younger brother understood what I was asking. Beau had always been good at reading people, picking up on undercurrents and nuance.
Returning my searching stare to Jethro, I asked again, “Why’re you doing this? Why’re you trying to help me?”
Understanding shoved aside confusion in my older brother’s eyes. “There’s nobody in the world who deserves happiness more than you two. I love you, Billy, even though you can be a real asshole sometimes.” Holding my searching stare, the side of his mouth hitched higher. “Come on, dummy. Let’s go get the girl.”
Upon returning to the picnic, Beau announced, “I think I’d like to go swimming. Who wants to come?”
And then, almost in unison and as though swimming was a code word for acquiring superpowers, everyone except Scarlet stood and promptly left, leaving behind basically everything.
Meanwhile, I stood stock-still at the edge of the blanket, doing my utmost not to seem conspicuous as Scarlet stared after my departing family, still chewing the remainder of the strawberry she’d just bitten into when Beau, Jethro, and I had made our second approach.
She stared at the blanket for a few seconds, and then lifted her gaze to mine, one side of her mouth curving upward. “I guess they really want to go swimming.”
Studying her closely, trying to parse whether she was pleased or uncomfortable, I asked, “Do you want to go swimming? I’ll help you carry everything back.”
She tilted her head, now studying me. “Do you want to go swimming?”
“No,” I answered immediately.
“Good,” she said quietly, and her small smile became a grin. But her eyes grew hazier the longer she looked at me, like she was lost within her thoughts. Meanwhile, I looked at her, taking note of how her legs bent and curled up, the hem of her dress rested benignly at mid-thigh, and her feet were once again bare.
My thoughts turned before I could rein them in and I pictured my hands on her skin, sliding the hem higher over her hips as she reclined, kissing my way up the inside of her thigh, and pulling aside that scrap of fabric between her legs to place a tonguing kiss on her—
“Strawberries,” she said, yanking me from my wayward imagination.
“Pardon?” My attention refocused outward.
“If you’re hungry, I got something for you to eat.”
“What was that?” I croaked, wondering if I’d been speaking my wishes out loud.
She held up the plate again. “I was too ambitious when I served myself and there’s no way I can finish all these. Are you sure you don’t want any?”
I swallowed the saliva that had rushed to my mouth during my sinful fantasy and tore my stare from hers, a chaos to which I was no longer accustomed made concentrating difficult. What was I supposed to do? What had Jethro said?