When Our Worlds Stand Still (Our Worlds #3)(28)

“Why don’t you go upstairs and find that bathing suit?” He smirks. “I’ll meet you out back.”

I head up the stairs, taking the time to ensure I don’t fall flat on my face. I know Graham’s eyes are on my ass the entire way. Violet’s suitcase is sitting in the hallway where Mark left it earlier this morning. As I reach for the zipper, a hand pops out of an open door.

“Looking for this?” Violet asks. The black bikini dangles in front of my face.

“How the fuck did you even get up here?” I storm past Violet, angry she’s right about me needing to pack a bikini, and even madder I have to wear this slip of fabric.

“That door actually leads down into the kitchen.” Ah, the one I wondered about when I was snooping earlier. “Where’re you going?” she questions my abrupt exit.

I stomp my feet, make my way back to Violet, snatch the minuscule fabric from her grasp, and stomp back to Graham’s room, slamming the door in my wake.

“Have fun.” Violet singsongs. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Eat a dick,” I shout through the closed door.

“No, that’ll be you, princess. Do us all a favor and make sure you’re out of the hot tub. Wouldn’t want you drowning or anything.” Violet’s laughter echoes as she skips down the stairs.

I suddenly find myself questioning why I allowed her to bulldoze into my life freshman year.

Not wanting to leave Graham waiting for too long, I slip my clothes off and slide the soft black fabric over my body. When I turn to the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet door, I’m surprised. The ties lay effortlessly on my hips, and when I turn, the material accentuates the ass I’ve earned at Bayview. I twist the top until I’m covered evenly, and realize, to no avail, my tits are on display. I shrug my shoulders at my reflection and walk out of the room.

I prance down the stairs, a confidence I haven’t had in almost a year. In the back of my mind, I worry I’m not going to equate to what Graham expects or wants anymore. Old habits die hard, and a majority of my time has been spent second guessing my own appeal. This is another thing Jackie has explained is perfectly normal for my recovery.

When I hear the whistles and obnoxious hoots and hollers, I realize my mistake. The cloud of excitement from being near Graham again has made me forget to cover up. Now I stand, in the middle of the kitchen, wearing only an itty bitty bikini.

“Goddamn,” Rick shouts, ducking around Amanda. He folds his arms over his chest and leans against the front of the island. “You look hot.”

“Shut up.” I walk past them all.

“Seriously, you can keep it,” Violet says. “There’s no point for me to put it on. I won’t do it justice.” A harsh slap rings across my nearly bare ass.

I turn around, my arms stretched out to the sides. “That good, huh?” My eyes scan to Amanda because I know she’ll be honest.

“Remember that time I told you I would consider having a lesbian experience in college …” Amanda sighs.

“Yeah?” I smile because only Amanda would phrase her answer like that.

“Oh yeah, sweetheart. You look like a video vixen. Now, if we could only get you to shake your ass like one.”

Over my shoulder, I grin and dip my hips from side to side. She reaches across the island and pushes the bottom of Rick’s and Mark’s jaws up, making me giggle.

Violet waits until the back door is wide open and shouts, “Don’t forget to get out of the hot tub before you eat a dick, Kennedy.”

With a yank, I slam the door, but not before Graham and I hear their roars of laughter. I glare through the window and nearly slip on the wet wood, catching myself before I fall on my face.

“Eat a dick, huh?” I hear Graham’s soft laugh, but my eyes burn holes through the glass. His hand slips into mine, pulling me away from the commotion.

When I turn, his gaze travels over my entire length. I wiggle under his intrusion, an intrusion I’m more than willing to endure if his eyes are telling me what I think they’re telling me.

“Maybe the hot tub is a bad idea.” Graham skims his hand over the top of the water, wetting the ends of his fingers.

“It’s cold out. I’m either getting in or running upstairs to change out of this.” I ghost my hand over the black material.

Graham’s mouth falls open, and his admiration is evident in the way he leans forward, begging to come closer.

“Get in the hot tub,” he demands, an urgent rumble behind his words. “Seriously, Kennedy, get in the hot tub.”

My eyes widen at his tone, but I don’t argue. The air is crisp. Flutters of snow begin to fall from the sky. Graham follows behind me, but instead of sitting next to me like I expect, he chooses the seat furthest away.

Music begins to play. It’s a familiar song. A song I once loved. My eyes scan over the inset system along the overhang of the back patio. The lyrics of “I Won’t Give Up” still ring true, maybe even more honest now than they were when we danced at the prom.

“They’re playing the role of the puppeteers,” Graham states.

“And we’re their puppets.” I finish the thought.

“They mean well.”

I twist my fingers together beneath the surface of the water. “The distance between us is suffocating.”