Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell

7

Brody

As the party winds down, Rachel tells the guests that if they leave a review for both Real Romance and Brody’s Boat, they can also enter a special drawing, and she gives them a card with a QR code so they can find the drawing online and add their review links.

That’s smart. I bet it’ll help with the review situation.

Damn it. I don’t need to feel absurdly grateful to her, on top of all my other complicated feelings.

Because obviously I’m going to tell her we can’t keep doing this.

Otherwise, I’m going to keep thinking about things I shouldn’t be thinking about. Like that goddamn Jack Buddy and whether Rachel thinks it would be hot to watch. Or all the places on Rachel the warming lube would make tingle. Or—

So many toys, so many possibilities.

I face-palm.

We pull into the marina, and the women hug Rachel, thanking her over and over again. Several of them program her number into their phones and tell her they want to grab drinks with her sometime. I can tell it surprises her, and I know from growing up around her that she was never the kind of girl who had a million friends.

Guess that’s about to change.

Rachel is the last one to step out of the boat. Her hair, which is pulled back in a ponytail, ends in a soft, dark puff I desperately want to touch. She smells like flowers, I’m guessing from all the lotions and lubes she handled tonight. I hold out my hand to help her, and she takes it. I feel that touch everywhere on my body. Her hand is small but strong and warm, and her eyes meet mine as she steps onto the dock.

We’re just a few inches from each other, and if I tugged on her hand, her mouth would pretty much fall onto mine.

“When will the order be ready?” a woman asks, breaking the spell.

“Ten days, give or take,” Rachel says. “If you included your cell number, I’ll text you when it’s ready; otherwise, I’ll email.”

“Thank you!” the woman says, and melts away.

Rachel and I are alone. I search for the right words. Needless to say, I don’t find them. Instead I say, “This is probably not a good idea.”

“Oh,” she says quietly, biting her lip. “Yeah. I get that.”

“I mean, it’s not you. You did—good. Like really good.”

She looks at me, startled, like a compliment was the last thing she was expecting. Like, who are you and what have you done with Brody?

“I really appreciate the giveaway thing. That’ll help a lot with reviews.”

I notice she’s doing it again. Getting that soft look on her face. I wish she wouldn’t, because that’s when I’m the most screwed. She can look hot for hours, but when she looks like Rachel, that’s when I fall apart.

I’m trying not to think about all the Rachels she has ever been.

The one who used to bring Connor and me food in the treehouse, and looked like she was going to cry the one time I asked if she wanted to stay and eat some, too.

The one who used to make muffins and hand them around the neighborhood, while Connor and I modified our nerf guns to shoot nails.

The one who used to play “library” and “school” and “wedding” on the far side of the yard while Connor and I burned shit to the ground.

Even then she knew exactly what she wanted, and I knew she was going to get it. I also knew that no part of her plan included someone like me, who by age nine already excelled at pranks, destruction, and it’s-better-to-ask-for-forgiveness-than-permission.

Rachel is still looking at me, soft and curious. And then she does a wonderful, terrible thing:

She licks her lips.

Just one quick swipe, tongue peeking out, the worst kind of tease.

It’s all I can do not to lean forward and taste the spot she licked.

When my eyes leave her mouth and meet her eyes, she’s watching me with her eyebrows up. And a smile tugging the corner of her mouth.

Rachel is no longer the teenager I spent years trying not to want. She’s all woman now, and I’m pretty sure her head is full of things I want to know about.

“Connor would kill me,” I say.

Am I talking about sex toys on the boat? Or Rachel and me?

Doesn’t matter; it’s true either way.

The speculative look is still on her face, like she’s wondering the same thing, but she nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t find out till last night that that’s what she was selling, and she told me you’d seen the website.”

“I was supposed to. I just didn’t. I’m not the best at following directions.”

That makes her smile for real, which feels like a hundred thousand dollar win.

That’s when I hear a truck pull into the parking lot several hundred feet away and look up to see Connor striding towards us, furious.

Oh, shit.

“Seriously? Neither of you thought to mention to me that Mom is selling vibrators? I had to find out from Jill at Oscar’s?”

My breath whooshes out of me. Luckily, not as loud in reality as it feels in my chest.

“Oh, God, Con, I’m so sorry!” Rachel says. “I swear to God I didn’t know you didn’t know. I thought of course you knew, but it turns out Mom’s quite the secret-keeper.”

“Brody,” Connor growls at me.

I hold both hands up. “Swear to God, Con, I was as in the dark as you. First I knew of it was when Rachel held up an eight-inch cock.”

Rachel snickers at that. Million dollars.

“Are you telling me you just sold a bunch of women sex toys on your boat and you had no idea that’s what you were inviting them here for?”

I’ve never been so relieved in my life to have been in the dark. “Swear it.”

Connor takes a long look at my face. It’s unnerving. It feels like he’s trying to read my guilt on my face. And there’s plenty of it, although not for deceiving him. For wanting his sister.

Just when I’m sure I’m going to blink first, he bursts out laughing.

“Holy shit,” he says. “I would have loved to have seen your face.”

I am so fucking thankful he didn’t.

I’m lockingmy truck in the parking lot of my apartment building when Connor pulls in. I wondered if he was going to chase me.

He hops out of his truck and heads my way.

I raise my eyebrows at him. “What’s up?” As if I don’t know.

“Look. As your friend. I’m asking. Don’t do this.”

I think about telling him to can it, but Connor is a good friend, and I don’t want to do that. Besides, I’ve reached the same conclusion on my own. There is literally no way I can be on that boat with Rachel and her merchandise without losing my mind.

“I’m not,” I say. “That was it. No more Booty-on-the-Boat.”

“Catchy, though,” he says almost regretfully. Then he pins me with a look that makes me want to disappear. “My point is, she’s off limits, Brody. She’s trying to put her life back together. She keeps talking about getting it ‘back on track.’ She doesn’t need to get distracted.”

“Jesus, Connor. I know that. And also, you know that if she were here, she’d have a few things to say about how it’s the twenty-first century and her brother is talking total bullshit.”

He crosses his arms and glares, but he knows I’m right.

Still, I have to work hard not to feel like crap about this speech, about the part where she’s getting her shit back together and I’m a distraction.

Connor, who has always had my back, is explicitly calling me off his sister because she’s too damn good for me, and it stings.

Unfortunately, he’s right about everything he said. Part of what I love about Connor is that despite the misguided shit we did as teenagers, he’s a decent guy. What he said the other day about Rachel makes total sense. If she just got dumped, she’s probably on the rebound. Rebounds make you reckless, make you do stuff out of character. I could totally see a lifelong good girl like Rachel deciding now would be the perfect time to get herself some bad boy dick.

And that would be the shittiest reason in the world for me to blow up my friendship with Connor and risk hurting Rachel.

Not to mention, I don’t want to be Rachel’s bad boy dick.

“I won’t touch her,” I promise.

Connor’s shoulders fall with so much relief that my stomach plummets again.

He really, really doesn’t want me with his sister.

I know I shouldn’t be surprised by it—I’m no one’s prize—but it still hurts.

Connor sees me wince. “Hey, man. Look. This is for you, too. You’re not in a good place to deal with any woman’s rebound shenanigans. Zoë wrecked you. This thing with Justin—” He nods. “It would fuck up any guy with a heart. Just—give yourself a break and don’t do anything half-assed till you have some time to sort yourself out.”

He’s right, he’s right, I know he’s right.

But I can still see her, standing on my boat, clutching Jack Buddy in one hand, peeking over to see if I’m paying attention.

I am, Rachel, I am.