Flawless (Chestnut Springs Book 1)
Flawless: Chapter 15

Kip: Saw the interviews. You did well. You being good to my girl?

Rhett: Thanks. I laid awake all night, hoping I’d get your stamp of approval. And of course, I am.

Kip: But not too good, right?

Rhett: Is that what I’m aiming for? Good, but not too good? It’s a wonder you raised an adult as functional as Summer.

Kip: Why aren’t you complaining about her?

Rhett: Because she isn’t so bad.

I’m so fucked. I’m super fucked. I’m so super-mega fucked.

Summer was also right. I’m a massive prick. Because I’ve been awake for the better part of an hour, letting her cuddle me. Staring at her, trying to memorize every little freckle. Watching her sleep like a lovesick Ted Bundy or something.

I woke up when I felt her nuzzle against my bicep, and when I slowly opened my eyes, I was as close to her mouth as I had been the night before. When I’d done everything I could to not lick that hot sauce off her lips like a goddamn savage.

But now she’s on me. Thigh slung over my legs, just below where my morning wood is saluting the world—Summer specifically.

Her small palm presses against the center of my chest, while her cheek rests against my arm. She’s even still clutching my hand. Something that makes an ache throb in my chest.

I’m trying to be a gentleman. I really, really am. But I also haven’t failed to notice how her sweatshirt has ridden up her mid-section. The way the waist band of her silky underwear is peeking out from her sweatpants.

Taunting me.

I want to do distinctly ungentlemanly things to Summer Hamilton. But I also want her to warm her cold feet up on me again. Anytime she wants. The thought of her being cold and uncomfortable infuriates me.

I want to take care of her, even though she doesn’t need taking care of.

It’s honestly really fucking confusing. It’s also a terrible fucking idea. But then, good ideas haven’t ever been my forte. Why start now?

She stirs, and I look at her shuttered eyes again. Soft lashes drawn down, a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. I wonder if they show up on any other parts of her body.

My cock surges, and I don’t think I can blame my current erection on morning time physiology anymore. It’s just a straight boner because I want to bang my agent’s daughter.

And then snuggle her. Trace her freckles.

Goddamn. I scrub my face with my spare hand and berate myself for not sucking it up and sleeping on the floor—no matter how badly it hurt. It couldn’t have been worse than this realization.

I peel myself away from her, trying to extricate my tangled limbs and feelings.

But when I silently fuck my palm in the shower minutes later, I’m not all that sure I’ve succeeded. Especially since it’s her name on my lips when I spill myself on the base of the porcelain tub.

“You’ll be pleased to hear that while I was using the restroom on the flight back, Summer ordered me a glass of milk.”

Summer snorts and takes another bite of the scone in her hand.

From the opposite side of the breakfast table, Beau cackles over the rim of his coffee mug. “Summer, will you marry me?”

My brother asks in jest. But my caveman brain misses the joke. Instead, it sounds like my big brother is hitting on her, and I want to scoop her up and hide her away. Because Beau is everything I’m not. Heroic, organized, dependable, clean-cut.

If I had to pick a type for Summer, I’d envision Beau.

To prevent myself from saying something I’ll regret, I scald the back of my throat with hot coffee. To her credit, Summer just rolls her eyes. Which, pathetically, makes me feel better.

“You wound me!” Beau dramatically grabs at his chest. “Will you at least come out to The Railspur tonight?”

“Don’t you need to deploy again soon?” I interrupt.

“Trying to get rid of me, baby brother?” Beau winks at me, and I momentarily wonder if he knows he’s turning me into a jealous crybaby.

Summer ignores our antics. In fact, she’s been the picture of professionalism ever since that night we shared a bed. Not weird, or cool, or awkward, just . . . professional.

Over the past week, I’ve often wished she’d be a little less professional. A little more reckless.

“Rhett has an MRI at the hospital,” she says. “Then acupuncture at four. Then he has a teleconference interview. So probably not tonight.”

“You could come without him, you know?”

Summer smiles at my brother as she pushes out of her chair to stand. It’s a kind enough smile, but not a full one. Not the one I saw on her face when she cheered for me in the stands.

It’s the exact smirk that used to bug me. But now I see it in a different light—she thinks it’s a polite smile. It’s kind of the equivalent of a pat on the head.

“I could,” she agrees as she turns and walks away.

My eyes drop to her ass in her skin-tight workout pants. She might be short, but fuck me, the girl has curves in all the right places. Firm muscles. She reminds me of a gymnast in spandex.

“Let’s go, Rhett. It’s gym time.”

I groan and stand, still sore. Though I have to confess, this routine Summer has me on isn’t terrible. I feel better every day. My biggest complaint is that I’m getting professional massages rather than ones from her.

I dump the dregs of my coffee and leave the cup in the sink. Beau can fucking wash it, put that military clean streak of his to use for flirting with my babysitter right in front of me.

“Have fun.” He winks and hits me with a knowing smirk.

Dick.

I sneak my finger into my mouth and give him a big, slippery wet willy on the way past. And it’s surprisingly satisfying.

“You don’t have to stay here with me, you know.” I nudge Summer’s shoulder with mine and peer down at the glossy cooking magazine she’s flipping through.

“I know.” That’s all she says. She doesn’t elaborate or even look at me. In fact, she seems almost exasperated by me.

“You could leave and go hang out with Beau.” Even saying it out loud is petty, but that jealous streak in me has fixated on the way my brother flirts with her. He’s like that with everyone. But it bugs me when he does it with Summer.

Her lips press together, and she smirks down at the page. “I know.”

“So why are you sitting here with me?”

Her head tips up and her eyes move over to meet mine. Sitting side by side in the radiology waiting room doesn’t leave much space between us, especially if we’re going to talk without everyone else hearing every word we say. Her lips open for a moment, like she’s about to say something.

“That’s the gig.”

She says it, but it sounds like a lie to me, based on the way her lips were moving before she forced them into that line of bullshit.

She blinks rapidly and then stares back down at the magazine, that fake smirk firmly in place. “Plus, can’t have you hitting on all the nurses here. Wouldn’t be a good look.”

“Ah, yes, because I’m an uncontrollable animal.”

Her head tilts, and she shrugs. “There is a certain reputation.”

“Have you seen any proof of that in the past few weeks?” Her lips roll together in the most alluring way, but she doesn’t respond. “Imagine thinking someone doesn’t change or grow up at all in the course of a decade.”

Her eyes flit to the side.

“My dad, my brother, the entire WBRF fan base, it’s like they still see me as the twenty-something World Champion with no boundaries. Or in my family’s case, the unruly little boy who would do anything for attention.”

I scoff, frustration bubbling to the surface as I continue. “Here I am, a man in his thirties and no matter what I do, people treat me like I’m a child. Like I’m irresponsible. And worse, they treat me like I’m stupid. And my job is to grin and ignore it because why? Money? That’s how people want to see me? It’s exhausting. All I wanted to do was ride bulls and chase that high that made me feel something. That high that gave me control of my destiny for a full eight seconds. Like I held the room’s attention for a brief moment in time. And now I’m here bending over backwards to appease the masses because I’ve become some sort of household sex symbol or mascot for entire industries? I never asked for that kind of responsibility.”

I’m almost out of breath when I finish my verbal rampage. Summer is staring at me, rich chocolate eyes wide and cheeks slightly pink. When I breathe out, she breathes in, the surrounding air a silent cocoon in a busy hospital.

She says it so quietly, I almost miss it. “I don’t see you that way.”

My heart thuds against my ribs, and my eyes drop to her lush cherry lips. Such a simple statement has never meant quite so much.

“Summer.” A biting voice interrupts the moment, and we both fly away from each other like we’ve been caught doing something we shouldn’t be.

Summer smooths her hands down the front of her corduroy jacket. “Winter. Hi. What a pleasant surprise.” Her current smile isn’t the smug one, it’s one of forced brightness, and as I look between the two women, I put together why.

“Haven’t seen you at family dinner lately.” The other woman holds similar features to Summer, and yet, she couldn’t be more different. Porcelain skin and pale blonde hair pulled back so tight her entire face looks equally taut. Cunning, icy eyes, just like her expression.

I almost chuckle over the names. Winter all frigid and biting. Summer all warm and soft.

“We’ve been on the road.” Summer hikes a thumb at me. “Dad has me working with Rhett exclusively.”

The woman wearing the long white coat over a boxy blue dress glances over at me with a dismissive smile, and I decide to jump in, feeling protective of Summer and not loving the way her sister is talking to her.

I stand, using my height to my advantage, staying close enough that Summer’s knee brushes against my leg as I shove a hand in Winter’s direction. “Rhett Eaton, pleasure to meet you.”

She slips her hand into mine, and it’s cold too. Her grip is firm, and her eyes flit down momentarily to her sister. A look passes between them before Winter seems almost gleeful. “Doctor Winter Valentine. I’m Summer’s half-sister.” Summer winces at that designation, but it’s what her sister says next that has her all flustered. “And of course, I know who you are. Summer had your Wranglers ad plastered on her bedroom wall for years.”

My mind stutters over what she’s just spilled.

Summer clears her throat and glares at her sister, maintaining her composure beautifully despite the red splotches popping up on her cheeks, all the way down her neck and onto her chest.

Am I going to harass Summer about this later? Absolutely. I love to spar with her. It might as well be foreplay for how well she holds her own. But right now, I’m miffed. I see her older sister being intentionally cruel to her. Trying to embarrass her. It makes me plaster a vicious smile on my face while still gripping Winter’s palm in a handshake that has now gone on for too long.

I wink at her. “Sounds like you remember it quite clearly yourself, darlin’.”

Bitch.

Her lips flatten, and she yanks her hand from mine. “Maybe next family dinner you can join us. I know that would be a dream come true for Summer.” She turns her scathing gaze down at Summer and then brightly adds, “Well, I have a patient’s scans to tend to. It was a pleasure seeing you both.”

And with that, she’s gone. Same petite stature, but all harsh, slim lines—almost sprite like—as she walks away, head held high, completely unrattled.

“Oof. Ice queen much?” I breathe out before flopping back down.

It’s the small, strangled noise coming from Summer that has me turning in her direction. She’s covered her face with both hands, and I’m not entirely sure what she’s doing. But I think she might be laughing based on the way her body is vibrating.

Or crying. One of the two.

“You okay?”

“No,” she wheezes.

“Are you hiding because your sister is a grade A bitch or because I now know that I’m your teenaged spank bank fodder?”

I’m pretty sure I hear her mumble a choked, “Oh, my God.”

When she peeks out at me from between her fingers, I waggle my eyebrows. And when her only response is to groan and tip her head back against the vinyl chair back, I laugh.

“Can we please pretend that never happened?” Her palms muffle her voice.

I grin and shake my head, crossing my arms, irrationally pleased with the whole thing. “Not a fuckin’ chance, Princess.”