“Yes. We grew up on a huge one.”
“Freddy told me. Your dad has a mini-submarine.”
“Yes.” I blew out air and some of the embarrassment at the mention of my father. “Dad's been having a mid-life crisis for the past twenty years. I don't think he's ever going to stop being so eccentric.”
“Twenty years was when you think he started his mid-life crisis?” She frowned.
“Yeah. My dad's pretty old. He's sixty right now. Isn't that when men start acting crazy, right around forty?”
“I don't know. I’m from the school of thought that men remain crazy from birth to death.” She wiggled her feet. “Don't you think he might've started acting so weird because of your mom's death?”
Those words slammed into me. Just out of nowhere. We’d been going on a great conversational path and then she pushed me over the ledge to watch me fall.
“What?” I cleared my throat. “How did you know my mom passed away?”
“Freddy told me.”
That wasn't like him to use our dead mother as a way to get into a woman's panties. I wondered what brought up the conversation in the first place. Freddy hated talking about Mom with anybody. Since we were two years apart and he was the oldest, he’d always held on to more memories of her than me. But that didn't stop me from imagining my own memories until the point that I couldn't decide which ones were real and which thoughts were simply formed from my mind.
I stared up at her. “How did we get on my mother's death again?”
She twisted her lips. “Sorry. I just figured that since your mother passed away twenty years ago and your father started acting crazy around then, maybe it was connected.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Dad couldn’t care less about my mother.”
“Because he married your mother's friend?”
Shocked again, I sat up. “Did Freddy tell you that too?”
“Yes.”
“What were you both doing, having an Oprah moment? No wonder he was so aggravated all morning. Every time he moved around the room he banged against something or slammed an item down. I thought someone would complain about the noise and get us kicked out. What did you do to him?”
“Nothing.” She tried to appear innocent, but that guiltless expression never met her eyes. She seemed happy with herself, proud even.
“You like that my brother was mad today, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Let me tell you a secret.” I scooted over to her. “I like making him angry too.”
She rubbed her arm against mine, delivering glints of desire through me. “Is this your signature move? Do you get real close and gently caress the target?”
“I'm not that gentle.”
Those gray eyes widened. “So you're rough in bed?”
“I enjoy some hair pulling, ass smacking, and strong thrusting.”
She leaned toward me. “Do you rip panties?”
“That's what panties are made for, to be ripped and torn.”
“Have you ever broken a bed?”
“Yes. At least one hotel bed in every country.”
“Damn, Max. I'm actually impressed.” She shook my hand. “I feel like I should be bowing in front of you or something.”
“No bowing, but you could do something for me.”
She shook her head. “No. I won't be inviting you to my bed.”
“Did Freddy give you a good sell? Will you be giving the win to him?”
“Neither one of you will win.”
“One of us has to or you’re going to see a whole lot more of us this year.” I reached for the beaded bows on her bikini bottom and twirled the end. “I've always wanted to see what law school was about. You can expect us to be sitting right next to you in every class until you finally give the win to one of us.”
“The university would escort you off.”
“Doesn’t matter. Freddy and I always get our way, just never at the same time. One of us will win. All you need to figure out is which one deserves it.”
“Hmm.” She rose, taking her bikini bottom's beads from my fingers. “You both never told me what the prize is. What is it?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Holy shit.” She headed over to the table of treats I’d had prepared and laid out for her.
Trays of sliced fruit and various bowls of sweet dips were at the edge of the deck along with a fresh pitcher of sangria. Dawn picked up a strawberry and dipped it in the tiny bowl of dark chocolate. The thick liquid coated the piece of fruit and dripped a little before she popped it in her mouth. Chocolate dotted her chin. She had no idea.
“Hold on.” I rushed up to my feet, got to her, swiped my thumb along that dot, and sucked on it. “You have no idea how to properly eat this fruit. Let me help you.”
“I don't need any help.” She giggled. “I'm perfectly fine doing this by myself.”
“No. Let the master take care of this.” I grabbed a chunk of banana wet it with milk chocolate and brought it to her lips.
Before she could seize it, I pulled the sweet fruit away. “Say please.”
“No.” She captured it with her mouth.
“You're a cheat.”
“No. I'm just more capable than you.”
“At what?”
“Everything. Name anything that you can do well and I'll beat you at.” She kissed the air and proceeded with sampling food. “What are you good at Max?”
I considered that question for a minute. Only two things came to my mind. Even without using Freddy's handbook of finesse, I knew that answering—poker and sex—would not make me appear more appealing.
What else can I do really well?
She chewed on something and licked powdered sugar off of her lips. “Don't tell me you're drawing a blank. You have to have something in life that you're good at. Or are you just as bad as your brother?”
“I don't know why I can't think of something.”
“Maybe you're thinking too hard on the question. Quick.” She clapped her hands twice. “What is something you know you're great at? What’s the first thing that comes to your mind?”
“Eating pussy.”
She covered her mouth and laughed. “O-kay. I'm actually going to give you extra points for that answer. What else are you great at and be honest there has to be something else besides sex?”
“Poker.”
She bobbed her head. “Cool. So you're good with cards. Do you play poker a lot?”
“More than my family likes.”
“Do you lose a lot?”
“More than I would like.” I smoothed the soft pad of my thumb against my watch. “Freddy thinks I have a gambling problem.”
I didn't know why I brought it up. Maybe it was because she didn't exist in our world of back stabbers that would use the information against me. Since I was a child, Dad told us to keep our mouths closed when around anyone that wasn't family, and even then not to say it around certain relatives too. Freddy and I didn't share our feelings much, but when we did we were forced to do it away from untrustworthy friends, spying servants, gold-diggers, and any hidden paparazzi. It left me keeping more secrets than I desired, until at some point many years ago I stopped going to Freddy to talk. I ceased with going to anybody.