THE SOUND OF THE PIANO greets me when I enter my house after a long day at work. It’s been over two weeks since someone touched that thing. And just like last time, the noise in my head fades into the background.
I don’t have to walk into the living room to know Mia’s there, playing “Painting Greys” by Emmit Fenn—one of the songs from my playlist.
I didn’t expect her to listen.
Leaving the keys on the side table, I cross the hallway far too eagerly. She looks obscenely cute in a pink pinafore dress and a long-sleeved top. No heels today, just snow-white sneakers. I make a mental note to ask Cody if his girl always looks like a little marshmallow.
Wrong visual. Marshmallows are food. Food is meant to be eaten, and fuck if eating Mia hasn’t crossed my mind a million times already.
“Hi,” she says without glancing backward. “Do you mind?”
I’m not sure how she knows it’s me. Whether she distinguishes my step from the triplets or if she smells my cologne.
“Not at all. Have at it.”
I pull my AirPod out and take a seat on the armrest of the couch, watching her play. She tilts her head, grazing her cheek over her shoulder. I don’t think it’s a nervous gesture. More like she’s seeking comfort. “Your brothers are getting ready, and I couldn’t help myself. I love this piano.”
It takes me by surprise, but there’s no denying it—I love when she plays this piano. She’s ridiculously talented. Even my mother can’t elicit such emotion from a simple melody. Each note Mia plays burrows its way under my skin.
“You can play here whenever you want.”
She slowly turns on the stool when the song ends, her fingers partly hidden under the long sleeves. Eyes green like freshly mowed grass stare into mine, forcing my heart’s rhythm into a higher gear.
I wonder if that’s what cartoonists imply when drawing characters’ hearts stretching a foot away from the body, stretching the skin to breaking point with each beat.
Every man has a type.
Blondes, brunettes, tall, short. After all, beauty is subjective. Just because I find a woman attractive doesn’t mean other men do. Take my brothers and me. Theo’s wife, Thalia, is my type by default—a tall, sharp-tongued, confident brunette, yet she doesn’t strike the right chord for me. Theo, on the other hand, looks at her like she’s a goddess incarnated.
I’m drawn to women with protruding cheekbones, long, dark hair, and wasp waists. The sophisticated divas who seductively sway their hips, holding their heads up high. Those who ooze sexuality and confidence. Those who seduce a man with one look. They can bait, hook and haul my ass to their table with a lick of a tongue across blood-red lips.
Mia’s not that type, but she is gorgeous. Cuter than fucking cute. A total opposite of what I usually go for with that pretty, round face of hers and tiny curvy body.
I’ve always been a sucker for pretty, shiny things…
Mia’s exactly that. Pretty and shiny like the colorful, butterfly-shaped brooch pinned to her blouse.
“Don’t say that. I might abuse the privilege.”
“No one save for my mother touches this thing. It could use the attention. Play whenever you’re around.”
However often that may be.
I want her here; but I really don’t fucking want her here because I don’t understand my fascination with this girl. I’m way out of my depth. I should divert my needs to someone else pronto. Newport is full of willing women.
Too bad not one piqued my interest lately enough to buy her a drink, let alone fuck her. They’re all lacking in one way or another. Too much cleavage, too much makeup, skirts too short, boobs too fake, voice too high.
“Thank you,” Mia says. “I’ve got a Yamaha at home, but it’s not as good as this. My dad bought the first piano he saw when Grandad started giving me lessons. I’ve been meaning to change it, but…” She flashes me another one of those shy, barely-there smiles. “Sentimental value.”
I cross the room to make a drink. Mia’s sweet perfume hangs in the air here, targeting my nose as I move. “You want wine?” I ask, reaching for a crystal glass. She shakes her head, toying with her bracelets. “My mother has a 1904 Steinway in her living room. That’s what I wanted to show you after you had your tattoo done. I knew you’d appreciate it.”
“I’m sure I will. Monica asked if I could play at the Ball. She said she always brings that piano to the venue.”
Monica? “How do you know my mother?”
“I’ve been helping a little with the Charity events she organizes.” She tugs her sleeves until her hands are almost completely covered, then picks at a loose thread.
She’s nervous around me.
I don’t like that. I want her at ease. Comfortable.
Cody’s words pop into my mind.
“Mia needed to calm down. Piano does the trick.”
“Play something for me.”
Scarlet paints her cheeks as if someone pressed a button on her neck that sends blood to her face.
Fuck…
Why is that so satisfying?
She turns around, her fingers back on the keys. My body erupts into a fit of hot and cold sweats when “Dream On” by Aerosmith fills the room. I could listen to this song for hours on end, never growing bored.
How the hell does she know it’s my favorite?
The melody seems softer, a little slower, and… she opens her mouth to sing. She’s a gentler version of Dolly Parton; her voice soft, laced with a raspy undertone you can’t hear when she speaks but overpowers you once she hits the higher registers.
The urge to join her hits me like a freight train.
I grip the armrest, gouging my fingers into the leather, anchoring myself in place. I’ve not touched the piano in ten years, but I want to sit beside Mia and play.
No.
I want to sit behind her… my legs boxing her thighs, my arm across her middle, one hand on the keys, her back flush against my chest. The sweet smell of her perfume. The warmth of her body…
What the fuck is it about her?
Her blonde locks swinging from left to right in a ponytail as she plays are all I see; the lyrics pouring from her pouty mouth are all I hear. I’m in a daze until the melody ceases too soon.
“I believe that’s your favorite song,” she says, turning back around.
“How did you know?”
“I know a lot about you. You’re a stockbroker. A very good one. Your birthday’s next week. You don’t like birthday cake and eat apple pie with raisins instead. You like spaghetti, warm chocolate brownies, sky diving, and the color green.”
I cock a questioning eyebrow but don’t stop her. This isn’t the kind of information my mother would share if she played cupid—which she does often lately—so I know Mia’s not getting it from her.
“When you were four, Theo broke your foot with an iron. You’ve got a birthmark on your right shoulder in the shape of a bunny. Your favorite movie growing up was Oscar with Stallone, but your mom didn’t let you watch it. Not that it stopped you… you watched it elsewhere.” She bites down a smile. “Should I keep going?”
The corner of my lips turns up against better judgment. It’s hard not to smile when she’s around, a little ray of sunshine. “Those Bridge sessions… you play with my grandmother, don’t you? Am I the only one she talks about, or just the only one you pay attention to?”
Someone pushes that cheek-reddening button again.
“I can tell you something about all your brothers. When he was five, Shawn thought forcing Logan into the tumble dryer would be funny. He only went in halfway but braced his elbows inside. It took your mom an hour to get him out.”
“I don’t remember that, but I heard about it. Why do you play with my grandparents? They’re eighty.”
“Which part surprises you? That I know how to play Bridge or that I play with people four times my age?”
Both. Bridge is not an easy game. I tried wrapping my head around the rules more than once. I gave up quickly, even though numbers are my forte.
“I like spending time with them,” she continues. “I like when Rita talks about the seven of you with so much love in her voice, and I like their stories about life in the fifties.”
She’s a college girl. Far from those my brothers got me used to, though. Other than a handful of smart, normal girls, they mostly bring home poster kids for stereotype. Those who care more about their appearance and getting attention from boys than anything else.
It’s fine, I guess. They’re young. That’s what youth is about—fun, but those types of girls only appeal to boys. They may be admired while at school, but once those years are over, boys become men. They want more than short skirts, immaculate makeup, and mind-blowing blowjobs.
“How did you join their group?”
“Well, Kenneth, who plays with them, is my neighbor. I help him with small chores, so we’re pretty close. When their fourth, Patti, fell ill last year, he asked if I could play with him and your grandparents just that once.” A sad grimace twists her lips. “Patti passed away a few days later. I’ve played every week since.”
“It’s unfair you know all about me, and I know nothing about you.”
She crosses her ankles, pulling her shoulders back. “I’m not interesting.”
“I very much doubt that.” Footsteps thump on the stairs, halting our conversation. I can’t help the hot ball of irritability swelling behind my ribs that our alone time was cut short. “Where are you heading tonight?”
“We’re still arguing about that.”
“We’re not arguing, Bug.” Cody arrives in a black tee and fitted jeans, his hair tied back in a low bun. “You’re just too stubborn.” He rests his fists on the stool, framing her thighs, and pecks the crown of her head. “Indulge me, okay?”
Mia starts the nervous ritual again, toying with her rings when Cody straightens up, lifting his chin at me in greeting.
“You promised we’ll go to the arcades,” she says. “You promised to show me how you cheat the claw machine.”
“I will, but first, you should practice. When I’m happy you can keep yourself safe, I’ll buy you ten damn teddies, alright?”
She rises to her feet, stepping away from the piano. “If I can break free, we’re going to the arcades. Go on. Grab me.”
She’s adorable.
Five-foot-nothing acting tough. It’s like watching a Yorkie pick a fight with a German Shepherd.
“Drop your hands,” Cody says, taking a firm stance behind Mia, the tension in his posture clearly visible.
Once she complies, he wraps himself around her ribs, clamping her arms against her body. It takes Mia two seconds to assess her position before she glances at me, taking Cody’s hand and bending his index finger all the way back. A pained grimace taints his features, and his hold loosens, allowing her to spin around and step on his foot.
“Now imagine I’m in heels, which I always wear on dates,” she tuts, beaming a smile full of mischief. “I think I’m free.”
Cody drapes his arm around her back, his fingers splayed across the middle, forcing Mia closer. “Because we already practiced this. There’s a ton more I want to teach you. We’ll go to the arcades tonight, but don’t think this is over.”
“You should box her in better,” I say. I don’t want them to leave. Although, that’s not the main reason I opened my mouth. Cody’s about ready to kiss her, and no way in hell can I calmly watch. “She knows how to break free when she can use her arms and legs. What happens if she can’t?”
“I broke Brandon’s nose!” she whines, stepping away from Cody. “I can take care of myself well enough.”
You shouldn’t. You should be cared for.
“You broke his nose because he didn’t expect you to break free. Brandon thinks a lot of himself, Mia. Anyone attacking you will know how to limit your moves effectively. Brandon forced you into his lap, right?”
“His mistake. There’s always a soft spot available no matter how a man grabs me.”
No, there’s not. Not an obvious one, at least.
“Stop her moving her arms and legs, then show her how to break free,” I tell Cody.
“We’re not practicing sick, getting-tied-up scenarios. That’s way too extreme. Basic self-defense will be enough to deal with Brandon if he tries his luck again.”
You should fucking deal with him.
Colt and Conor join us, both dressed to head out. They greet me before plopping down on the couch, silent observers.
“I didn’t say you should tie her up. Just limit her moves.”
Cody studies me, then glances at Colt and Conor like he’s searching for backup. Or maybe a second opinion. I can’t tell.
“I don’t know how to immobilize her like that,” he admits. “How do I do this?”
I try explaining how he has to grab Mia, but he fails miserably. Either he’s worried he’ll scare her, afraid he’ll hurt her, or he can’t follow instructions because Mia frees her elbow every time. He’s not putting enough strength into the hold.
“Can I try?” I ask. He grinds his teeth but bobs his head once, eyes shooting daggers my way. I don’t give him time to think this through, looking at Mia. “You won’t be able to move once I grab you, so you need to trust I won’t hurt you.”
That might be a challenge… I don’t think she trusts me. She’s as skittish as a baby deer, flinching whenever I get close.
Intimidating—that’s everyone’s one-word description of me. Thalia and Cass admitted I put them on edge like a snarling dog with rabies. Nothing new there. Most people straighten their backs in my presence, but it drives me up the wall to see it from Mia.
All my life, I pursued women who made me feel like I was licking honey off a freshly sharpened knife edge. Mia’s not even blunt-side sharp. She’s soft. Fragile, as if assembled from delicate soap bubbles.
I’ve no idea how to handle that. I’m a bull in a fucking China shop around her.
The triplets silently watch the unfolding scene. With each passing second, I drown them out until I don’t see them anymore. It’s just the boorish me and the gentle her. She swallows hard, taking a few small, hasty steps down the couch.
Once she’s within reach, I cuff her wrist, cursing internally when she flinches at the urgency of my touch.
Possessive. That’s how I feel when she’s in my personal space. A dog with a bone.
I tug her hand, forcing her to nestle that perfect ass in the space between my legs. I’ve never been this self-conscious, never wondered if I gripped, yanked, or squeezed a woman too hard… now I’m hyperaware of what I’m doing, and I think my hold on Mia’s wrist might be too tight.
I’m also hyperaware this was a bad idea.
The hairs on my neck rise. Blood in my veins flows like cherry slurpy. My pulse accelerates the second she curves into my arms, fitting perfectly. The honeysuckle smell of her perfume or body lotion is nothing short of intoxicating. I’m glad I chose a long-sleeve tee today, or how she makes me feel would be clearly visible to my brothers.
Fuck… even I didn’t realize how powerful this pull between us is. Now that she’s close, my whole body hums with a feverish, impatient, get-it-done-now kind of energy.
I take her hands, wrapping our arms around her docile frame like a straitjacket. My legs box hers in, squeezing them together with my ankles crossed over her feet. Her breathing hiccups. Mine catches in my throat before I shakily push it past my lips, resting my chin on top of her head where she can’t headbutt my nose.
And she fucking melts against me.
Jesus…
What am I going to do with you, baby?
My lungs decompress, squeezed by an invisible iron clamp when her heart picks up rhythm under my fingertips, matching the frantic beat of mine.
“You’re panicking,” I say, my voice steady even though my stomach twists like a wrung-out towel.
“Calm down, Bug, you’re fine,” Cody adds, reminding me of his existence. “He won’t hurt you.”
Protectiveness goes bang inside me, swelling, growing, and spreading through my structure. No way in hell I’ll ever hurt her. She knows I won’t.
At least, I hope she does.
“You need to stay calm, Mia,” I continue. “Fear will choke you. You won’t break free if you’re not thinking clearly. Take a deep breath for me.”
She does, slowly filling her lungs. I breathe with her until we both calm the fuck down.
“Good. You’re fine. I’ll let you go if you ask.”
“Let me go.”
I do. Immediately. Scaring her is the last thing on my list. My legs open, and arms rise, but she doesn’t budge.
“Okay. I just had to check,” she says. “You can continue.”
And I do. Immediately. Hungry for that peaceful trance-like state when she’s safely tucked against me.
Seconds later I’ve got her immobilized, my chin on her shoulder this time, so she doesn’t crush my windpipe with the back of her head. “Now, think.” I tighten my hold around her fingers. “You can’t move your arms or legs. You can’t shove me away. What can you do?”
“Um…” She considers her position, trying to wriggle free like she did with Cody, but it’s useless.
Now that she’s flush against me, I feel her with every fiber in me. I’m not letting her go until I absolutely have to.
“I can hit you with the side of my head.”
“No. Don’t ever try that. It could work, but you’ll black out if you hit your temple against the wrong spot.”
Instinctively my thumb grazes hers in an odd, mechanical reflex.
I shouldn’t do that.
Where is this urge to soothe her coming from?
I’ve always been grossly overprotective, but it manifested in unhealthy jealousy, rage fits, and fist-throwing at anyone who said one wrong word to my ex. I never soothed Kaya unless she was bawling her eyes out. Even then, I didn’t do a good job because I was more annoyed than concerned.
Not now. The need to keep Mia calm fastens itself around my throat so tightly I’ll choke if she’s not at ease.
“Accept that you can’t hit me,” I continue. “You have to be more creative.”
It takes a moment, but she tilts her head, accidentally brushing those full, soft lips against my jaw. “I can bite you.”
“Good girl.” I inhale a subtle deep breath, shepherding the desire rekindling in my gut. “Bite hard enough, and the guy will let go. It’s a reflex. Hands go where it hurts. Once you can use your hands, you know what to do, right?”
She nods, and very reluctantly, I let. Her. Go.
“Fine,” she tells Cody, back on her feet. “We can practice tonight but promise you’ll take me to the arcades this week.”
“You know any more moves like that?” Colt asks me, creases lining his forehead. “Anything we can teach her?”
Unfortunately, I do. I learned how to restrain a woman when I dated Kaya. She was an alcoholic. Out of control. Whenever she got hammered, she either threw anything within reach at me or tried to hurt herself. “Yeah. I know a few things.”
We go over two more scenarios. After a couple of attempts to explain how Cody should do it, he waves me off and leaves me in charge.
Fine by me.
I have Mia pinned against the wall half a minute later, her wrists locked in my hand, legs boxed by one of mine. I tell her—calmly—what her next move should be while I scream inside my head, schooling myself not to do something stupid.
There are more things she should learn, more things I could show her, but she’d have to lie down, and if I cover her body with mine, there’ll be no rationalizing.
Instead of turning my brother against me, I call it a night.
Mia
First day at kindergarten
“Cooties!” Jake yells, pointing his finger at me. “She’s got cooties! Stay away!”
All the other children squeal and stumble back, leaving me alone in the middle of the room.
“I don’t have cooties!” I say, my voice squeaky.
“You do! You’ve got cooties! Don’t touch me!”
“I don’t have cooties!” I cry again and take a step forward. Tears pool in my eyes when all the other children start running away every time I step toward them.
I don’t want to be here. I miss Daddy and my sister.
The children are mean, and Mrs. Jeffrey smells like onions.
“Don’t let her touch any toys!” Jake commands again. “She’s got cooties! If you touch her, you’ll have it too!”
He runs around, scooting toys off the floor and throwing them in one corner. All the other children follow his lead until all the toys are out of my reach.
“Now, now, Jake, that’s not nice, is it?” Mrs. Jeffrey asks, lifting her head from a stack of papers on her desk. “Play nice. All of you.” She looks back down, and Jake whispers to the other kids, pointing his finger at me and laughing while I stand there, alone, sad, and crying.
