The Boyfriend Effect Page 6

  “Tell your grandma thanks again for letting us stay at her place. I’m dying for some time away,” Maren says, giving me an appreciative look.

  I nod and look away. If the other toys were too much to handle, watching her hold an anatomically correct, flesh-colored dildo in her hands is where I draw the line. It’s impossible to stop myself from imagining pumping the toy into her, watching her squirm as—

  “Hayes, do you have the numbers from last quarter? Some of this shit just won’t reconcile,” Wolfie grumbles, furrowing his brow at the computer.

  Numbers. Spreadsheets. These are what I should be focusing on.

  I clear my throat, thinking that maybe putting some distance between Maren and me will help. “Yeah, let me run to the back and grab my laptop.”

  I walk quickly to the back of the storefront where we have a small supply closet, a few rows of back stock, and another few hundred square feet of office space. When I reach my desk, the door to the back swings open again, and footsteps approach.

  “Look, Wolfie, I know I’ve got the numbers here somewhere, all right? Just give me a minute.”

  But the voice that answers isn’t Wolfie’s. It’s Maren’s.

  “I was, uh, hoping we could talk about the auction?” She stands awkwardly on the other side of my desk, the dildo still in her hand. When she catches me staring at it, she holds it up with a small, mischievous smile. “I’m not trying to steal it or anything. I just wanted to catch a moment alone with you.”

  Why do our conversations always start out like the beginning of a porno?

  I take a seat and gesture for her to sit down. Instead of sitting in one of the chairs next to my desk, though, she rests her ass on the edge of it, much closer than I was expecting.

  She sets the dildo down in front of me. “I was wondering if maybe you could put together a basket for the auction,” she says, her eyes lowered to her hands.

  “Sure, I can find a suitable vendor and work out a contract. It’ll be easy.”

  “No, I meant you. As in the company. I’d ask Wolfie, but even the thought is too mortifying.”

  “You want to sell a basket of adult toys . . . to old people?” I try to keep my tone as measured as possible. I want to help her—more than I probably should—but this is one thing I’m not so sure about.

  “I know it sounds crazy, but we’ll be inviting people from all over, from all walks of life. Plus, old people are more sexually active than you’d think.”

  “Okay, not a mental image I ever wanted in my head.”

  We laugh, and she places her hand over mine.

  “Everyone likes orgasms,” she says softly, making my heart rate rachet even higher.

  My mouth has gone dry, and I’ve forgotten how to form a response that isn’t just a helpless noise of agreement. Good times.

  But Maren is as polished as ever. Crossing one ankle over the other and tipping her chin, she says, “Just think about it, okay? I don’t need an answer right now.”

  I nod, trying to ignore the extra blood flow to my crotch.

  “Oh, and Hayes?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you again. For everything. I really don’t know how I’m going to make it all up to you.” She glances from the dildo to my lap, then up to my face. “But I’m excited for the lake house this weekend.”

  She turns and walks away. With no one else around to see me, I watch her ass as she leaves, and I swear she knows it.

  Honestly, I don’t really know what just happened. But I do know I want to find out.

  8

  * * *

  MAREN

  The morning sun shines through the windshield of Wolfie’s car, casting warmth across my freckled shoulders. Wind whips through the open windows as my brother speeds down the highway, the radio forecast promising beautiful weather for the weekend ahead.

  Trailing behind us is Caleb in his Jeep, with Scarlett in the front seat, and Connor and his little sister Penelope squashed together in the back. If I sit up straight, I can see Scarlett in the rearview mirror, jamming to whatever playlist she’s forcing the rest of the car to endure.

  For a moment, I regret opting to ride with my brother. I love him, but Wolfie isn’t the easiest guy to talk to, especially if you’re sitting in a car with him for almost three hours. Lucky for me, I wasn’t the only one who opted for a quieter road trip.

  Am I lucky, though? Truthfully, I can’t decide how I feel about being crammed in this small space with Hayes riding shotgun.

  I was reluctant to leave Chicago in the first place, what with all my obligations surrounding the fundraiser. But now, with the promise of actual downtime and sunbathing, I’m grateful that Wolfie and Scarlett insisted I come along.

  Trying to chase away any fleeting worries, I close my eyes. Maybe I can sleep for the rest of the car ride, and then when I wake up, I’ll already be in Saugatuck. There’s no such thing as work in Saugatuck—not with the beach calling my name.

  With my eyes closed, my sense of smell is heightened. It’s not just the sweet aroma of fresh air that’s stirring excitement in me. It’s Hayes and his clean, masculine scent that always makes me dizzy with desire.

  Giving in to my curiosity, I open my eyes and sneak a glance at him.

  Hayes stares out the windshield, his sharp eyes focused on the road ahead of us. In the sunlight, they look like liquid gold. Somehow he’s already perfected his summer tan, evident by his sculpted forearm resting against the armrest. I find myself staring at his long fingers, tapping to the beat of the song on the radio against the leather of the car seat.

  When he glances in the rearview mirror and catches me staring, I struggle to spit out an excuse.

  “Do . . . do you like this song?”

  I pinch my leg, hard. Where’s the button that will eject my seat straight into the stratosphere?

  “Never heard it before,” Hayes mutters with an apathetic shrug, grumpier than one ought to be on his way to his family’s lake house. Crappy mood or not, he’s still gorgeous.

  I hum along to the music, grateful this conversation ended before I could embarrass myself any further. I catch Wolfie’s eyes, watching me from the rearview mirror. I offer him a nonchalant smile and immediately avert my gaze.

  Yes, this blurry scenery whizzing past is very, very interesting.

  No, I’m not concerned that my big brother is on to me, suspecting the crush I have on his best friend and business partner.

  Hayes seems to be completely oblivious to my interest in him, thank God. And I seriously doubt Wolfie has any suspicions. As sharp as his insight may be into all things business-related, he’s pretty blind to anything involving emotions. Unlike me, who’s constantly consumed with them.

  I’m so lost in thought that I don’t realize we’ve arrived at our destination until the car comes to a stop. I sit up straight, eager to get out of the car and stretch my legs.

  I’ve been to Hayes’s family lake house before, but it’s even more beautiful than I remember. The dark, rustic exterior is surrounded on three sides by strikingly tall shade trees. The porch wraps around the house, providing plenty of space for the whole group to hang out and enjoy a cocktail, or for some introverted quality time alone on the porch swing.

  My favorite part is the glimmering view of Lake Michigan, only thirty or so yards from the house. If you step off the porch and onto the deck, you have an unobstructed view of the path that winds down to the beach and its miraculously blue water.

  “Coming through.” Hayes breezes by me, the straps of both of our duffels in one hand and a twelve-pack of beer in the other.

  “You don’t have to carry mine,” I call out, jogging to keep up with him. There must have been rain last night, because my shoes sink in the muddied gravel of the driveway with every step.

  “Don’t tell me you forgot the keys,” Wolfie says, his voice classically stern. He’s already at the door, sitting on top of a cooler and looking all kinds of impatient.

  I�
��m sure no one will forget the year Hayes forgot the keys anytime soon. A neighbor saw us breaking in through a window and called the police. It took Hayes almost twenty minutes to convince them that it’s actually his grandma’s house.

  “Shit,” Hayes mutters, then turns to me. “Keys are in my pocket. Wanna help a guy out? Unless you don’t mind mud on your bag.”

  “Oh, um, I’ll get them. Which pocket?”

  “Left front.”

  Do not think about his penis, don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it.

  Slipping my hand into his pocket, I do my best to ignore the hard angle of his hip bone, the firm muscle of his thigh, the heady scent of his skin so close to mine. I fish the keys out, a single ring holding two simple keys—front door and back door, I assume.

  When I meet Hayes’s eyes again, he’s completely unfazed, no hint of emotion in their honey depths. Based on the burning of my cheeks, I must look like a tomato. I turn away quickly, tossing the keys to Wolfie and jogging back to the car to find any remaining groceries to bring inside.

  Caleb’s Jeep rolls across the gravel driveway to join us. Out hops Scarlett, her arms outstretched for a hug. I could use a little Scarlett energy this weekend.

  “Hi, baby.” She sighs happily into my ear, rocking us side to side.

  “Hi.” I chuckle, squeezing her tight. “This is going to be a fun weekend.”

  “Hell yeah, it is!”

  Moments later, Penelope and I are tag-teaming a cooler up the steps of the porch. With a final huff, we drop the cooler in front of the door, exchanging triumphant smiles. That’s when I hear the crunch of tires on the gravel again.

  Who else is coming?

  Out of a midsize blue sedan slides a pair of long, tanned legs. Wearing a long summer maxi dress and with raven-black hair cascading over her shoulders, a woman looks up, meeting my eyes with a smile and a wave. It takes me a moment to place her, and I’m caught staring.

  “Hi, Maren. Do you remember me?” Slinging her bag over her shoulder and hiking up her skirt, she walks toward us.

  Oh, I remember her. Too vividly, perhaps.

  Behind me, I hear the swing of the front door as Hayes steps out of the house, muttering under his breath, “What the fuck . . .”

  “Who is that?” Penelope asks, her big, innocent eyes filled with questions.

  In record time, I’m able to swallow the lump in my throat and smile back. “Holly, right? It’s been a long time. How are you?” I ask, but what I’m thinking is, What are you doing here?

  Hayes, tactless as ever, asks the unspoken question. “What are you doing here, Holly?”

  Her matte-red lips twist into a pout. “Don’t be mean, Hayes. I know you missed me. Oh, hey, Wolfie. How are you, handsome?”

  Before I can register Wolfie’s presence, Holly is bounding up the steps to wrap him in a gigantic bear hug. Since when is Wolfie friends with Hayes’s ex? Ex is a stretch . . . They were friends with benefits for years.

  Out of all the women that passed through the revolving door of his bedroom, Holly was the only regular. She was the only girl Hayes ever had a consistent fling with, something that lasted years, not weeks or months like all the others.

  Is it too late to go back to the city?

  “Hey, Holly,” Wolfie grumbles in his typical way, patting her on the back. That’s his cue to say, I’m done with this hug, thank you.

  I almost want to laugh, but I have too many questions. Did Hayes invite her? Is she staying for the whole weekend? Where is she going to sleep?

  “Wolfie and I were just about to clean the grill. If you’ll excuse us,” Hayes says tersely, looking annoyed.

  If he didn’t know Holly was coming . . . then who invited her?

  Hayes plants a hand on the back of Wolfie’s neck, steering him around the side of the house and out of sight. Penelope’s brows furrow with confusion, but Holly’s smile hasn’t budged. It’s more of a smirk, really. She clearly thinks she’s won something, or she will win something—or someone—by being here.

  My stomach twists into a painful knot. It’s already hard enough being around Hayes, but to have to watch his fuck-buddy stake her claim and paw all over him this weekend will be freaking torture.

  “Would you like to come inside?” I hear myself asking, one hand outstretched in an offer to take her bag. What am I, a butler? “I can give you a quick tour.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve been here plenty of times before,” she says with a wink before slipping between Penelope and me and disappearing into the house.

  My heart hammers in my ears as mild frustration threatens to transform into a full-on rage. Penelope must sense my discomfort because she reaches out and gives my hand a comforting squeeze before she follows Holly inside.

  I’m not ready to go in, not with Holly there. Instead, I tiptoe around the side of the house until I can hear the deep voices of Hayes and Wolfie.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, man? How could you invite her?”

  A surge of relief passes through me. Hayes isn’t happy that Holly is here. He’s pissed.

  “Look, she reached out to me. She made it sound like you two were seeing each other again.”

  “What the hell? We’re not.” Hayes’s tone is biting, while my brother sounds more apologetic.

  “Fuck, man. I’m sorry. I would have asked you, but you’d sworn off women, and I didn’t want to start a whole damn intervention.”

  Wolfie really does sound sorry. He knows he messed up.

  “Fuck, it’s okay, man. We’ll figure it out.” Hayes heaves out a sigh, the anger in his voice deflating into tired resignation.

  Maybe it’s the problem-solver in me, but I want to help. I knock softly on the side of the house as I step into view, trying not to startle anyone.

  Hayes’s eyes snap to mine, a flurry of fiery emotion suddenly turning to ice. “What’s up, Mare?”

  “Is there anything I can do? I overheard that Holly . . . was a surprise.”

  Hayes laughs without humor, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah, no shit,” he mumbles, turning his back to me.

  Why won’t he look at me?

  “Would you mind rooming with her? That would help a lot,” my brother asks, placing a hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

  My throat tightens. I wasn’t expecting that. Rooming with Holly will be . . . a challenge. But if I can make this awkward tension any easier on Hayes, I will. Also, if I can keep her out of Hayes’s bedroom—all the better, right?

  “Sure thing.” I smile, but it probably doesn’t reach my eyes.

  Hayes mutters something under his breath and stalks off.

  A few minutes later, we have the rooming situation finalized.

  Penelope and Scarlett will take the queen bed in the downstairs bedroom, and I’ll take the bunk-bed situation with Holly. Wolfie will room with Connor in the double-twin room, since they already have that roommate dynamic. Caleb will take the couch, and Hayes will sleep in his own room.

  Which just so happens to share a hallway with my sleeping arrangement.

  I make the decision to avoid fantasizing about any late-night visits from a man who clearly will never see me as more than his best friend’s little sister. If anything’s going to happen tonight, it’ll be between Holly and Hayes, a thought that stings like burning-hot metal slicing into my skin.

  Inside, Wolfie and Hayes call a brief assembly of all the lake-house guests to lay down the arrangements and some ground rules—no smoking in the house, shoes off the carpet, et cetera.

  “Any questions?” Hayes asks, scanning the room.

  “Yes!” Holly chirps, raising her hand. “Who wants to go to the beach with me?”

  Caleb, Connor, Penelope, and Scarlett raise their hands in response, a murmur of approval floating throughout the room. I begrudgingly raise my own hand. The smirk plastered on my face is as believable as it’s gonna get.

  Twenty minutes later, we’re all suited up and walking
down the path toward the water. Hayes took off first with Holly close on his tail, so I hang back with Wolfie.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him, worried that this trip is already ruined for him because of the snafu with Holly.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” he says. “Sometimes I wish Hayes would just commit to one person. Then shit like this wouldn’t happen.”

  I avert my gaze, glancing down at the sand peeking through the gravel. “Me too.”

  A bit of a distance ahead of us, Penelope’s laughter carries on the breeze while Scarlett gesticulates wildly, probably telling another dating-app story. Most of us are wearing some sort of wrap or cover-up, but Penelope walks confidently in her cute blue bikini. She looks absolutely adorable, her high ponytail bouncing with each step.

  “I’m so glad Penelope is finally twenty-one, you know? I feel like we can really let loose together and—”

  I lose track of what I’m saying, my train of thought completely cut off by the bewildering expression on my brother’s face. He’s flushed, and his eyes are glued to . . . oh my God, is he staring at Penelope’s ass?

  I elbow him hard in the side.

  “What?” he grumbles, rubbing his ribs.

  “Subtlety, man. You need some.”

  Just as Wolfie is about to argue his defense, Caleb barrels past us in a sprint, carrying two flip-flops that most definitely do not belong to him. Calling over his shoulder, he yells, “Last one to the beach loses his flippy-floppers!”

  Seconds later, Connor bolts by us, barefoot, chasing after Caleb like his life depends on it. “I only brought one pair! Fuck you, man! Fuck you!”

  I chuckle, watching their bromance unfold.

  By the time Wolfie and I have caught up, Connor is tackling Caleb in the water, a battle that I can only assume will end with someone—at worst—getting a black eye, or—at best—getting water up his nose.

  Scarlett and Penelope lay out their towels, completely ignoring the splash fest ahead of them. Holly, on the other hand, is putting on a whole show of removing her wrap, tie by tie, revealing a white-bikini-clad body that belongs on a magazine and not at this lake house. She’s making eyes in Hayes’s general direction, but as I follow her gaze, I’m pleased to see that he’s otherwise occupied.