Too Long: Hayes Brothers Book 6

“MAYBE YOU’RE NOT HIS TYPE?” Ruby suggests, her voice indifferent through my AirPods.

“Gee, thanks, friend,” I mumble, staring at the millions of stars speckling the inky canvas above.

I locked myself in our bathroom once Colt disappeared with my dad, and sent Ruby and Felicity a voice message, ranting and raving about how I already came onto Colt twice and he shot me down on both occasions.

They called at the same time when I came back out on the main deck, so I connected the AirPods, and I’m mostly speaking in monosyllables in case anyone overhears.

I guess not his type is plausible. I’m plumper than your average prom queen. Maybe not plus size, but close. More than enough flesh to grab. Maybe that’s not Colt’s yum?

“Bullshit,” Felicity snaps. “He wouldn’t keep going on about this date once you’re back in Newport if he didn’t find you attractive. What did you have to eat? Maybe it was your breath.”

“When’s the last time you were out-of-your-mind horny, kissed a guy you were hot for, and stopped because his breath wasn’t minty enough?” Ruby asks. I can imagine how hard she’s rolling her eyes. “When you’re in the moment and really into someone, you don’t notice their breath.”

“You don’t.” Felicity chuckles. “I won’t kiss them unless they’re clean and smell nice everywhere.”

“Yes, we’ve seen your guest bathroom.”

It’s fully equipped with manly toiletries. She’s a germophobe and makes her hookups shower and brush their teeth before they’re allowed to fuck her. Good job she’s stunning or she’d never get laid.

“Are you drinking every day?” Felicity asks, not waiting for the answer. “Lay off the damn wine and try again. You said he turned into the Hulk when you asked whether you’d had sex together after Express Dates. Maybe he just won’t touch you while you drink.”

“Oh please,” Ruby snaps. “No man is that principled. I mean, she sounds fine, doesn’t she? She’s not slurring or swearing, so she’s not drunk. When have you ever seen a guy turn a girl down because she had a glass of wine?”

“Two beers,” I correct quietly, looking around to see if anyone’s paying me any attention. “Maybe he has someone.”

“And what? Left his girl at home to go cruise the Caribbean with you? Don’t be stupid. Instead of coming up with idiotic theories, just ask him what the problem is.”

And make a bigger fool of myself than I already have?

It won’t change much. The damage is done.

That’s true. My ego is damaged beyond repair. I kind of understood why he sent me back to the guest bedroom when I paraded into his room in nothing but a towel, but tonight… I don’t get it. Like Ruby said, I’m not drunk. And the way he looks at me sometimes isn’t how men look at women they’re not into.

He likes me, I’m almost certain he does. And I… God, I’m beyond like right now. Every moment we spend together pushes me deeper and deeper into feelings I can’t comprehend.

Not this fast.

But no matter how much I try to slow down, I’m way past just desire. There’s more there. So much more.

Everything about him turns me on. Everything about him is my type. From the way he walks, talks, and looks, down to how he smells, frowns, and acts. Attentive, caring—dominating. Fun. Smart. The list goes on, and it’s growing fast.

I love his hands on me. His lips pressing against my head. I love how he pulls me into his side, and how he holds me.

“I know!” Ruby cheers proudly. “You told him you wouldn’t pay him with sex. Maybe he’s respecting your wishes so you can start right when you get home?”

“You’re an incurable romantic,” I say on a sigh. “Whatever it is, it’s big enough to make him backtrack twice.”

“What if he’s just not comfortable fucking you on your dad’s yacht?” she suggests.

“Okay, that’s it,” Felicity huffs. “I revoke your right to an opinion, Ruby. And, Addie? Stop fucking guessing, grow a pair, and ask him why he won’t fuck you.”

We started this conversation with Colt doesn’t want to kiss me but it somehow turned to doesn’t want to fuck me. Whatever. One doesn’t rule out the other.

Ben plops down on the couch opposite mine, bursting the small privacy cocoon I locked myself in when I chose the seat furthest from everyone’s ears.

“I’ve got to go,” I tell the girls. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“You better! I’m invested now.”

We say our goodbyes and I pluck out my AirPods, eyeing my brother. “What’s going on?”

“We’re playing truth or dare,” he explains. “You’ve been on the phone for an hour, sis. Come play with us.”

I glance over my shoulder toward the bow, glad to see it’s just the younger generation playing. Amara, her maid of honor with her husband, two groomsmen with their dates, and… Grant.

“Fine, let’s play,” I say, rising to my feet.

“Look who decided to join.” Grant beams when we come closer, patting the seat beside him.

I purposely plop down in the only empty loveseat, pretending not to notice Grant’s invitation.

His smile slips, but he recovers fast, staring me down. “This can be your turn, and we’ll go clockwise.” He leans over to grab a card from the table. “Truth or dare, pumpkin?”

“Don’t call me that. And I’m not playing. I’ll watch.”

“Oh, come on,” Amara whines. “It’s just a game. You can always skip the dare and drink a penalty shot.”

“I’ve seen those cards before, I know what the dares are and since I’m not doing that with anyone other than Colt, I’ll get black-out drunk within a few rounds, so… I’ll pass.”

There are too many sex-based dares on those cards for me to take the risk with Grant at the table. It would end in blood if Colt saw him lay so much as a finger on me.

“Fine,” Amara huffs. “How about we switch it up and play This or That the dirty way instead?”

“I don’t think I ever played,” Ben says, sipping his whiskey. “Explain the rules.”

“We take turns asking a question like would you rather pay or be paid for sex, and everyone answers which they’d prefer,” Amara says. “We can keep the penalty shots for this, too, in case your sister’s too embarrassed to answer.”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. “Just because I don’t boast about my sex life to anyone who’ll listen doesn’t mean I’m embarrassed.”

“Okay, I’ll start,” Grant says, his eyes repeatedly jumping back to me. “Let’s go with something easy first. Lights on or off during sex?”

Everyone, including me, says on. I never cared much, but I’ve imagined myself with Colt enough times now to know I’d want a clear view of his body, and his face too.

“Always on,” a low baritone sounds behind me, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. Colt takes the empty seat beside me. “Sorry it took so long. Your dad wanted one rematch after another.”

Ben’s head snaps to him, brows pulled together in confusion. “He lost? That almost never happens. Who won?”

“I did,” Colt admits, his hand sliding lazily up and down my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

“Well, you’re officially uninvited to the poker table,” Grant chuckles, looking smug. “Henry’s a sore loser.”

“How would you know? You were never invited,” Dad booms, approaching with two crystal glasses sloshing with amber liquid. He passes one to Colt, before clinking his against it. “Same time tomorrow?”

“If Addie allows it,” Colt says, taking a sip.

“I won’t,” I say, playing my girlfriend role, despite how torn and confused I feel inside. “You don’t give him back on time, Dad.”

“Damn, sis, clingy much?” Ben laughs. “You can always barge in and drag him out of the casino.”

Dad drops a kiss on my head, and I feel his smile as he says, “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He straightens up, dropping his big hand on Colt’s shoulder to squeeze it once. “You kids have fun.”

A chorus of goodnights fills the air as Dad saunters away toward the elevator.

“Should we play?” I ask, accidentally brushing my freezing feet over Colt’s thigh as I pull them up and under my bum. “Sorry,” I mutter, glancing around in search of a blanket.

Colt unwinds my legs, and grabs my ankles in one hand, resting them on his lap. He makes it look so natural no one would guess it’s the very first time we’ve done this.

“You’re freezing, baby.” He lifts his shirt, pressing my icy feet against his warm, honed stomach and covering them with the thin fabric.

“Thank you,” I mutter, my heart doing weird twirls.

He’s so confusing. I get that he’s acting the part of my boyfriend, but there’s no need to go to such extremes to convince anyone we’re dating. I do my best not to blush because all eyes are on us, but Colt rests his warm hand over my ankles, his thumb drawing small circles on a sensitive spot.

“Whose turn is it?” Grant barks out, clearly unappeased. “Ben? You wanna go?”

“Sure. Spit or swallow?” he asks and the blush I tried holding back spills down my neck.

The guys unanimously agree they prefer their girls to swallow, and Amara beams, nodding along. The other girl, who I don’t care enough about to remember her name, says she’d never in a million years swallow, and then all eyes are on me.

I knew this game was a bad idea.

“Can I have a shot?” I ask, wriggling my feet, wanting Colt to let go, but he tightens his hold on my ankles, turning to me with a shadow of a smile. “What?” I clip. “I don’t feel comfortable sharing this.”

The truth is, I never managed to make a man come with my lips, so I have no idea which option I prefer.

Colt gestures for the bartender to come closer, asking for a shot glass. Once I down the penalty shot of Royal Dragon vodka and finish coughing, the game continues.

It’s not easy focusing on what everyone’s saying while Colt’s brushing his thumb under my ankle, holding my feet flush to the heat of his toned stomach, but I try my best.

“Your turn, Addie,” Grant instructs.

I have a question at the ready, one I think I already know Colt’s answer to but wouldn’t mind having it confirmed. “Would you rather dominate or be dominated?”

His fingers tighten their hold, and a small smile plays across his lips like he knows the question is for him. He doesn’t bother answering until I say I’d rather be dominated.

“I much prefer to dominate,” he admits. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

I try to wriggle my feet free again, heart racing, but Colt’s grip stays firm.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asks.

I shake my head no, even though I’m so wet between my thighs I am uncomfortable.

“Then stop squirming, baby.”

The game goes on, the questions growing bolder and bolder to the point where I regret turning down truth or dare. Once Ben asks about pegging, I call it a night.