Grant does not let go of my arms.
Water is still running down my spine. It slides between my breasts and over my stomach and keeps going, and there is nowhere for it to hide. I am dripping on the hardwood in front of my stepfather and both of his sons and my first stupid thought is that I should apologize for the mess.
My second thought is worse.
I want him to look.
“Breathe,” Grant says.
I try. It comes out shaky.
Rhett hasn’t moved from his doorway. Shirtless. Sweatpants sitting too low. His eyes are on my mouth first, then lower, and he doesn’t pretend otherwise. Cole is still holding the water bottle like he forgot it exists. That lazy smile is gone. What’s left on his face is hungrier.
Grant’s thumbs press into the wet skin of my upper arms.
“You were told to stay in your room
