Jaden (Jaded #3)

Not this Corrigan.

I watched as he kept walking away. This Corrigan was tense, quiet, moody, and dark. His shoulders were rigid and his head was bent forward. As he turned to go to the bedroom, I caught his side profile. His dark blond hair fell over his forehead. His jaw was hard, and his anger emanated from him.

I felt a little tingle inside me.

“Sheldon?”

Bryce distracted me. “Huh?”

He frowned, rubbing at the side of his face. “Do you want someone upstairs with you? I know Corrigan was there earlier?”

“No.” That word ripped from me quicker than I could stop it. “I mean, no. Thank you, though. I’m awake. I’ll probably go watch a movie alone or something.”

“You sure?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” That damn tingle was bothering me, more than I wanted to admit. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

He lifted a hand and headed toward where Corrigan had gone. As he did, Denton swung his head to me. “Wanna get drunk by the pool?”

I groaned. “God, yes.”

“See you out there. I’ll go get the good stuff.”

“That’s why we’re friends.” I laughed.

Denton started for the basement, but looked back. “For my wine?”

“That and this.” I waved my hand up and down at him. “If I’m Princess, then I’m just going to call you Superstar. How’s that? Or maybe Super Stud? Celebrity? What about Movie Stud? I like that one.”

“Har-har, Sheldon.” His voice trailed off as he descended the stairs. “Mock me if you want to, but I can tell when you’re still hot and bothered. Don’t deny it . . .”

He had moved farther inside the basement so it was just me left in the front entrance. Me, myself, and I. Denton’s words echoed in my head. ‘Don’t deny it.’ I groaned again. I wanted to deny it. I wanted to deny it so damn much.

That tingle was still with me, and an image of Bryce holding the side of my head at my door kept flashing in my mind at the same time.

Hell. Getting drunk wasn’t going to do it. I’d have to be drinking all night long, and with that thought, I headed to my room for a sweatshirt. I’d need it if we were going to be drinking until sun-up.

When I got back downstairs, Denton was sitting on one of the loungers by the pool. Stepping outside, the cool air hit me first. It was a fresh wave of oxygen and for a moment, I just stopped, closed my eyes, and breathed it in. It was dark out, but the moon was high above. Its reflection was mirrored in the pool. When I went over to sit in the lounger next to Denton, there was a wine bottle on the floor between them.

Chuckling softly, I sat and grabbed that thing. Hello. It was the good stuff. Denton always had the best of the best. When I finished taking a drink, Denton was watching me with an amused grin. I asked, still clutching the bottle, “What?”

He shook his head, still grinning. “Nothing.”

I held the bottle to him. “I see wine, and I grab. It’s as simple as that.” Waving it at him, I smirked back. “You should know this by now.”

“I do.” He reached down on the other side of his lounger and pulled up another bottle. “I brought red out for you. The white stuff is for me.”

“Oh.” Then I laughed. “You do know me.”

“Very well, Sheldon.” His tone turned soft, and he gazed back out over the pool.

We were alone in the backyard. I couldn’t say we were alone in privacy, I had a feeling someone was watching us from the house, but for right now, it was just the two of us by the pool. Speaking of that, I murmured, leaning back in the lounger and getting comfortable with the bottle, “What is your sister doing back here?”

I didn’t want to talk about the ankle monitor, or anything else regarding my current legal predicament. As I said that, a shiver went down my spine. I had a feeling one of those prying eyes was hers, watching from some window above us.

Denton let out a loud sigh. “I have no idea.” He looked down into the bottle, frowning. “She wants to start new, and she’s doing well. What kind of brother am I to turn her away?”

I straightened in my seat, sitting forward. This was a different Denton. Years earlier, he would’ve barked at me for asking that question. He was protective, too protective at times, but there’d been a reason. Mena was mental. True blue crazy. She needed meds. She needed supervision. She’d been in a residential program for a long time.