Page 22 of Midnight Curfew

Sophia Beaumont, the daughter of the house, swims around with a couple of her friends in one of the other four pools, all connected by narrow passageways.

“Bowers Lawn Care wears polos,” I hear Amy Chandler say in her I’m-so-innocent tone as if she’s a child who’s making a big-girl observation.

Iron walks past me. “No one wants to see them out of their shirts,” he tells her.

The girls giggle, and I throw another bag of trash into the pile. Walking over to the pool they’re in, I grab the vacuum hose and drag it out. Sweat drips down my temple. Fuck. That water looks nice. Most pools are finished with blue tiles, but this one makes the water look like you’re on a white sand beach on an island that’s too beautiful to be real. There are five pools in total, this one with a bench around the perimeter for sitting submerged beneath the waterline.

Knowing me, though, I’d piss in it before I ever swam in it.

“And we bring our own hoses,” Trace taunts, giving the Chandler girl his playful smile. “Lets us service so many little flowers.”

Her eyes widen, a gasp escaping her smile. She turns to her friends, Clay looking grossed out and Krisjen hiding her amusement behind her drink. Milo lifts his chin, his eyes locked on my brother. He’s not a threat, not without his friends anyway.

Lifting my eyes, I see Callum Ames in the distance, standing on one of the balconies of his house, overlooking the pool. He gazes down, dressed only in his jeans, and I can’t tell who he’s looking at exactly, but his arrogance is obvious enough. A young woman in a white bikini comes up to his side, dragging her hand over his chest. He doesn’t seem to notice her as he stares in our direction.

“You like tips?” I hear a girl ask.

I glance to see her eyeing Trace, who winds the hose into a neat pile at his feet.

I grab the vacuum and store it away in the concealed cabinet behind the hedges.

“My dad always stiffs you guys.” She tugs the string of her top at the back of her neck. “I don’t think it’s fair.”

He drops the hose to the ground, strolling over to her.

“Trace.” Army tries to stop him.

But my youngest brother squats at the edge of the pool, watching her pull the string at her back next.

I arch a brow. She thinks we’d really rather see her tits than have the money. As if Saint pussy is like caviar to us and we don’t get it every fucking day.

“Amy, what are you doing?” Clay whines behind her.

“Just giving him a little tip.”

She starts to pull the top away from her body, but in a second, I’m squatting next to my brother, shoving him away.

I grab the strings behind her neck and grip them tight, keeping them in place.

Her smile falls, and she tries to back away from me, but I hold her.

“That’s not how it’s going to go down with us,” I growl. “When it’s my turn with you anyway.”

Her lips part, her chest caving as she stares at me, frozen. We don’t clap our hands at the sight of rich girls. We’re the commodity, not her. They get a lot more wet with a roughneck than they do with someone in a fucking suit, and we know it.

“Dallas,” Army barks.

I hold her for another second, and then…I let her go. She sucks in a breath, her friends hurriedly retying her bikini top.

“What the fuck?” Army bites out under his breath.

I kick a few stray pieces of black mulch back into the bed. “Please,” I mutter. “She’s so wet the pool’s about to overflow.”

The hair on my neck rises, and I turn my head to look over my shoulder again, seeing Callum leaning into the telescope that’s perched on his balcony. It’s pointed at us. Or maybe me.

“You two, move on to the Holybrook house,” Army tells Iron and Trace.

They gather up their gear, leaving Army and me to finish tidying up and removing debris.