Flawless (Chestnut Springs, #1)

by Elsie Silver

something off about it. Something is not quite right. His face looks serene and in his element, but his shoulders are tight. There’s a set to his jaw and a pinch to the corners of his eyes. His smile doesn’t quite stretch all the way. “You trying to cast some sort of curse on my little brother?” Beau asks, head swiveling between my face and where I’m staring. I snort and take a big gulp of wine. It tastes terrible, but I don’t care. I need a little liquid courage. “No. I’m trying to figure out how to do my job without making him hate me more than he already does.” “Fair. He does seem to hate you.” “Rhett?” Jasper asks with a raised brow. I nod absently just as Beau says, “Oh, hell yeah.” The hockey player snorts. “Nah. That kid doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. He’s nice to everyone.”

But does he mean it? That’s the question bouncing around in my head as I watch him sit there rigidly as a woman rubs his shoulder while staring at him with hearts in her eyes. “You think he’ll be nice to me when I walk over there and tell him he can’t take all those girls home tonight? Or drink too much?” I probably should have put my foot down on going out at all tonight. All the ways tonight could go wrong flash through my head. Jasper scoffs and shakes his head. But it’s Beau who pipes up. “Rhett doesn’t care about taking those girls home. He’s just too nice to tell them to leave him alone.” “Facts,” Jasper grumbles with a smirk before tipping the brown bottle back against his lips. “If he was a prick like Jasper, he’d be fine.” Jasper doesn’t even try to correct his friend’s assessment.

And then Beau’s eyes light up like a kid on Christmas. “Yeah.” He pulls a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and places it in the middle of the table. “I will give you another one of those for every ultra-girly milk-based beverage you take over to my brother.” The server’s eyes widen. And so do mine. Jasper holds a fist up over his lips and his shoulders shake. “Put an umbrella in it.” Beau’s not done though. “And announce to the table that the drink is from his future wife and that she knows this is his favorite.” My jaw drops as I stare at Beau. “What are you doing?” “Pissing him off enough to drag him away from that table for you.”

I laugh. This is not the plan I had in mind. Boys.

“No, Bailey,” Beau answers, his voice softening. “This has nothing to do with you. All in good fun.”

Kip: I know you love me. Rhett: I don’t. You sicced an attack dog on me. Your princess is a real ball-buster. Kip: Good. Your balls could use some busting.

My eyes snap up to little Bailey Jansen, nibbling on her lip with rosy cheeks. “This is from your future wife.” I rear back at that. “She says she knows it’s your favorite.” Bailey can barely get the words out. I do some mental gymnastics as I glance around the table, but everyone here seems equally confused as I feel. The few men here are chuckling, but the girls range from looking confused to downright feral. If one of them was smiling at me, I’d know it was her. When I take a proper look at the drink, I’m even more confused. “What is this?”

“It’s . . . um . . . a White Russian?” My brows knit together as I stare down at the milky drink, threads of dark liquor pulling up from the bottom. What the fuck?

I’d suspect her. But the only thing I suspect is that someone else has put her up to this. My first guess is Beau.

There’s even a fucking maraschino cherry on top—plump and bright. And as I stare at it, I’m reminded of Summer’s mouth. I ditched her and didn’t think twice about it when we got here. Not my finest moment. And definitely not a gentlemanly way

welcome her to town. I swivel on my stool, trying to see where she landed.

Though my eyes linger. She’s talking, and those fuckers are hanging on every word like she’s the most interesting person in the world. And truth be told, if I wasn’t so miffed about this whole thing, I might be interested in talking to her more. She does seem interesting. There’s something intriguing about her. The way she looks, the way she talks, her confidence and spunk. Summer Hamilton is an unusual combination. “Excuse me, Rhett would never drink something like this.” I almost scoff out loud. The way Laura

is talking like she knows me grates on my nerves.

But within minutes, Bailey is back, looking like she’d rather run out the front door than face our table again. “Your future wife sent this over. She said she knows how much you love chocolate milkshakes.” Then she darts away while I stare down at the creamy brown drink in a long-stem martini glass. With an umbrella and cherry again. These cherries are going to be the death of me. Somehow, my brain has connected them to the lipstick Summer wears, and the color isn’t even that similar. But it’s going there anyway. It’s going other places too. Like how that mouth would look

When I peer up at her this time, her big brown eyes flit in my direction, but she purses her lips and turns away, like she finds something distasteful about me. Some guys at the table are having a real good laugh now. “Thought you didn’t like milk, Eaton?” one of the older men blurts out, and a smile tugs at my lips. At least these people don’t hate me for saying what I said. And as usual, their attention feels good.

“This is ridiculous,” Laura hisses, rubbing my back like I’m upset. But I don’t get mad, I get even. And when I figure out who is getting a kick out of sending me these milky fucking messes, it will be game on. “Bailey, darlin’, I don’t want this.”

Things aren’t going to turn around until I can ditch my babysitter once and for all—even if she isn’t following me around like I thought she might.

“All good. I’m a big boy.” She smiles suggestively, reading an innuendo that isn’t there, and I take another swallow. Because that was not how I intended for it to come out.

My eyes flit up to where my brother is sitting, and this time, I’m met with all three of them staring back at me. When they catch me looking, Summer and Beau quickly glance down and reach for their drinks. Jasper grins at me from beneath the brim of his cap. The guy is quiet and doesn’t smile that much. He gives thoughtful pauses and one-word answers until you get

few drinks into him. They say goaltenders are a different breed, and in Jasper’s case, that’s true. I should know, we grew up with the guy. And more than anything, it gets me wondering why he’s staring at me like the fucking Cheshire Cat. It’s creeping me the hell out. The way it slowly widens further as his eyes drop to the table in front of me. I glance over in time to see Bailey hustling away. This time, she didn’t even say anything. Just dropped the drink and ran. Can’t say that I blame her. “Is that. . .” Laura looks offended, like someone just called her mother a whore.

And a fucking cherry. When I touch the side, it’s warm. Not hot. Warm, like I’d make hot chocolate for Luke.

Instead, I tear my eyes away from the whipped cream melting down the sides of the mug, making a colossal mess, and peer up at the couches in the back. Jasper is still staring at me, but this time, his hand is thrown over his mouth, shoulders shaking with barely restrained laughter. Beau, the cocksucker that he is, has flopped back on the couch, like this is the funniest joke in the world. Spoiler alert: it’s not. I just lost a huge sponsorship over milk, and these dickheads are sitting around sending me warm milk. I almost shudder at the thought. But it’s Summer that really gets me. She’s sitting there looking perfectly put together, perfectly smug. Legs crossed in the most lady-like way with the chocolate milk martini I sent back in her hand. She holds it up to me in a silent “cheers” and then plucks the cherry off the top and wraps her lips around it. And then I’m moving across the bar. Storming up toward them. Half amused and half pissed off that these fucking traitors are playing tricks on me with the woman whose presence they know I don’t like. It seems like they’re taking her side when it’s me they’ve known their entire lives. Am I having a minor internal temper tantrum over it? Maybe.

😂🤣😂

“Rhett, you forgot your warm milk,” Jasper says as I approach. Beau makes some honking noise as he tries, and fails, to keep himself from bursting out laughing. He always has been the giddy, lighthearted one of us.

fucking wild considering he’s JTF2, Canada’s top special forces unit. “No, no, no.” Beau gasps for air. “He’s coming up here because he wants the White Russian instead.”

“Shouldn’t talk to your future wife that way,” Jasper bites before snorting and barking out another laugh. Their laughter is infectious, and I’m trying to not let it overtake me. I don’t want to find this funny. But if there was ever a person who could give me the giggles, it would be Beau. And right now, he is unhinged.

I peek down at Summer. Her wide, sparkling eyes looking up at me are downright disarming. She’s trying not to laugh, and I’m trying not to get a boner from staring at her mouth. It’s a fucking struggle for us both. “Was this your idea?” “No.” She huffs outs a laugh, her composure finally cracking as a pink stain spreads out over her cheeks. “Not even a little bit. I am an innocent bystander.” I regard her with a raised brow, not entirely sure if I believe she wasn’t playing a part in this. She already seems to be amused by my suffering, so I’m not sure why she’d draw the line here. Plus, the fact that I can’t stop staring at her gorgeous face makes me feel like she isn’t innocent in my frustration at all. “Hey now,” Jasper interjects with his raspy tone before taking a big swig of his beer. “Don’t pick on Summer.

I shake my head and let out a chuckle that rumbles in my chest. “I’m going to get you back for this,” I say, but my eyes dart back to Summer’s face. And then she nods, dropping my gaze for a moment as the shadows from her lashes fan across the apples of her cheeks. She looks almost shy, not smug at all. Not what I expected.

I flop down beside our childhood friend and feel immediately more at ease than I did at that other table—even with my lush-lipped babysitter princess here.

“Fucking delicious,” I announce with a cocky grin. Beau giggles like a schoolgirl all over again. Idiot. I roll my eyes at him and then turn my attention to Summer as I take another sip of the milky disaster in my hand. She’s smiling at me now. And as much as I hate to admit it, I like her eyes on me.

AWWW

Once I retire, I’ll build, just like my brothers have. Once I retire. That’s what I keep telling myself. That’s what I keep putting off. Because without a bull to get on every weekend, I have no idea who I’ll be. Or what I’ll do. It’s a terrifying prospect. One I’m happy to continue ignoring.

“Hi,” she says carefully, like she’s not sure how I’ll react to her presence. Things seemed to settle between us at the bar after we all got a good laugh out of the way. I don’t want to be a dick to Summer. None of this is her fault. But I’m pretty sure I’ve been one all the same. The woman can get a rise out of me without even trying.

“The Railspur has gotten a facelift in recent years. Still not the place for fancy-girl wine though.” She hums thoughtfully. “Good point. I’ll go for the warm milk next time.” “You just gonna make fun of me for the next two months?” I pour a glass of water and then march back over to the table, not missing the way her eyes trail over my body. I’m only wearing boxers, not really accustomed to having to cover up for a woman in the house. Her lips press into a thin line as I take a seat, deciding not to be a total dick and storm out of here. Her company isn’t the worst. She could be Laura pawing at me like a bear on a beehive. That would be worse. “Probably. It’s my default when I’m uncomfortable.” She doesn’t whisper or drop my eyes; she just says something vulnerable like sharing that kind of shit is normal. “You’re uncomfortable?”

And it’s only now that I notice she’s wearing some sort of silky tank top and matching shorts. They’re light purple, and they shimmer in the dim light cast from the bulb over the stove. “Of course, I am.” “Why? You’re all smirks and quick comebacks. Winning everyone over.” She reaches up, combing her fingers through her long silky hair. Tresses that shimmer like her matching pajamas. And it’s now I notice the scar on her chest, followed by the outline of her nipples through the top. They’re not hard, but I can see the swell, the tease of the shape. It’s almost more alluring to imagine what they might look like. I flick my eyes up, but they land on her lips. Smirking lips. Which reminds me that Summer Hamilton pisses me off. “You think this is ideal for me?” she asks. “Trial by fire? Having to follow around someone who clearly can’t stand me as I try to do a brand-new job while also trying not to make him hate

I raise a brow. “The embarrassing milk drinks were an excellent path to making me like you. Well played. Having you join in with my dickhead brother felt great.” That actually might be the worst part. I wanted her to pick my team, not Beau’s. Everyone picks Beau because he’s all sunny and handsome and shit. She scoffs and squeezes her eyes shut. The first sign of frustration I’ve seen on her. “Would you have preferred I march over there and intervene? Embarrass you myself?” My brow furrows as I swallow the pill. “Why would you?” She levels a stare at me and very seriously says, “Because I was freaking out that we shouldn’t have gone out at all. That I’m not going to be able to handle this—or you.”

“I know that. But I’m supposed to keep Little Rhett in your pants. And that one girl was ready to pack him up and take him home.” “Pardon me?”

“Your dick.” She points at my lap. “No coming out to play until this is all dealt with. Kip’s orders. Your reputation can’t take you getting caught up in any more drama. You’re supposed to seem wholesome.” “I am wholesome. Does enjoying sex make a person less wholesome?” She shivers, and then quickly rolls her eyes like she doesn’t believe me. “It doesn’t matter what you are or are not. You need to look wholesome, which means keep it in your pants. Keep your hands to yourself. Win the whole fucking thing so we can both put this behind us.” I stare at her. Is this fresh-out-of-law-school knockout seriously telling me what I can and cannot do with my dick? How must she see me? “And for crying out loud, Rhett.” She stands and swipes her phone off the table before pointing down at me. “Realize that I’m on your side. I don’t want this to be miserable. I don’t want to embarrass you. If you let me, we can be a team rather than fighting the entire time. Use your head.”

Which is why I reply with, “Which one?” And with that, she storms out. Ass barely concealed by her silky shorts. Leaving me wondering if those are the new “team” uniform. Because if so, I just might be in.

Dad: Is he being a dick? Summer: No. Dad: Would you tell me if he was? Summer: Also no. Dad: Summer, if you need backup, just tell me. I can send Gabriel. Summer: That’s not even his name. Plus, I grew up around you. I can handle dicks. Summer: Fuck my life. Forget I said that. Dad: Already deleted.

I sleep like shit. All the witty comebacks I wish I’d said to Rhett last night run through my head like the ticker on the bottom of a news channel. He agitated me. I let him get under my skin, and I shouldn’t have. I walked away like the bigger person, even though what I wanted to do was kick him in the shins. Which would have hurt like hell because everything about Rhett Eaton is hard, and toned, and cut.

And maybe that’s why I’m agitated. Staring at a magazine ad of Rhett in Wranglers with hearts in my eyes as a teenager is funny, but seeing him stripped down as an adult is not.

trying not to remember the way the light played off every ridge on Rhett’s body last

night—the shadows between every defined ab, the dip at the hollow of his throat, that perfect v heading toward the other head. What a fucking dick.

“Who’s this?” I ask Harvey curiously. His responding smile is immediate. Deep and genuine. “That’s my little girl. Violet.

“Well, great. If he gets up, give him a tranquilizer until I return.” “He giving you trouble already?” “No chance. He’s a doll.” I wink at Harvey, and we share a laugh before falling into an easy conversation.

A sigh shudders through my body, and I approach to pull out the chair next to him, rather than across from him. When I sit beside him, he still doesn’t look up. He’s clearly trying out some sort of deep breathing technique, based on the whoosh of air from his nostrils. My clay mug clunks on the table as I reach out with my opposite hand toward the broad expanse of his back. I hesitate, my hand fluttering above his plain white t-shirt, because I seriously wonder if touching him is a good idea.

It’s a little like sticking your hand between the fence boards to pet a dog you don’t know. They might be a very good boy who loves attention. Or they might bite you. But I’m an empath. A caretaker. I can see the disappointment emanating from him. A hug never fails to make me feel better, but I won’t hug him—mostly because I’d enjoy it far more than is professional. However, a gentle back pat never hurt anyone. So, I drop my hand onto his shoulder. First, I give a squeeze, but he flinches and sucks in a deep breath, like he’s in pain. I pull my hand away. But when his reaction ends there, and he doesn’t make any other moves to get away from me, I put my hand back, a little lower this time. Running it along the ridge of his shoulder blade through the fabric of his shirt. I move my hand in a soft circle, the way my dad used to do to me when I was having a rough day. He’d sit in that chair beside my hospital bed and rub my back for hours. And he never complained.

Are you interested in hearing the musings of an eternally optimistic teenager?” “Sure.” His voice is tight as he pushes his palms harder into his forehead. “If these were your last few moments on earth, would you go happy?” His responding sigh is ragged. He clears his throat. “No.” “But why? You have so much. You’ve achieved so much. No one’s life is perfect.” He sits up straight now. Amber eyes regard me like I might not be the she-devil he took me for. “Have you googled my name? It’s all just,”—he huffs out a sad laugh—“stupid.” “It is,” I agree, solemnly nodding my head and letting my hand fall away.

crime.” A breathy laugh escapes me, my cheeks twitching as I struggle to contain my smile. “See? You’re laughing at me.” He scrubs a hand through the scruff on his chin before swinging his finger over my face in a U shape. “You have been since that first day in the office. That snarky little smirk.” I sit up straight now as his gaze drops again. “Rhett.” His eyes roll, and he avoids making any eye contact with me, like a petulant child. I lean forward and nudge my knee against his. “Rhett.” When he turns his full attention on me, my heart skitters in my chest. No man has any business looking as good as he does. The dark lashes, the square jaw.

“If I think about it too much, it makes me angry on your behalf. And I don’t want to be angry.” He gazes down at his hands and spins the silver ring on his finger before whispering, “Okay.” God, he’s really got this wounded, insecure little boy routine down. I nudge his knee again.

Rhett: Are you my new personal trainer now too? Summer: Will that make you feel better about me being here? Rhett: Maybe. Summer: Well, then, I’m whatever you want me to be. Rhett: That’s a dangerous thing to say.

Ahhh