Page 8 of Sigma
I sigh. “Yeah, I guess so.”
I give my best friend a knowing look; she’s basically a best friend, cousin, and sister all rolled into one, even though we’re not actually related in any way.
She’s a perfect mixture of her father’s and mother’s physical characteristics: tall and lean like Uncle Harry—a fact which she regularly bemoans, complaining that she got scammed out of having boobs or butt—with dark, tightly curled brown hair and dark brown eyes. She’s all Auntie Lay-Lay in personality, however, with a hair-trigger temper, stubborn as a mule, but fiercely loyal and open with her affection for those whom she loves.
In a sense, Bryn and I are alike, in that I’m equal Mom and Dad, but where Cal is essentially all Mom in his personality, I again am a mixture of their tendencies. I’m tall like Dad, standing just shy of six feet—that quarter of an inch bugs me to no end, because I know I’ll never get any taller; I mean, c’mon, genetics, you couldn’t have given me a solid six feet? But unlike most six-foot-tall girls, I’m not…thin. No Skinny Minnie here. I also happened to have received Mom’s more than generous helping of curves. I stay active and our whole family eats healthy—I lift weights with Dad three or four times a week, and I surf with Cal, and I run around the island now and then, a run which equates to five or so miles, and we all train in martial arts with Sasha. I have Dad’s eyes, pale blue and a tendency to come across as icy, intimidating, and cold. Mom and Dad are both blond, so my hair is platinum, almost white-blond, but thankfully I was blessed with skin which tans easily to a nice golden brown.
The sound of a jet engine in the distance means Dad is close. Aunt Layla hears it, cocks her head to listen, and then detours us away from the shops toward the docks where Mercedes will pull in. We arrive in time to see the sleek, aggressive-looking aircraft making its descent toward the water. Still a couple hundred feet above the water and a good quarter of a mile from the docks, the jet engines cut out, meaning Mercedes is making the landing on a glide.
I watch Layla watch the landing, noting her obvious admiration. The sea jet makes barely a splash as it touches down with deft, delicate smoothness, floating up to the dock with a bump, having bled momentum with perfect calculation.
Layla shakes her head and whistles. “That woman is a miracle worker.”
Layla has had her own pilot’s license since before I was born, and is herself a skilled, competent pilot, but even I, a layman in the world of flying, can tell there’s a world of difference between Aunt Layla’s competency and Mercedes’s mind-boggling amount of talent and hyper-attuned skill.
The side door slides open, and Dad unfolds out of the craft, ducking under the wing as he ties it off with practiced speed. Cal climbs out next—and you could knock me over with a feather: he’s wearing a suit. With a TIE. His hair is neatly combed back and tied into a low man bun.
He looks like an adult.
And he’shandsome.
I mean, he’s my brother so let’s not make this weird, but it’s not something I typically think about. He’s my annoying as shit little brother, and usually I just want him to leave me alone for five minutes, but…damn.
Beside me, Bryn is frozen solid. I hear her gulp, audibly.
I glance over at her, and her jaw is literally hanging open. “BRYN!” I tap the underside of her chin. “That’s mybrother.”
“I know,” she whispers. “When did he get hot?”
“Ew. That’s my freaking brother, Bryn.” I turn on her. “You were raised with him, so he’s as good as your brother.”
“Well yeah, that’s what makes this such a confusing hard-on. Because I’m not actually related to him, like at all. He’s not even, like, a stepbrother. Our moms are best friends. But he’s been like my brother our whole lives.” A pause. “Until now.”
I look at Layla, on my other side. “Auntie Lay-Lay. Do something.”
Layla just makes a wry face. “Ah yes, let me just dig my fairy godmother wand out of my purse—” she digs into her purse and withdraws a wrapped tampon, waves it in an elaborate pattern in front of her daughter. “Ala-ca-dabra-ca-doo! You’re no longer attracted to that fine-as-hell young man to whom you are not in way, legally or genetically, related, because Rinny is jealous.”
Bryn snickers, and I feel my temper rising.
“Hysterical. That’s yournephew.” I glare at her. “And don’t call me Rinny.”
“Nephew of my heart,” Layla corrects. “No relation.”
“So you’re fine with your daughter drooling over him like a thirsty little—”
“Watch it, Rin,” Layla says, her tone conveying a very serious lack of fucking around. She immediately softens. “I know it’s weird for you. And I’m not saying I’d be fine with them, like, hooking up. Because that would in fact be super weird. But your brother is an extremely handsome young man. And since none of us have ever seen him cleaned up like this, it’s kind of a shock to the system.” She grabs me by the arms. “I’m fairly certain you did a double-take yourself when he climbed out.”
“Did not,” I grumble.
Layla cackles. “Okay, now you’re just being childish. You’re twenty, Rin—almost twenty-one. Act like it.”
Bryn checks me with her shoulder, not exactly gently. “Chill, Rin. I’m saying he’s hot, not that I’m planning on seducing him.”
“Who are you seducing?” Cal says, arriving at that moment, hands shoved into his pockets, mirrored aviators on his face, grinning happily.
“No one,” Bryn says. “Why are you here?”
“I’m going with Dad.” He glances at me as he says this, clearly anticipating an outburst from me.