My Best Friend's Brothers

I had worn the wrong outfit to the airport. Liz, my best friend of ten years, had been smart to bring a cardigan. I shivered beside her, rubbing my palms against my bare arms.

Liz looked me up and down. "Did you at least pack a pair of sweatpants or something?" She refreshed the weather forecast on her phone. "It's going to drop below fifty on Friday night."

It's July, I thought. Does it really get that cold in Colorado in July?

Liz was, as it was becoming evident, way more prepared for the trip than I was--she had been vacationing in Breckenridge with her family for her entire life. I had never been there before, but Liz's mother was getting married, and when Liz offered to pay for my plane ticket, it seemed like a good opportunity to use up some vacation days. Liz's family was loaded--multiple vacation homes kind of loaded--and I was looking forward to a week of expensive wine and nice linens.

But now, standing here with Liz, I was beginning to fear I didn't know what I gotten myself into. How was I supposed to know to bring sweatpants to a summer wedding? I lived in the south; I hadn't thought of sweatpants since April.

"Shit, the boys' flight got delayed--again." Liz gathered her hair until a pile on top of her head and began frantically drafting a text to her mother. "Mom's going to flip her shit."

Liz's mother Sarah was marrying Steve, a long-time boyfriend who had recently finalized his divorce from his ex-wife, the mother of his three boys. I had never met any of Steve's boys, but had heard stories of them over the years through Liz, who had basically adopted them as her siblings.

Trey, the youngest, was in his junior year of college; Chase, the middle child, the wild one, was the one with whom Liz was the closest. Paul, the eldest, had been in and out of the military for years, and had recently taken a job with Steve's venture capital firm.

It hadn't occurred to me before now that I would know no one else at the wedding except for Liz and her mother: How was I going to fill the time at all the cocktail hours and reception dinners? Who was I going to talk to?

I picked at my nails absentmindedly, and tried to think about the wine. Just a five-hour plane ride, a two-hour car ride, and I would be in their family chalet, tucking myself into freshly laundered, 500-thread-count sheets...

The next morning, I opened my eyes to see Liz perched on the side of the bed, balancing a steaming mug of coffee in her hands.

She handed it off to me, smiling. "Peace offering."

Liz was never this thoughtful in the morning. I sighed and accepted the coffee. "You have to work, don't you?"

Liz worked for a Silicon Valley startup that paid very little but demanded most of her time.

"Please don't hate me," she said.

I sat up in bed and looked at the alarm clock next to the bed: 10 a.m.

"How could I possibly hate you after nine hours of sleep?" I said.

She smiled. "You're the best. Just a couple of calls, and I'll be done before you know it. Promise" She got up to leave, checking her phone for messages. "There's breakfast in the kitchen. Oh, and the boys got in late last night."

Steve insisted that I eat my breakfast with him while he watched CNN and took intermittent work calls, so for most of the morning I was held hostage on the couch in my pajamas, waiting for the opportunity to dip back into my bedroom and hide.

Paul had been up for hours, working diligently on the second floor. He'd come down once earlier to consult with Steve on some work issue, and he'd hardly looked at me. I was floored by how attractive Paul was. His time in the military was apparent: close-cropped hair cut into a fade, dark tribal tattoos on his forearms, wide chest, big biceps. He was quiet and serious, maybe a little bit frightening, and totally absorbed by his work. He had glanced over at me as he turned to go back upstairs and paused briefly, taking in the whole of me. I was still in my ratty, thin pajamas, with my hair pulled back into a ponytail, and his pointed gaze made me deeply self-conscious. I felt an overwhelming urge to run away, apologize, or both.

Chase had ambled into the kitchen only a half hour later, opening cabinets and banging around pans.

"Dad, where's the bread?" he yelled from the other room.

"On the counter," Steve yelled back, referring to the gluten-free, sugar-free loaf on the counter that I hadn't even tried.

Chase peeked his head into the living room and replied, "No, the real bread."

It was then that he noticed me sitting next to Steve.

"Oh, hey. You must be Kate."

I blushed, despite myself. What had Liz told him about me?

I stood up. "Hey. Nice to meet you..."

"Chase," he said. "I'm Chase." Covering his eyes were black-rimmed sunglasses, which to me seemed both ridiculous and charming.

He was shirtless, his body slightly soft but with a mass of muscle beneath, like he had formerly been an athlete, perhaps in high school, and was wearing basketball shorts that sat beneath his hips, a small swath of dark pubic hair visible above them. On his feet were a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots.

He must have noticed me sizing him up or seen the smile sneaking its way onto my face, because then he laughed awkwardly and said, "Late night."

He took off his sunglasses and extended a hand. "Nice to finally meet you, Kate. And sorry for all the noise last night. After we finally caught a flight we felt like celebrating."

His face was boyish and handsome, with light freckles across his nose and full lips shaped like a heart. The resemblance to Paul--and his father--was striking, though he was a good deal shorter. The deep purple bags under his eyes made him look mischievous but vulnerable, and I was instantly endeared to him.

"I slept right through it. I'm a deep sleeper."

He still gripped my hand in his, looking me up and down. I couldn't help but feel he was assessing me, like one might assess a prized cow. I wonder if Liz had told them what I looked like, what discrepancies or omissions Chase was noticing now. "Noted. Well, I'm sure I'll see you tonight at the rehearsal?"

I nodded, trying to look noncommittal, but inside I was ecstatic: I knew one more person at the rehearsal dinner. Already I felt like throwing my arms around him in gratitude.

"Absolutely."

I sat back down next to Steve, who briefly looked up at Chase, only to say, "Chase, put a shirt on. We have guests," before turning back to the television.

I didn't see Trey until well past three. Liz, despite her better efforts, was still stuck on Zoom meetings with no end in sight, and I had done all I could do to kill time waiting.

I had just eaten half of an expensive granola bar, chucking the rest, when Trey wandered into the kitchen. Liz had told me that he still lived at home with Steve and Sarah, because of some vague, unspecified illness that made him sleep a lot. He looked weak: he was tall, as tall as Paul and his father, but far leaner: sinewy and bony, his skin pale, ashy blonde hair falling in his eyes. He looked younger than 21 to me, more boyish than either of his brothers--the baggy sweatpants and Minnesota Vikings tee didn't help--but he still he had the same handsome, angular features that seemed to be common in his family: the full lips, the strong jaw, deep-set eyes under a rigid brow.

I had also been warned that he was deeply shy, more so than the usual shyness of boys his age. He silently made himself a peanut butter sandwich, only acknowledging my presence when he nearly bumped into me. We found ourselves face to face, squeezed together between the kitchen island and countertop.

His face turned a deep red, and he mumbled "Sorry" before practically sprinting back downstairs. Well, I thought. One brother thinks he's too good to talk to me, and one is terrified of me. But I guess one out of three isn't so bad. I wondered what Chase was doing now, what he would be wearing to the rehearsal dinner, how I might ensure that our paths would cross without looking like I was engineering it.

Despite my fears, I had actually overdressed for the rehearsal dinner. Everyone there was dressed in the way that rich people who have nothing to prove often do: linen, plain jackets, neutral colors and deceptively understated jewelry. I had brought an ankle-length floral dress with a slit up the thigh. I might as well have shouted at the top of my lungs that I didn't know what a broker really did or how best to go about training a horse.

The first part of the evening had gone better than I imagined: Liz and I had helped her mother decorate the house for the ceremony on Saturday and polished off a bottle of white wine. Liz and her mother weren't fighting, and as the guests began trickling in, I felt good, in spite of the sea of unfamiliar faces.

Liz and her soon-to-be stepfather were conferring in a corner of the kitchen when Chase appeared next to me.

"Happy to see you brought something other than pajamas."

I looked him up and down. He was wearing a navy-blue suit jacket with matching pants, brown leather loafers, and, inexplicably, the same pair of sunglasses.

"Do you have a secret-service thing going on or are you hiding something under there?" I said, lifting the glasses away from his face. He swatted my hand away.

Chase laughed. "Hey, easy with the shades."

"Do me a favor and let me know about any bomb threats. I'd like to eat a few more cupcakes before any emergency evacuations."

"Oh, you're funny. My sister didn't tell me you were funny."

"Well, she didn't tell me a lot about you boys, either," I said.

I stared at Paul from across the room, who was surrounded by a group of Steve's business associates. He looked up to meet my eye, and I looked away quickly, embarrassed and red. Trey was gripping a beer bottle with both hands, standing on the fringe of the crowd and looking lost.

"Don't let Paul scare you," Chase said. "He's a massive softie. He's just trying to be all hard now that he's working the family business. He's fresh meat."

"I'm not scared of Paul," I said, perhaps a little too quickly.

"And me?" Chase asked, cocking his head. "Are you scared of me?"

I thought for a moment. "Should I be?"

Chase put his hand on my waist--from the outside I suppose it looked only gentlemanly, but the warmth of his hand, the way his fingers dug into my back, sent ripples of electricity down to my feet. He leaned into me, whispering in my ear, "You should absolutely be scared of me."

My eyes widened and I felt my heart racing in my ears; a moment passed between us before he laughed, pulling away from me. "You're way too easy to fuck with. We'll have to work on that. Do you want a drink? Let me get you a drink."

I tried to drink the concoction Chase had made for me slowly--something strong, barely masked by a few different kinds of organic juice and some Perrier--but I still felt it go directly to my head. What I found myself wanting was a cigarette. I hadn't had one in years, since college probably, but any time I drank I couldn't help the old compulsion from coming back.

I opened the door to the front porch, thinking someone in this crowd was bound to have a secret smoking habit.

Paul was outside, leaning against the railing. In his hand he had a small silver vape, which he was pulling from slowly.

"Thank god," I said, momentarily forgetting our tense encounter earlier hadn't exactly been an introduction. He said nothing.

I stood beside him. "I'm Kate, Liz's friend. Hi." I didn't know what else I should say.

"I know who you are."

"Right." How could I ask for a hit of the vape without seeming like I was intruding? I was still trying to think of something witty when he wordlessly put the vape in my hand.

"Oh my god, thank you--" I began, but he cut me off.

"Keep it." He adjusted his suit jacket, smoothing it down. It looked like he might rip it from his shoulders. I wondered if he missed the military, if he was so angry because he had to make phone calls all day instead of doing chin-ups. I had a brief and fleeting thought of how easily hid body would crush mine, him snapping me in half like a brittle twig.

He broke the silence. "You know my brother's a real asshole. Don't let him give you shit."

"Oh, he wasn't giving me shit." I felt the need to defend him, inexplicably.

"He likes to take things too far. See what people will allow him to do." He looked ahead, his brow tense. "It's best to just not allow him anything. He's still a little boy. He'll learn one day."

Learn what? I thought. I had more questions than answers with Paul. It felt impossible to read him.

I almost asked him what he meant, but he began walking towards the door. He turned to me one last time and said, "We're partying tonight, right?"

I felt like it would be disobedience to say no--he said it with such conviction and sternness that without thinking, I replied, "Yeah, of course. Of course we are."

He tapped his hand on the doorway as he stepped inside and said, "Good. Okay, good," before disappearing.

Later that night, after Liz and I said goodnight to the guests and sent her parents to bed, I took Liz into the walk-in pantry to tell her everything that Paul said.

"Oh, don't mind Paul. He gets all territorial with Chase. He's like a big Pitbull."

"Territorial?" I asked.

"Yeah, just ignore him. He's been that way forever. Any girl Chase has ever brought home has had to deal with it. They have a lifelong pissing match going on."

"I talked to Chase for ten minutes--maybe."

"But you're prettyyy," Liz said, poking me in the side. I could tell she was already well on her way to being wasted.

"Ew, Liz." I tried to scoff. "They're your brothers now. There's no way I would get with any of them." It felt like it should be obvious to Liz that I was faking my disgust, but she was too busy digging into a box of Goldfish to care.

She looked up excitedly, setting down the box. "Let's go do shots."

The boys were congregated in the basement, playing pool. Liz ended up going to bed after one and a half shots. I felt panicked watching her stumble up the stairs, totally alone with her brothers now--what would I say to them? I had no idea how to play pool. I ducked behind the bar at the far end of the basement, making myself a drink very slowly, contemplating my next move.

Chase slipped behind the bar next to me, putting a folded-up note into my palm. He held his finger to his lips, be quiet, and grabbed a beer from the fridge, popping the cap off of it on the side of the countertop. I noticed Paul across the room, eyeing Chase like an eagle as Trey lined up his shot. Chase went and joined them, and I stood there, still stunned. Did he really just pass me a note? Were we in seventh grade again? I truly couldn't remember the last time I had been passed a note. It made sense, though--he didn't have my number--but what would he need to say to me that couldn't be said out loud?

I crumpled the paper in my fist and ducked into the bathroom, sitting down on the edge of the tub to read it.

"theres a spare bedroom on the 2nd floor--meet me up there in 15? just say you're tired or something"

My heart pounded so hard I could hardly hear anything else. Was Chase really making a move on me through a note? I considered it; I wasn't against keeping whatever this was under wraps. I didn't want Liz knowing, so, probably, no one else in the family should. Maybe Trey would tell his dad; Paul would certainly object, considering his weird monologue earlier, but surely he wouldn't stand in the way? I felt a pang of sadness only as an afterthought to my excitement: I had been genuinely curious about what Paul had meant when he said we would "party." I guess I would never know. I glanced down at my phone, noting the time, pretended to wash my hands, and made a big show of coming out of the bathroom.

I stretched my arms above my head and faked a yawn.

"Y'all, I'm getting pretty sleepy." I looked around at the room. Chase and Trey were taking turns throwing darts at a board mounted on the far end of the basement, and Paul was perched on the side of the pool table, refreshing his email on his phone. He looked up at me. "I don't think I've ever heard someone say 'y'all' in real life."

He looked equal parts amused and repulsed. I felt an annoyance for him growing. "Well, there's a first for everything, isn't there?" I wondered if I was more snappy than I needed to be.

"Don't tell me we're boring you, cowgirl," he said, putting on a heavy southern drawl.

"It's been a long day," I said, searching for Chase's eyes across the room. Paul followed my gaze, his brow knitting with an emotion I couldn't read. Was he offput? Angry? Just annoyed? Whatever it was, he could deal. It wasn't my problem anymore.

"Well, goodnight boys. See you all in the morning."

Oddly enough, Trey was the only one who responded, the only real words other than "sorry" that he'd said to me all day.

"But we were just about to smoke. I've got enough for everyone," he said, pushing his hair back. It was evident he'd had a few beers, loosened up. I wondered if girls at his school thought he was cute and mysterious, if he invited them back to his dorm to offer them his weed.

"That's really sweet of you," I said, making my way up the stairs. "But I'm going to take a nice, long shower and get some sleep. Nighty-night."

As soon as I made it up the stairs and closed the door to the basement behind me, I took off my heels and began to sprint up to the second floor, taking the stairs two at a time. I eventually found the vacant guestroom and slipped into it, the distant sound of Liz's snoring coming through the walls. I felt around for a light, bumping into the heavy wooden bedframe and various leather chairs. But before I could find a switch, I saw the crack of light beneath the door grow into a bright swath, and heard Chase close the door behind him.

"I told them I was going to grab more beers--they won't miss me."

I turned to him. "Are you sure? Paul won't wonder where you've gone?"

"Paul's head is too far up his own ass to think too hard about that."

"Well, what's with the note, then? Is this part of your whole secret service bit?"

"A little discretion isn't so bad, is it?"

"You didn't want Paul to know," I said, perhaps too bluntly.

"Paul thinks he should have everything," Chase said, anger in his voice. "Because he's the eldest, he should get the job at dad's firm, get all the bragging rights at family dinners." He paused. "I just wanted to get to you first," he said, softer.

"And he would have done what if he knew we were going upstairs?" I asked. "We're grown adults, you know."

He sighed. "Is it so bad to want one thing all to myself?"

The way he was looking at me, like he was so proud to have won me, secreted me away all by himself, like a boy with a prize, melted me. I reached out to kiss him, and he pulled me into him with urgency, his hands gripping my face, hard.

We fell onto the bed together, me on top of him, and I could feel a massive bulge pressing into my leg. It didn't even feel fully hard yet, just massive and soft. I wondered, briefly, if all of Steve's sons were hung like this, but tried to shake the thought from my mind.

Before I could even notice it, Chase had unzipped my dress and shimmied it down to my hips. He sucked on a nipple hungrily while I kicked the dress off, hearing the soft silk fall into a pile on the floor.

I ground my hips into him, feeling the massive thing between his legs grow with each thrust. I noticed that I was only wearing panties, and he was still fully clothed. I slipped off the bed and onto the ground to unbuckle his pants while he worked on his shirt.

I never gave head in my personal life, my real life, back home. Of course I had, in the past, for boyfriends, but never a hookup, never someone I didn't know. But this felt different--I felt like I needed his dick in my mouth, now.