"Bacon!"

My voice echoes through the condo. "Zoe, breakfast..."

This is our Saturday morning ritual, has been since we were kids. I make breakfast while she sleeps, we eat, then she cleans up. Our mom used to cook for us, but after she passed, I took over. It was the one tradition Zoe and I kept, through all the grief and pain.

It stopped, of course, when she went to college. But now that she's back and staying with me in this oceanfront condo, we've slipped into our old ways.

A door flings open and my sister shuffles out. She's wearing a long-sleeve black shirt and red checkered pajama pants.

"Nice pajamas. Nice hair," I tease.

She curls her lip in response and slips onto a black stool next to the white island countertop. Everything in this condo is black and white, except the view: blue ocean for as far as the eye can see. It's why I bought the penthouse, from the guy who developed the building and who used to live here. The developer's name was Rafael, and he was moving north to be with his family. I knew he thought it odd that a twenty-five-year-old had several million in cash to plunk down on a condo.

Then I'd dropped my dad's name and he understood. And just like that, I owned the epitome of South Beach living, sun-soaked luxury with a private rooftop pool to boot.

"Late night? Want juice?"

She yawns. "No juice. The most fucked up thing happened last night at this club I was at."

I grin at her. "Tell me. You've been gone from Miami too long if you're shocked the first two weeks you're back. Gainesville made you soft. You need to get back into the crazy."

"Right? And this was insane. Some chick in a bra and panties rode a horse into the club. Like a real, live horse. It happened around two in the morning."

I chuckle and hand her a mug of coffee. "No shit?"

"Yeah, the place was packed. She rides in, wearing a black bra and a black thong, on the back of this horse. Like she's Lady Godiva." Zoe rubs the remnants of black eyeliner and mascara from under her eyes. "Right in the middle of the dance floor. People start taking photos, everyone was yelling and screaming, then the horse freaked out, probably because of the strobe lights or the music. It tried to gallop away and the woman was thrown off. A couple of other people were hurt."

"Fucking idiots."

She nods and scratches her head. My sister looks like a dark-haired Tinkerbell, with a black pixie cut that has a shock of red down one side. The way she looks is totally at odds with her MBA. "I felt bad for the horse. It was obviously scared. I hate shit like that."

I set a plate of eggs and bacon in front of her. "You weren't near the horse, were you?"

"Nah, I was on the side, in the VIP. How was your night? You must've come in early because your light was out when I got in."

"Yeah, I went out for a while. Low-key, at Purdy Lounge. Met up with a guy about a thing," I shrug. "Haven't felt like going out much lately, don't know why. I'm sick of the scene this month."

Of course, I knew why, but I don't want to tell my sister. "You thought any more about my idea?"

She's got a mouthful of toast and chews while staring at me with big, dark eyes. When she does this, all I see is her as a teen, when we were left all alone. How scared she was to lose our parents, and how it was up to me to take care of her.

"I kinda like it here. Not sure I want my own condo just yet. Or are you trying to get rid of me because I cramp your style?" She throws a napkin at me. "I've noticed that you haven't brought anyone home since I got back."

"Jesus, Zoe. You've only been back two weeks. What do you think? That I've got the entire Miss Universe lineup marching in and out of here every week?"

She arches an eyebrow and I laugh. Of all the people on the planet, Zoe knows me the best.

"I told you. I'd rather stay here and help you with the business."

I turn from her to grab some orange juice. "I'm not sure about that. I'd like to leave you out of it, if possible. It's why you should have your own place, so if something happens..."

"Nothing's going to happen. You're smart. You've gotten this far. And you need me to manage your money. That was always the plan, wasn't it? It's why I got a business degree. Now I can manage the assets and investments and you can stop selling drugs."

Her words hang in the air.

"I know it was the plan. But I'm rethinking the plan."

She rolls her eyes, and my phone buzzes. It's the concierge downstairs, telling me that Vee's here.

"In speaking of business, get ready for hurricane Victoria."

Zoe grins. She and Vee were never all that close. And back when we all hung out, Zoe's whole life was Ashton. She worshipped the ground he walked on.

There's a knock, and I go to answer. Vee kisses me on the mouth, then pulls back when she sees my sister. She sweeps in and gives her a one-armed hug. Zoe remains on her stool and watches, amused, as if Vee's the morning entertainment.

That's my sister: unflappable, untouched and uninterested in most things.

Vee eyes the bacon.

"You want some? Take it. Eggs?" I gesture to the plate.

"Absolutely not. I've been doing a juice cleanse this week. So," she turns to me, "We're all set for the party tonight. I was hoping to talk to you about the China trip and to get a little advance for my services with the girls I'm bringing. I hope the Amsterdam guys enjoy them."

"You want cash." I say this as a statement. I should've known. "And I don't know anything about China yet. Hopefully this week."

"I'm your loyal employee, Griffin," she replies in a purr. "And I need to look good for tonight."

"This is true. Hang on."

I walk barefoot on the polished marble floor into my room and grab a wad of cash. Vee really does care for me in her own, fucked-up way. I know that. She's made three trips to China and brought hundreds of thousands of dollars of molly back for me. I can afford to give her money so she can do whatever it is that women do before parties.

When I return, she's making small talk with my sister. I hand her a wad of hundreds and notice that my sister's face looks oddly pale and drawn all of a sudden.

"I was just asking your sister if she was looking forward to seeing Juliette Phillips tonight."

I give Vee a hard stare. Shit. This is not the conversation I want to have this morning. Not in front of Zoe.

"Juliette's not invited," I say, coldly.

Vee tosses her long, red hair and her pink, slick mouth forms into a pout. "Oh. Well from the way you two were acting last weekend, I kind of thought..."

"You thought wrong."

The three of us are silent and I'm trying not to meet Zoe's gaze.

"Well, I'll be going. Lot to do. Shopping. See you tonight!" Vee steps to me and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll see myself out."

She's wearing wedge heels with shorts and a little tank top, and strides out of the condo, the door shutting with a whisper behind her.

I splay my arms on the white granite of the island counter, waiting for Zoe to say something.

"Juliette Phillips? Are you fucking Juliette Phillips, of all people?"

I rake my fingers through my hair and look toward the ocean. "I'm not fucking her. I saw her at a club and we danced. And had dinner. That's it."

She doesn't blink. "You like her, don't you? I can tell from your voice. You never sound this sheepish or soft when you're talking about chicks."

Dammit, my sister can read me like a book. "She's a nice girl. That's all."

"She's a nice girl. That's all." Zoe mocks my voice. "Christ, Griff. Isn't she like sixteen? Isn't that out of line, even for you?"

"That's a low blow and you know it. She's eighteen." I clear my throat. "Almost." A pang of shame shoots through me.

"After everything we went through with Ashton, you have the balls to hang out with his sister?" Zoe's yelling now, and she jumps up. "He was my best friend, other than you. I loved him. And now you're fucking his little sister?"

"I told you, I'm not fucking her," I say sharply. We haven't had this conversation about Ash in years. "Ash hated what I was doing. What I was doing for us. And he's the one who broke up with you." I lift my head and hold out my hand. "You were sixteen, Zoe. Sixteen. C'mon. Don't be dramatic."

"One year younger than Juliette." Her glare practically burns a hole in my chest. "I loved him and I was loyal to you. I had to choose, and it sucked."

"I did the best I could at the time. He didn't understand, and anyone who wasn't with us, was against us."

She's glaring at me, her dark eyes flashing and angry. "I'm going for a run."

I shut my eyes and shake my head. That's how Zoe always copes with stress and conflict, with exercise.

I clean the kitchen quickly, tossing everything into the dishwasher, then head to my bedroom. Fucking Vee, stirring shit. Of all people, she'd know that mentioning Juliette would upset my sister.

This is definitely not what I need today. I've got a shitload to do, and truthfully, I'm not exactly looking forward to tonight's party. The four dudes from Amsterdam are liable to do anything. Who knows if they'll be serious, dangerous or just here for a good time. Plus there's that little pre-party meeting with one of my dealers who seems to be cutting into some of my profits. Fuuuuck. I groan out loud.

Stretching out on my bed, I grab my phone and scroll through some texts. A couple of girls from a month or two ago want to hang out and a friend with a yacht wants to head to Bimini next weekend. Another buddy wants to sell me his season tickets to the Dolphins.

I scrub my face with my hand and I hear my sister's sneakers squeaking on the marble floor. "I'll be back, love you," she yells.

"Okay, be careful, love you," I holler back. Even when we're pissed at each other, we never leave without saying goodbye or saying I love you. We learned that when our mom died. The front door slams shut.

I turn back to the texts. Should I go to Bimini? Fishing could be a good time. The Dolphins sucked last year, probably will suck this year, too. None of it interests me, honestly. There's only one thing that's been on my mind, and I'm sure my sister could see it all over my face: Juliette Phillips.

I tap at my phone, pulling up Instagram. I don't have an account—I hate social media of all kinds and stay off it—but Juliette does. I'm not proud to say that I've been scrolling through her feed since I saw her last week, checking up on what she's posting and diving deep into her past photos. And I can't get over that little, shy goodbye kiss she gave me on the cheek that night.

It was both the sweetest and most erotic moment that's happened to me in years. Maybe ever. Driving home I ached just thinking about that kiss.

Today she's posted a selfie, and just seeing the new image makes me grin. She's lying down, her dark hair splayed over a white pillow. She's pulled her sweatshirt over her mouth and nose, so all I see are those beautiful green eyes and dark eyebrows staring at me. Freckles. She has a few dark freckles sprinkled on her cheeks.

This is the most pathetic I've ever been, cyber-stalking a seventeen-year-old. Especially when I can fuck almost any hot woman in Miami.

I scroll down, past the ones of her coffee and the ones of her cat, to my favorite one. Part of me feels like a pervert, but I can't help it. The one of her in a low-cut, black tank top is too stunning not to look at again and again.

For one thing, her tits look huge. She has a perfect line of cleavage, and as I stare at the photo, my dick grows hard. Then there's her mouth, parted and bare. She's not wearing any makeup and she's not smiling. Her expression is almost defiant, not one that's meant to be sexy, and it's such a turn-on.

I shove my hand down my sweatpants and stroke slowly. I imagine sliding Juliette's tank straps off her body. She wouldn't be wearing a bra, and my mouth would suck on her nipples. Maybe they'd be little and pink. Or she'd have big nipples, dark and flat at first. I'd bite them, just hard enough to make her squirm, and they'd harden into points.

My dick would look so good between those tits.

My hand moves faster. What would she sound like? Would she be loud and out of control? Or breathy? It wouldn't matter either way. She'd be needy and greedy for my dick. My balls feel high and tight as I remember how close we'd danced, and how her curvy hips swayed as I held her waist. How it seemed like she was looking into my very soul when we talked.

I shove my sweatpants down around my thighs and toss the phone next to me on the bed, fantasizing all the ways I'd fuck Juliette, knowing that this is exactly why I can't invite her to my party tonight.

Because if I see her again, I won't be able to control myself.

____