The four women stood in a loose semicircle around Judah like he'd crashed their book club meeting. He tugged at the hem of his grey t-shirt, the fabric still damp in places where he'd thrown it on too fast. The grey shorts hung low on his hips. He rubbed the back of his head, fingers catching on wet curls that refused to cooperate.
"Hello." His voice came out steady. Good. "I'm Judah. Your brother. It's nice to meet you all."
Great job dumbass! Now your sisters have seen you naked and think you're some sort of creep!
He kept his face neutral. Professional. Like this was a normal introduction and not the aftermath of the most mortifying thirty seconds of his life.
Wait.
I was in the bathroom first! They came in after me! I'M THE VICTIM HERE!
His jaw tightened. Nobody else seemed interested in acknowledging that particular fact.
The black-haired one stood with her arms crossed over her chest. Still wrapped in that towel. Still glaring at him with a blush burning across her pale cheeks that turned her skin pink all the way down to where the towel started. Her red eyes had locked onto his face like targeting systems.
That's Noel.
The twin. Nineteen. Gap year. The one who'd screamed loud enough to wake the dead and probably traumatize the neighbors.
Next to her stood the one who'd walked in second. Honey blonde hair pulled back in some kind of intricate twist that probably required a YouTube tutorial. Same red eyes as Noel but colder. Sharper. She wore white jeans and a silk blouse that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. Her glare contained zero blush and one hundred percent judgment.
Solange.
Also nineteen. UCLA. The one Arthur mentioned exactly once during their phone call as "very protective of the family."
Yeah. He could feel the protection radiating off her in waves.
The third sister stood slightly behind Solange's shoulder. Strawberry blonde hair still damp with sweat, pulled into a high ponytail. Shorter than the twins by a few inches. Athletic build visible even through the Westlake volleyball tank top and practice shorts. Her face had lit up like Christmas morning.
Chloe.
Seventeen. Junior. Volleyball player. The one Arthur had said "gets along with everyone."
Currently proving that statement correct by grinning at him like he'd just performed a magic trick.
And then there was Evelyn.
Standing near the doorway. Still wearing that cream sundress. Honey blonde hair catching the bathroom light. Those blue-green eyes watching the scene unfold with visible nervousness.
Fuck.
Why are the women in this house literally sexier than any woman I met in Philly?
His brain tried to supply comparison data. The cheerleaders at his old school. The girls at the rec center. That one college student who'd asked for his number after watching him throw at the park.
None of them came close.
Not even in the same league.
No way Arthur could have anything to do with it.
His father was objectively average. Maybe decent-looking for a middle-aged businessman. But nothing that explained the genetic lottery currently surrounding Judah in various states of dress and undress.
The silence stretched. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.
Evelyn's hands twisted together in front of her waist. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked at her daughters like she was waiting for one of them to say something that wouldn't start a war.
Noel's blush deepened. Her arms squeezed tighter across her chest, which only made the towel situation more precarious. The fabric shifted.
Judah's eyes flicked down for a fraction of a second before he caught himself.
Don't look don't look don't look.
Too late.
He'd looked.
And now his brain had registered that Noel's towel was doing absolutely nothing to contain the kind of curves that belonged in an art museum. The fabric clung to wet skin. Every line. Every shape. The swell of her hips where the towel ended mid-thigh.
Stop.
He dragged his gaze back to her face.
She caught the movement. Her eyes narrowed.
"You're staring," she said flatly.
"I'm not."
"You literally just looked at my tits."
"I looked at your face."
"After you looked at my tits."
"I didn't—"
"OKAY!" Chloe's voice cut through the exchange with the cheerful authority of someone used to breaking up fights. She stepped forward, still grinning. "Hi! I'm Chloe!" She stuck her hand out toward Judah. "I always wanted a little brother!"
Judah blinked. Took her hand. Shook it.
Her grip was firm. Athlete's grip. Her palm had calluses.
"Uh." He found his voice again. "Nice to meet you."
"You're taller than I expected." Chloe tilted her head, ponytail swinging. "The pictures Dad sent didn't show your height very well. Are you like six-two?"
"Yeah."
"That's so cool! I'm five-seven which is tall for volleyball but you're like actually tall." She was still holding his hand. Still shaking it. "And you play football right? Quarterback? That's what Mom said. Well, Dad said it first but Mom told us because Dad's in Tokyo which you probably already know but—"
"Chloe." Solange's voice could cut glass. "Let go of his hand."
Chloe released Judah's hand and spun to face her sister. "What? I'm being friendly!"
"You're being excessive."
"I'm being welcoming! Someone has to be!" Chloe gestured at the bathroom, the steam, the general disaster zone of their first meeting. "This whole thing is awkward enough without everyone standing around glaring!"
Solange's jaw tightened. "I'm not glaring."
"You're literally glaring right now."
"I'm observing."
"That's just glaring with extra steps."
Noel cut in. "Can we have this argument when I'm wearing actual clothes?"
All three sisters looked at each other. Some kind of silent communication passed between them. Judah had seen this before. Team communication. People who'd played together long enough that words became optional.
Finally, Solange nodded. "Fine. Noel, go change. We'll wait in the lounge."
"The second floor one?" Chloe asked.
"Obviously."
Noel shot Judah one last glare before turning on her heel and stalking past him toward the door. The towel shifted with each step. Judah very carefully looked at the ceiling tiles.
Don't look at her ass don't look at her ass don't look at—
He looked.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to confirm that yes, the back view matched the front view in terms of completely unfair proportions, and yes, his brain was absolutely going to remember this moment forever.
Noel disappeared around the corner. Her footsteps faded down the hall.
Chloe grabbed Judah's wrist. "Come on! We'll do proper introductions downstairs."
"I should probably change too—"
"You're fine! It's just a t-shirt." She tugged him toward the door. "Mom made lemonade earlier and there's cookies from that bakery in Malibu and you can tell us about Philly!"
Judah let himself be dragged. Mostly because resistance seemed pointless when Chloe had already decided the outcome.
Solange followed behind them. Her heels clicked against hardwood. Each step sounded like a countdown.
Evelyn had already started down the main staircase. She glanced back once, caught Judah's eye, and offered a small apologetic smile.
He nodded.
This is fine.
Everything is fine.
You just flashed your junk at your stepsister and now you're going downstairs for lemonade and cookies.
===
A/N:
Welcome to the end of the chapter.
You want to watch Jude take the quarterback position. You want to see him conquer the Fitzgerald women.
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