Twenty-Seven

Lucas

Time always dragged whenever I waited for something. Unable to keep a lid on my excitement, I submerged myself balls-deep into an art project — my mating gift to Isobelle.

The sun’s rays cast a glittery streak of dust motes through my shed window, the light kissing the canvas with a rich golden hue. My keen eyes flicked back and forth as I applied the finishing touches to my muse — the blonde-haired angel who was sitting on the porch under the shade of the wooden canopy. She buried her nose deep into one of her science books, her brow scrunched with extreme concentration, her eyes descending each page with a tenacious thirst for knowledge. It was the sexiest sight I had ever seen in my life.

My brothers voiced their agreement through our private bond. We all agreed, we struck gold when Alex found Isobelle. Mason lounged upon the wooden steps, guitar in hand, strumming out some insane chord progression like he was Ed fucking Sheeran. It was hard to compete with a guy like Mason.