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“I need this in my life,” Ethan continued.
“You could learn to cook,” Brynn suggested.
“Or get a girlfriend who loves to cook,” Savannah offered, and that got me laughing.
“Ethan’s too in love with himself,” I said, biting into my turkey. “There’s no room in there for a woman.” The joke was partly in jest and partly to take the spotlight off of him. The guy had been burned in his past, and the topic of relationships never went over well.
“I’m sitting right exactly here,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes before taking another huge bite of potatoes. “But, he’s not wrong,” he said to Savannah, waving his cleaned fork toward her and Hendrix. “It’s cute what you two have going and all, but I’m not built for it.”
“That aside,” I said. “No woman would ever be able to tolerate your bullshit for more than a day.”
Ethan shook his head before nodding toward Gareth. “Why don’t you throw jabs athim? He’s the same way—”
“I’m picky,” Gareth cut him off. “There’s a difference.”
Brynn and Savannah laughed, the table’s joy meter practically breaking with the fun back-and-forth we were having. It definitely filled my chest with something that I didn’t expect, a warmth and solidness that teased that this could be my forever.
Brynn’s laughter in my ear as we ate meals we prepared together, our friends joining us from time to time. It was a good, healthy family dynamic that I lived for. It didn’t matter that none of us shared blood, we were stronger than that.
“Anyone check in with Crossland?” I asked as we continued eating.
“An hour ago,” Ethan said, helping himself to another serving. “He’s with Bristol and her husband.”
I nodded. “Ash sends his regards,” I said after checking my phone, reading the text that had just come in.
“If you say Doyle sends his best I might choke you with this turkey leg,” Gareth grumbled as I pocketed my phone.
“I’m not friends with the guy,” I said. “You know I can’t stand him just as much as you.”
Gareth grunted.
“He is a right prick,” Ethan said. “I can’t believe he went after the marketing firm,” he said, looking from me to Brynn. “Glad you got it over him, but it’s still on the line for the bet. How’s it going there?”
“Really good,” Brynn said. “We’re in the lead to land a campaign with a major sportswear company.” She flashed me a proud look that I returned. “Pair that with the deals I’ve made since taking over, and I’m sure the profit margins are right where we need them to send Doyle packing.” She scooped up another bite, but hesitated before taking it. “Well, from my firm, anyway. Not the game, unfortunately.”
“Is this guy you’re talking about a sleaze or just competition?” Savannah asked, genuinely curious. Hendrix knew a little about our monthly poker games, but it wasn’t like the two had ever spent any time around Doyle, and thank fuck for that. The less exposure that guy had around my friends the better.
“Sleaze,” Brynn said at the same time Gareth slammed his drink down.
“That guy couldn’t be competition if he was an actual sporting event,” he grumbled, and I raised my eyebrows at his tone. “He’s a misogynistic prick who treats his daughter like garbage. The sooner we get him to bet his seat in the game and win, the better.”
Fuck, I knew the two didn’t get along, but it seemed like there was a whole other level of hatred going on there. Gareth was surly on the best of days, terrifying on others, but I’d never seen him this outright pissed before.
I cast a glance Brynn’s way, noticing the same curiosity in her eyes. Gareth mentioned Doyle’s daughter, Serenity, and yeah, we all tried to help spare her from Doyle’s wrath when we could, but he was her father—surely he wasn’t all bad?
Thoughts about my own father made me rethink that statement.
Maybe Gareth didn’t like him because of the ties Doyle had in Boston, ties that made Gareth’s in Chicago look practically squeaky clean.
Fuck, I’d made a mess when I lost that Ducati race.
“He’ll never bet his seat,” I said, giving him an apologetic look. “It took him forever to earn it. I’m sorry, man.”
Gareth shrugged, continuing to eat.
“We’ll get him out of there,” Ethan said. “One way or another.”
“If I don’t murder the bastard first,” Gareth said.
