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"Thanks."
"By the way, you missed the shitshow here yesterday," he says with a grin.
"Fuck off," Zayne immediately growls. "There was no show."
I cock a brow, not sure what the fuck they're talking about.
"Zayne tried to score a date with Emma Cooper, Camila's assistant." Zion's grin grows. "Ask him how it went. Please ask him how it went."
"How'd it go?"
Zayne starts muttering under his breath. I can't make out a damn word he's saying…if he's even speaking English. But his face is red. The motherfucker is actually blushing. It must have been a disaster if he's blushing because Zayne has no shame.
Zion cracks up. "He mistook her for a client, wouldn't let go of her hand, and then told her that they could get the dating shit out of the way so he could put a ring on her finger. She basically fled from the office like the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. I'm waiting for Nashville's finest to show up with an Order of Protection."
"Jesus Christ, Zayne." I stare at him in shock, caught between the desire to laugh in his face and commiserate. I know exactly how it feels to be knocked flat on your ass by a woman you never saw coming. Kenna certainly sent me reeling. But Jesus. My oldest brother wouldn't know subtle if it bludgeoned him over the head.
"Fuck both of you," he growls. "It wasn't that bad."
"No? She asked you to let her go and you said no. You also said you weren't touching her; you were holding her hand. As if there's a fucking difference. I had to remind you that touching people without their permission is illegal. And then she turned you down twice in a row."
I roar with laughter, unable to contain it any longer. My older brother isn't an idiot. He's whatever comes after idiot.
"No wonder Ma wanted to give you both up for adoption," he says, stomping toward his office. "You're both wicked, evil children."
"We love you too, big brother!" Zion calls after him.
"Fuck off!" Zayne shouts back.
"Tell me about your show tonight," I order Kenna while I hang a security camera in the living room after picking her up from the studio.
"It's at Rucker's," she says, curling up on the couch with her legs underneath her and a blanket draped over her lap. "It's a bar down on Broadway. Really popular little place. It gets a lot of foot traffic."
"You play there frequently?"
"A couple times a month usually."
"Same crowd?"
"There are regulars, but there are a lot of tourists too." She tips her head to the side, watching me. "Are you really sure I need security cameras in here?"
"Yes. If anyone breaks in, this will catch them."
"It'll also catch me if I decide to walk around naked," she mutters.
"You won't hear me complaining."
She huffs, rolling her eyes at me. "You say that now. Just wait until you're the one walking around naked and some creep hacks into the live feed and plasters your rear end all over the internet for the world to see."
"You watch too many movies."
"You don't watch enough true crime."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "No one will be able to access the feed, Sparrow."
"Says you."
"I'll make you a deal," I say, prowling across the living room toward her. "I'll hang it as close to the door as I can, and we'll mark off the floor at the edges of the feed. So long as you stay outside of that area, anything you do will be off camera."
