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This was typical Joey—sparking up a friendship as easily as he could snap his fingers.
A sudden jolt of jealousy burned inside of me, the unfairness of how easy life was for my brother making me feel hard done by. That tinge of jealousy was quickly doused out by the huge tsunami of guilt that enveloped me.
Joey didn’t have anything easy. He made the best of every situation. He was just trying to survive like the rest of us.
“Can I get you a towel or something?” Johnny offered in a low tone, gaze trailing over me. Frowning, he added, “You’re soaked.”
“Holy shit,” Joey barked then, startling me. “What in the name of Jesus happened to you?”
Setting the teapot down, he stood up and stalked toward me. Leaning closer, Joey took a whiff of me and then quickly backed away. “Jesus Christ, Shannon,” he gagged. “What did you roll in—dog shit?”
Wow, tactful, big brother, thanks a lot…
“No!” I balked and then tried to sniff myself inconspicuously. “I don’t smell.”
“You don’t smell?” Joey shot back mockingly. “You’re so ripe my eyes are watering.”
God, Joey!
“My dogs mauled her,” Johnny quickly interjected, running another hand through his hair. Droplets of water continued to drip from his broad shoulders to the tiles on the floor as he spoke. “They knocked her down outside and rolled all over her.”
“Huh,” my brother bit out. “Funny how my sister always seems to get mauled and knocked around when you’re near her, Kavanagh.”
Johnny’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t respond.
Turning his attention to me, Joey said, “You need to get out of those wet clothes, Shan, before you get pneumonia.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but my brother continued without giving me a chance.
“Do you have something she can throw on?” Joey asked, looking to Johnny. “Or some bleach to mask that god-awful smell?”
Johnny nodded slowly. “Yeah, I can find something—”
“Or we can just leave?” I offered, glaring at my brother, praying he would take the hint. “We should go home, Joey.”
“You’re not getting into my girlfriend’s car smelling like that,” Joey shot back.
“Don’t be a dickhead,” I growled. “Take me home.”
“You guys can’t go home yet. We haven’t had tea and chats,” Gibsie piped up. “And I have scones baking in the oven.”
“You baked scones?” I asked, momentarily distracted. “You?”
“Yes, me,” Gibsie shot back, looking slightly wounded. “I’ll have you know that I’m a wonderful baker.”
“Sorry,” I quickly replied, not wanting to offend him. “You just don’t strike me as a baker.”
“Relax, I’m totally fucking with you,” he laughed. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He pointed to the stove and said, “For all I know, those scones could be killers.”
“Killer scones?” I scrunched my nose up at the concept. “Then I hope you won’t mind if I pass.”
Gibsie chuckled. “I like you.” He looked over my head and said, “I like her,” before returning his attention to me. “But not the smell.” He pegged his nose with his fingers and added, “Your brother’s right. You need to change.”
“That’s okay, I’m going home—” I began to say, but once again, I was interrupted, this time by Gibsie.
“Johnny, she can take a shower here, can’t she?”
My eyes bulged. “What?”
