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By the time it was ten to twelve, I was as ready as I was going to get. I had no idea what Mark had planned for the day. So I slipped into pretty baby pink lace panties and bra, then slid on simple black skinny jeans and a nice soft, lightweight white sweater, spritzed on some of my perfume, and got my feet into some black booties and called it a day. It was both casual, but fancy enough for eating out if that was the plan at some point.
It had been so long since I had a date that I actually forgot to clarify the parameters of the date.
But whatever.
I wasn't going to focus too much on that shortcoming.
I was going to focus instead on the excitement of the unknown.
Usually, in my life, the unknowns were terrifying, best to never allow to happen. That was why we planned everything out into godawful, painful detail. It was to save us from any unforeseen circumstance that could lead us to a cell or a casket.
And sure, maybe my brothers were right, maybe Mark was dangerous. But my gut told me otherwise.
So whatever unknowns he had planned, I was going to try my best to enjoy them.
"Yo, your boyfriend is here!" Rush called, making me snort as I shoved money into my purse, and grabbed my most recent burner cell and headed out of the bathroom just as a knock sounded at the door.
I didn't even bother to try to get to it first. It would have been a futile effort. Atlas and Nixon were pretty much waiting by the door.
So I went ahead and leaned against the closed bathroom door and waited to watch the show play out.
"Mallick," Nixon greeted, moving backward in a way that suggested Mark was meant to step inside. And, maybe given that he was expecting an interaction like this, Mark seemed completely comfortable as he moved inside, dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeve blue tee, making me glad I hadn't gotten too gussied up.
"Scotti," he greeted me, giving me a small smile before facing up my brothers.
"Quick introductions," I offered, staying where I was. "That one breathing down your neck is Nixon. The one looking you over for possible weapons is Atlas. The one giving you a death glare from the living room is Rush. And the one looking at you like he will gut you if you put so much as a scratch on me which, I might add, he will, is my oldest brother Kingston. And as all you guys know, this is Mark Mallick."
"Gotta wonder why you have such an interest in my sister," Atlas said, brow raised.
To that, Mark's smile stretched wide and amused, his eyes dancing. "We're doing this, huh?"
"Doing what?" Nixon asked.
"The 'what are your intentions toward my sister' thing. I respect it. I'm just surprised she's cool with it is all."
"You know, it's easier just to go with the flow," I said, giving him a smile. "Plus, it weeds out the guys too lily-livered to go out with me in the first place."
"Easier for you, maybe," he said, giving me a wink before turning fully to face all my brothers. "Alright, let's do this."
And then they did.
I just stood and watched with growing respect for a man I knew so little about. It said a lot about your character if you could stand your ground when faced with four men intent on trying to scare you off your interest in their little sister. Maybe he fared better than any before him for the sole reason that he himself had many brothers, was likely used to shows of masculine confrontation, chest-beating, and testosterone-seeping.
Sometime in the middle of all of this, Kingston moved across the room to lean back against the door with me, arms folded across his chest.
"Gotta say, I kinda fucking like this one."
That was actually a pretty big deal. While he hadn't ever actively tried to keep me from dating, he sure as hell made it clear when he thought someone I brought around was beneath me. Which was every single man.
Kingston wasn't a difficult man to please. In fact, he was definitely the most laid-back of them all, likely because he had given himself ulcers about us for so long. He knew when he needed to just let things roll of his back.
But he mistakingly placed me up on a pedestal.
Maybe because I reminded him of our dead mother.
Actually, that would explain a lot.
"Kinda a shame we only have a week left here, huh?" he asked, giving me a sympathetic smile.
Agreeing perhaps too much with that given that I hadn't spent more than five minutes alone with the man, I deflected. "Let's not get too ahead of ourselves. He might chew with his mouth open or make me take off my shoes before I get in his car."
