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Chris joined us, shimmying in a little dance to the music playing. “This place is great, isn’t it? Maybe I should buy one.”
“Why would you do that?” Damon asked.
“To make money, dumbass. Why else?”
“I’m not making you enough money as it is?”
Chris shook his head. “I swear. This guy only understands one thing. He has no idea about diversificating portfolios and shit like that.”
“Diversifying portfolios,” Damon corrected. “And considering you let me handle your financial planning, you’d better hope I do.”
Chris looked thoughtful for a moment. “Forgot about that. Still, I should buy one of these places. Call it Whacking Off With Chris Rose. Seriously, if I wasn’t in the football business. I think I could’ve been some kind of image or brand manager. I’ve got so many great ideas.”
Damon shook his head in clear disappointment with his brother. “First of all, it’s a franchise. You can’t just name one you buy anything you want. Second of all—no. Forget it. I’m not even going to begin to argue why that’s a horrible name for a business.”
“Oh?” Chris countered. The two brothers devolved into an argument off to the side. I stopped listening when Belle sat down and took a nacho, then scooped salsa, sour cream, guacamole, and topped it with a pickle from what was left of Chris’ hamburger.
Belle caught us all watching her with mingled horror and amusement.
“What?” she asked. “I’m eating for two. And baby likes pickles. So does mommy,” she added with a not-so-discreet glance toward Chris.
Chelsea and I stifled a laugh, but Jack seemed distracted.
I wanted to ask him about Ally. To speculate on how things might be going with her first night watching Ben. But I also knew he probably hadn’t told anyone else about what was going on and didn’t want to betray his trust by blabbing. So I bit my tongue and sat awkwardly, feeling very much like the third wheel of the group. Although, I guessed if I was the third wheel, Jack was like the rock in a nearby field—as apart as he could be while still being present.
I got the impression that Chris liked Jack and Damon saw him as something between a cash cow and an investment. But I’d come to enjoy Chelsea and Belle’s company, so I was still glad I’d been invited.
Jack’s phone rang a short while later. Damon and Chris were still debating—Chris had changed the name of his hypothetical business to “Grip The Shaft And Stroke It Good, With Chris Rose.” Damon was about as animated as I’d seen him as he tried to explain something about sponsors and expectations to his brother, who was hearing none of it.
Jack picked up his phone. “Yes?” His face hardened, and he started to walk off.
“Everything okay?” I asked him.
“It’s fine. I just need to—” He cut himself off and hurried off toward the main building we’d come in through.
I felt my stomach sink. What if that was Ally and something bad happened with Ben? Shouldn’t Jack feel like I deserved to know, too? What if I could help?
Chelsea gave my leg a little punch and half-smiled at me. “Sorry to be that person, but you’re into him, right?”
“Who, Jack?”
“No,” she said dryly. “Our server with the brillo pad masquerading as a hair style.”
I laughed, then decided there was no use in pretending. “Sort of. It’s complicated.”
Belle nodded wisely as she stuffed another jumbo nacho loaded with a little bit of everything within reach into her mouth. “Been there,” she managed around a mouthful of food.
“You know what I learned from Damon?” Chelsea asked. “Men are usually too stubborn to admit they want something that’s good for them. They think it has to be hard. That everything has to be about sacrifice and self-denial. But deep down, they’re happier when they learn to find a balance.”
Belle swallowed. “Or they’re like Chris.”
“Brain dead?” Chelsea asked.
Belle tossed an onion ring at her, which Chelsea dodged easily. “Watch it. At least Chris doesn’t iron his underwear.”
“That was one time.”
“That we know of. Damon probably does inventory on how many eyebrow hairs he has every morning. I bet he even—”
“Chris probably couldn’t even count how many eyebrow hairs he has,” Chelsea countered.
I was about to be nervous when it felt like the argument was getting nasty, then both women laughed, smiling it off like it was a routine of theirs to trade insults. I guess it made sense when two women were married to brothers. Some of that sibling rivalry probably trickled down.
“So he’s either too stupid to know what’s good for him, or too stubborn?” I asked.
“Yep,” Both women answered in unison.
I laughed. “Okay. And what if I’m not what’s good for him?”
Chelsea shrugged. “You give it a shot because you clearly like him. For some reason,” she added in a tone that drew a laugh from me and Belle.
