“You’re coming, right?” I lay a hand on his arm.
His muscles flex beneath my palm and his jaw is tense. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
I smile. “Good.” Then I turn my attention to Getty. “How about you? Are you coming with us or would you rather stay here all alone and read?”
Poor Getty. He’s torn. His silly prank didn’t go as planned. Now he can throw a fit and miss out or meekly swallow his pride.
“Can’t think of anything else to fucking do,” he says with a shrug.
I hold my hand out. “And if you don’t mind, please return the book you borrowed.”
Getty can’t seem to come up with an argument. He hands over my journal without a word.
And maybe I’m kidding myself, but I like to think that the simultaneous spark in his eyes counts as a sign of respect.
10
JULIAN
Abar crawl in a college town wasn’t part of my plan tonight.
Nonetheless, I’m stuck piloting this clown car. We’re all stuffed into one pickup because the boys will be drinking, leaving me as the designated driver. I hope they know better than to pick fights in public when Cecilia is with us.
Cecilia is sitting shotgun and looks eagerly out the window. She’s showing some skin this evening. The wardrobe change suits her. I’m a big fan.
“I can’t get over the sky around here,” Cecilia says. “So many stars.”
“Fewer city lights to interfere,” I say and take my eyes off the road long enough to run my gaze over her exposed shoulders and the low neckline of her dress.
My cock throbs in my pants. I make a discreet adjustment to ease the pressure. Right behind me, my brothers are making bets over who will score some pussy first tonight.
No fucking filters on any of them.
Cecilia doesn’t appear to be listening to the backseat chatter. This trip was her idea and I’m unsure why. All the background reports on her indicate she’s most likely to spend her evenings curled up on a sofa. Then the lights are out and the bed covers are pulled up to her chin by ten p.m.
Whatever her reason, I’m using it as an opportunity. I’m just feeling a little troubled that I’ll be forced to split my attention between her and my unruly brothers.
As the backseat erupts into another raunchy argument, I turn the volume up on a Johnny Cash song to drown them out. Cecilia turns away from the window and glances my way.
The layers of her soft hair frame her face. I swear, she gets lovelier every time I look at her. I’m already jealous over the likelihood of other men checking her out tonight and having thoughts they shouldn’t be having.
“Did you go to college, Julian?” she suddenly asks and I turn the music down so she doesn’t need to shout.
“Nope.” I never gave a second thought to college. What the fuck would I major in? Mafia Studies?
Cecilia keeps staring, waiting for me to cough up more information.
“Tye had a hockey scholarship to UCLA so he went until he was drafted into the pros,” I explain. “And Getty did a year here in Laramie at the University of Wyoming before he got booted for throwing knives in the middle of a kegger.”
“It was a demonstration of skill,” Getty objects from the backseat. “Some people are too goddamn hysterical.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Those are the same people who dislike getting stabbed in the face.”
“What about you, Fort?” Cecilia asks, turning to address my youngest brother, sandwiched between Getty and Tye in the backseat.
Fort gives her a lazy smile. “I hate school.”
“He really does,” Tye says. “He had to repeat kindergarten because he wouldn’t stop climbing out of the classroom window to go eat the dirt outside.”
