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The sleek design of the room reminds me of . . . things—bad things—but somehow all memories disappear when I see three pairs of hazel eyes looking at us from across the room.
The first word that comes to mind is puppies.
Happy, easily pleased puppies.
The twins have floppy, curly brown hair and the guy—man, no, Tucker—has short hair of the same shade. All three of them smile easily, which I’d have thought would be concerning considering everything, but it’s not.
He—Tucker is obviously taller than . . . all of us, probably taller than freaking Barry and just as ripped, but he doesn’t really look like a grown-up, except for the beard.
He certainly isn’t dressed like he’s the billionaire owner of three professional teams—worn jeans, a leather jacket over a black henley, and some very well-loved sneakers.
It’s almost absurd to me that someone whose father just died, who just gained custody of two boys, could look so at ease.
I know it’s been over two weeks since all of that went down, but compared to what I left in Miami, I thought he’d look . . .
Well, at the very least more tired.
Why doesn’t he look tired?
The dark stubble on his cheeks, over what looks like a perfectly carved jaw, is fuller than anything I was able to grow at twenty-three, that’s for damn sure, and more impressive than what I can grow at twenty-eight.
The sudden, stark spark of attraction has my chest caving in, my lungs constricting. My brain and body react instantly—pure rejection—they remember what attraction can lead to.
This is dangerous, it’s wrong, a mistake.
But he’s already walking over, already lifting a hand, already greeting Hannah with a handshake and a quick kiss to her cheek.
“How are you doing?”
“Just fine,” is her easy answer, but I know her smile speaks for itself. She’s happy as can be and more at peace than ever before. “This is my brother, Sullivan—”
“Sunny.”
Where did I get the nerve to speak? To interrupt?
I’ll never know.
I kind of want to find out what organ or part of my brain is to blame for it, though, because I know the only right thing to do now is to tell Tucker this isn’t happening and to cut tail and run the hell out of here.
Out of this room that reminds me too much of Henry’s parents’ office, and away from Tucker who, though he looks nothing like Henry, has all the alarm bells in my head going off.
“Hey, Sunny, nice to meet you.”
Having his focus, his smile aimed at me, and feeling that first contact of skin to skin is fucking electrifying. Like shock therapy.
His hand is calloused, and I hate how much it surprises me, how much it intrigues me.
“And thanks for coming over. I gotta tell you,” he continues when I don’t say anything back, like an idiot, and looks back at Hannah for a moment before turning to me again. “If this works out, it’ll be a lifesaver for me. I’m in the middle of probably the busiest time of my life, and I don’t want the boys to feel neglected in any way because of it.”
Those are the right words.
It’s exactly what a decent person would say in this situation, but I’ve fallen for the right words before.
I can’t trust them. I can’t trust him.
“I’m sure you’re not neglecting them,” I tell him. Why do I sound so sincere?
Why do I fucking believe the words coming out of my mouth despite what I just thought?
