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Liam grunted. “What does any brother think about his little sister’s new guy? Douche bag.”
“That’s what I thought,” Sam said, moving on to the onion dip and chips. Ah, there were the potatoes.
Liam shot him a curious look. “Really? Because you haven’t even met him yet. I get to say he’s a douche bag because I had to listen to him talk to me about my Roth IRAs for a good fifteen minutes before you showed up. But … the guy seems to know his shit. I guess I’ll take that over a go-nowhere loser.”
Sam kept his face perfectly blank, reminding himself that Liam was not talking about Sam. Sam who’d once upon a time been able to talk corporate finance lingo with the best of them, only to quit on a whim, to do what? Start a distillery that had yet to make any money?
Once a quitter, always a quitter, his mother liked to remind him. Often.
But his best friend made a good point. Sam didn’t have to know women’s fashion to know that Riley’s tastes were expensive. And he didn’t have to live in Manhattan to know that Riley’s West Village apartment was in one of the most in-demand neighborhoods in the city.
If she was looking for someone to keep up with her lifestyle, Brent Barry was perfect.
But if she was looking for someone to sleep with for her story …
Don’t even go there.
“Shit,” Liam said, shooting a glance over his shoulder. “They’re coming this way. Your turn.”
Sam reached out in an attempt to grab his friend’s shirtsleeve, but Liam was already on his way, scooping his nephew into the air and accusing him of taking more than his fair share of the church wine.
It was just Sam and Riley.
And the other guy.
“Sam, let me introduce you to my date.”
Sam fished another beer out of the cooler, rolling his shoulders in hopes of summoning up indifference.
He turned around.
Making eye contact with Riley for the first time since she’d suggested they hump like a couple of casual rabbits did something non-family-friendly to the front of his jeans, so instead he took in her date.
That cooled him down.
The man looked like he belonged in a cologne commercial. He had those exotic looks that send women into a tizzy. Bronzed skin, slick, dark hair, and eyes that were looking at Riley as though he couldn’t wait to get her alone.
Asshole.
“Brent, this is Sam Compton. Longtime family friend. He’s practically like another brother to me.”
Except one doesn’t sexually proposition a brother, he thought irritably.
“Nice to meet you,” Brent said, all white smile and smooth handshake.
Sam gave the universal male chin tilt in acknowledgment. “So, how long you guys been dating?”
His eyes never left Riley’s as he asked, and although her eyes were all innocence, her small cat smile revealed her game.
He let his own gaze answer back. Don’t even bother. I’m not playing.
But he wanted to. Badly. The thought of this guy taking his place in her bed …
Except Sam had said no. He’d had to say no. Even if it’s all he’d been able to think about since she’d left his place on Friday.
“Brent and I have known each other for years,” she replied smoothly.
Sam refused to let his eyes linger on the spot where Riley’s fingers touched Brent’s arm, and he scrunched his face up in an expression of mock confusion. “Have you mentioned him before?”
