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I hold up my hand. “I get it. You’ve slept with her.”
He shrugs. “Once or twice. And you know I don’t dip my stick into just anyone. I have standards.”
“Jesus.” Shaking my head, I take a drink of my beer. Sure, he has standards. Those of an alley cat.
“And for the record,” he adds, “I carded her when she first came in.”
“Thank God.”
“Have some faith in me, officer.” I flip Scooter the bird, and he lifts a brow. “You are a ray of fucking sunshine tonight. What’s gotten into you?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“Scooter, beer, now,” my brother says, sitting on a stool beside me. Scooter slides a draft across the bar, and Dean picks it up. “Where’s Chloe?”
“Sleepover with a friend.”
He nods. “You’re drinking tonight, I see.”
“One or two.”
“One-word answers. Who pissed in your Cheerios?”
“No one. Christ, what is up with you two tonight?”
Dean looks, and Scooter quickly waves him off. “Don’t worry, he’s just PMSing. I’m pretty sure our boy Tucker grew a vagina. That’s the only explanation I’ve got for the grumpy mood.”
I flick the cardboard coaster at Scooter’s head. He chuckles at my failed attempt and sets another on the bar top for me to use. I consider leaving the rest of my beer and heading home. A quiet night to myself sounds pretty damn good right about now, but there’s no way these two fuckers will let me get away with that.
Not when they can already tell that something is bothering me.
Well, not something. Someone.
Dean and I grew up with our cousin, Scooter. We were all close in age, and with our mothers being twins, we spent the majority of our childhood together. Which means, my brother and cousin are overprotective and nosy as hell, and if I leave now, one of them will likely follow.
“Your bad mood doesn’t have to do with Scarlett being back in town, does it?” Dean guesses, and I narrow my eyes at him while I take another sip of my beer. Shit, this might be the first time in years that I decide to have more than two drinks. I have Scarlett to thank for that.
“Wait.” Scooter stands up straight, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Scarlett is home?”
I tip back my head and finish off my beer. “Yup.”
“Scarlett Kincaid?” he clarifies.
“The one and only.”
“No shit?”
“She got back a few days ago,” Dean offers.
“She still hot?”
“Can we not fuckin’ talk about her?”
Someone must walk through the front door of the bar because I feel a gush of warm air, but I don’t turn to see who it is. Instead, I slide my glass to Scooter.
“One more.”
He ignores my request as his eyes lock on something over my shoulder. “Oh, yeah, she’s totally hot.”
“I said I’m not talkin’ about it.”
“You don’t need to. I’ve got a front-row seat.”
Dean and I whip around and, sure as shit, there she is in pink cotton shorts and a white tank top, looking nothing like the woman she’s become and everything like the girl she used to be. Her dark hair is a wild mess on top of her head, and there isn’t a lick of makeup on her gorgeous face. She’s never looked as beautiful as she does right now.
I scowl as I shift in my seat, my dick twitching at the sight of her.
Down, boy.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” I grumble.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t little Scarlett Kincaid.” Scooter lays the charm on thick, and she answers with a blinding-white smile. “Welcome to Scooter’s,” he says, rounding the end of the bar.
“Scooter Bennett.” Scarlett giggles when he wraps her in a giant hug. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
“Did you hear that, everybody?” he yells, garnering the attention of everyone in the room. “Scarlett Kincaid loves me. We’re getting married.”
She swats playfully at his chest and pushes him away. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Neither have you, darlin’.” He gives her a kiss on the cheek and takes his place back behind the bar.
“When did you do all of this?” she says, looking around the tavern.
I turn around, trying to take in the place through the eyes of a newbie. Scooter’s is like a second home to me. Hell, my daughter practically lived here when we gutted the place.
Exposed wood beams run the length of the ceiling. The hardwood floors are scuffed and worn, a testament to the number of people who have enjoyed a twirl around the dance floor. High-top tables and a few booths are scattered along the walls. A stage, which boasts a live band on any given Friday and Saturday night, is tucked in the corner. A small billiard room sits off to the right, and my favorite part about this place, the kitchen, is situated behind the bar.
You won’t find a better piece of apple pie than the one Scooter serves.
