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God, those were the days.
Jack cleared his throat and shook his head. “How is it that you can pull the kind of stunt that you pulled at the fundraiser and still manage to convince that girl to come up here with you?”
Tucker grinned. “My charm?”
Jack stood up, arms crossed over his chest as he continued to gaze below. Dressed in a plain white T-shirt, old worn jeans, and sporting more than a couple days of growth on his chin, Tucker’s older brother looked about as far removed from Washington as one could get.
Tucker kinda missed that look on him.
“Christ, I don’t know what Monique would do if I pulled a stunt like that.”
Tucker’s eyes swung to Jack’s girlfriend. The woman was perched on the edge of a sofa, trying to look interested in what Betty, Abby, and his mother were discussing. But even from here, it looked as if the woman was bored as hell. Guess they weren’t discussing the color of paint on the walls or what would look better on the windows, some of that frilly see-through shit or California shutters.
“Why is Monique even here?” Tucker asked suddenly.
Jack’s head swiveled his way. “What do you mean? It’s Thanksgiving.”
“Yeah. Thanksgiving. A time you spend with your family. Those who matter.”
Jack’s eyebrows knitted together, and he unfolded his arms. “Say again?”
Tucker shrugged. “I just don’t get you two is all. Actually, I don’t get a lot of the women you’ve dated over the past five years. They’re nothing like—“
“Don’t say it,” Jack bit out.
“Donovan.”
Tucker studied his brother. Jack’s face was dangerously pissed off, and his hands were clenched at his sides. Huh.
Donovan James was an outrageous, sexy as hell singer with a bit of twang, a bit of rock and roll and a whole lot of attitude. She’d ridden that attitude all the way to the top of the charts in more countries than you could count on both hands, and graced as many trashy magazines or even more than their brother Beau. A few years back and more than a lifetime ago, she’d been the love of a very young Jack Simon’s life.
She was, in Tucker’s opinion, the one that got away.
“Don’t go there with me, Tuck,” Jack warned, sounding seriously pissed off.
Tucker shoved away from the railing and faced his brother. “Look, I don’t want to start something, but Jack, Monique isn’t the right girl for you. She’s nowhere near what you need, and if you don’t watch out, you’ll end up married and miserable. Just saying.”
“That’s pretty ballsy of you to be handing out relationship advice. From what I’ve heard, you’ve been banging a shit-ton of women in the city for the past year. And yeah, I know Mom’s all about you getting back out there, but I think you’re going about it all wrong. What’s Abby? Just another body in your bed while you try to decide whether or not you want to live a real life without Marley?”
“This has nothing to do with Marley.”
Tucker clamped his mouth. A muscle worked its way across his cheek as he studied his brother.
“Are you sure, Tucker? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like it has everything to do with Marley.”
Tucker glared at his brother. He glared at him for so long that his shoulder muscles stretched and tightened.
“She’s been gone for over three years, Tuck. It’s time.”
Shit. There it was.
He glanced back downstairs. Caught sight of Abby giggling next to Betty and his heart twisted. He could ignore the obvious and shrug his shoulders, or he could be honest and lay it all out there. He could say the words that had been knocking around inside his head for days.
“I asked her to move in with me,” he finally said. “I think I love her.”
“You think?” Jack asked roughly. “Jesus, that’s not good enough, Tucker. Not for someone like her. That girl down there wants the whole nine yards and I don’t know her real well, but she seems the type to deserve it.”
“You think I don’t know that?” He shot a dark look at his brother.
