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“Then why the hell are you asking?”
“Because you’ve never come back from a trip before and asked about a woman. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time that you had a girlfriend. And I’m not talking about some woman you bang whenever you’re home. I’m talking about a relationship. A real relationship.”
“Sabrina and I…” God damn, but it pissed him off to say the words out loud. To know how close he’d come to some sort of heaven with a woman he hadn’t realized he needed until he lost her.
“Sabrina and I aren’t together, if that’s what you’re getting at. Hell, I’ve been gone for almost two months.”
“But you want to be together.”
Damn right.
“No,” he said quickly.
“You’ve always been a shitty liar.”
“Fuck you, Tucker.”
“Remember the time when we took Dad’s new boat out and then scraped the shit out of the side of it as we docked? Remember that?”
Teague scowled. “What about it?”
“Remember that Jack and Beau took it out too?”
“Vaguely.”
“All you had to do was follow the script. Play dumb and we would have been home free. Dad caught them with the boat, not us. But as soon as you opened your mouth, everything went to shit. You all but confessed and we spent the rest of the summer grounded from watersports. All because you never perfected the art of lying.”
“Some people might appreciate that trait.”
“I’m sure they do. Just not your eleven-year-old twin.”
“You got a point to this story?”
“My point is that right now you’re bullshitting me and you’re bullshitting yourself. You want this woman. Sabrina means something to you. Hell, if I’m reading this right, she means more to you than you’ve even realized. I think you might be in love with her.”
“Love?” Teague sputtered. What the hell? “Have you been hitting the Guinness tap all day?”
Tucker’s eyes
narrowed.
“I had lunch with Larry McEwen a few days ago.”
“Tucker, you’re all over the place. Who the hell is Larry McEwen and why should I care to hear his story?”
“Larry McEwen is a hot prospect for the Rangers. He’s six foot five, shoots right and has a wicked wrist shot. He’s not afraid of the corners and can hold his own against any enforcer in the NHL. He’s my newest client.”
Okay. Tucker had always managed to be the one guy who could get under his skin without even trying. And right, now Teague was envisioning a lunge across the table so that he could shake the story out of his brother.
“Sounds like a gem,” Teague replied, regaining some of his composure. “And I should care, why?”
“His step-father works in television.”
“Are you going somewhere with this, Tucker?”
“Apparently his step-father is a producer by the name of Max Holt.”
A muscle worked its way along Teague’s jaw. Great. This news was going to break before he wanted it to.
