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“White,” she replied. Honey accepted the glass and settled in for the fireworks.
4
Though the afternoon had a rocky start, eventually, the Booker family dynamics kicked in, and the tension and bad vibes disappeared. It was slow going at first. Cam was too quiet, Nash’s mom too animated, his dad too jovial. And no one commented on the absence of Melody’s husband. It was the oddest Thanksgiving Nash could remember, but Tink’s enthusiasm was contagious, and eventually, everyone came around. The kid had a way of livening things up. Even Cam’s stony face had given way to the occasional smile.
Though most of those were directed at Honey. Nash frowned at the thought. Honey had good instincts when it came to people. He’d seen them firsthand at the bar. But Cam had always had it easy—too easy—and he’d honed his skills to a dangerous edge when it came to women. Nash hoped Honey was smart enough to see through the bull. And if she wasn’t, he had no problem setting her straight.
Nash glanced around the kitchen. His mom had hit one out of the park, and Nash assumed she’d gone above and beyond because she hoped the amazing meal and hug
e assortment of desserts would stop him from ripping into his brother. But it wasn’t the meal or his mother’s feelings that stopped Nash. No goddamn way. When he and Cam got into it, they needed to be in a place where breakables didn’t hold sentimental value and furniture could be easily replaced.
He closed the dishwasher and put away the tab bucket. The Bookers were an equal opportunity kind of family. The women did most, if not all, of the prep work, so it was only fair they put up their feet and enjoy a glass of wine while the men cleaned up.
Nash put away the last pot and wondered what Honey thought of his family. She hadn’t said much during the meal, but he’d watched her, and she sure as hell was listening. The woman was a bit of an enigma, and Nash was intrigued. Or as intrigued as a boss man allowed himself to be with one of his employees.
Honey Harrison wasn’t anything like the women he took up with. And that wasn’t to say that he was attracted to doormats—he liked spunk in and out of the bedroom. But Honey was different. She was all hard edges and biting tongue. She had attitude and a lot of it. Aside from the whole boss/employee thing, he didn’t have time for complicated. And there was no doubt in his mind that Honey Harrison was complicated. And moody. And prickly as hell most of the time.
She also had a smile that could light up a room, a dry wit, and a keen intelligence he could appreciate, and a butt that filled out a pair of jeans like no tomorrow. But he’d be doing all that appreciating from afar, because he was pretty damn sure if he and Honey ever got involved, things would go from complicated to combustible in less time than it would take to grab her up in his arms and plant a big old kiss on those delectable lips of hers.
Shit. Nash glanced around sheepishly. He needed to get his head back in the game and forget about Honey Harrison.
His father left the room, mumbling something about garbage—an excuse to sneak out back for a smoke—and Nash tossed a soggy dishrag into the sink.
“Didn’t take you for the strong, silent type.” Cam leaned against the island. “You’re usually the first one to get up in my business.”
“Not now,” Nash replied, eyeing his brother. At twenty-nine, the kid was five years younger than him, so he wasn’t exactly a kid anymore, but to Nash, he’d always be the little brother. The one he looked out for. It was one of the reasons this situation was so damn hard. He couldn’t help Cam. And truth be told? He didn’t want to.
“It’s just the two of us. I think right now is good.”
“Not doing this, Cam.”
Cam’s expression was unreadable. “You believe what you’ve heard.”
The anger that had burrowed deep in Nash’s gut for the last two weeks erupted. He clenched his fists and glared at his brother. There were three things Nash didn’t tolerate. Talking during the national anthem. Mistreating a lady. And anything to do with drugs.
He wasn’t preaching from a pedestal, and he wasn’t some noble man with a point to prove. He’d seen firsthand how drugs destroyed people. When he played college ball, his wide receiver—the most talented receiver he’d ever had the pleasure of playing ball with—got hooked on meth. In less than a year, he’d lost his scholarship and dropped out of school. A couple of years after that, he’d been found dead in an abandoned building in Seattle, a syringe still in his arm. The guy had left behind his college sweetheart and their three-year-old daughter.
“A kid ended up in the hospital, Cam.”
“I’m aware.”
“A kid who bought drugs that apparently belonged to you.”
“That’s not how it went down.”
“I don’t give a flying crap how it went down. I’m not Mom or Dad. Your pretty face isn’t gonna do shit when it comes to me.” Nash had to take a moment, because the fire in his gut was about to erupt. He looked away and ran his hands through his hair. “What happened to you, Cam? I thought you were better than that.” He swung his gaze back to his brother. “You were better than that. When in hell did you become the kind of man I despise?”
Cam squared his shoulders, and his eyes narrowed. Nash’s heart tightened. This was his line. The one he’d never cross. Not even for his brother.
“Guess you’ve made up your mind, then.”
“Give me a reason to change it.”
Cam grabbed a container of leftovers and moved toward the doorway. He paused and looked back at Nash, his eyes dark with thoughts and words that should have made Nash wonder, but the pent-up anger and disappointment inside Nash were too much. He didn’t see it.
“I can’t tell you what you want to hear.” Cam disappeared, and Nash swore, turning when he heard his mother come in.
“His situation isn’t what you think,” she said softly, crossing the kitchen and grabbing the kettle from the cupboard beside the fridge. Her smart moss-green skirt was a tad wrinkled, and her creamy blouse sported a few new grease stains. She picked at one near her collar while she waited for the water to boil.
