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Merit: Lunch? You and me? Why?
Loyal: To eat food. Why else?
Merit: Are you dying?
He frowned at his phone and gave a grunt of annoyance.
Loyal: No, dipshit. Can’t two brothers go to lunch?
Merit: Asher and I have done lunch. You and Asher have done lunch. Me and you? We don’t do lunch.
Loyal: We do today.
Merit: Seriously. How many months you got left? Is it a brain tumor? An aneurism about to burst? Testicular cancer?
Loyal seriously second-guessed his offer even as he replied: Shut the fuck up and meet me at Nick’s in half an hour.
Merit: That’s the Loyal I know. C ya in a few.
He rolled his eyes and grabbed his keys.
His youngest brother strolled into the pub five minutes late, looking like he’d rolled out of bed and tossed on the first pair of ripped jeans and sweatshirt he picked up off the floor.
Loyal raised his glass of Black Maple Hill from the table he’d snagged in the corner. Merit shrugged out of his leather jacket and took a seat as their red-headed waitress paused on her way by to ask his drink order. He requested a beer, and she promised to return shortly before moving on to the next table with her tray of food. Merit turned his head to watch her go, his gaze locked on the skin-tight fit of denim across her curvy backside.
“Hey,” Loyal greeted wryly as he lifted his bourbon for a sip.
“Hey,” he returned as he twisted back around. “You notice if she’s wearing a ring?”
“Can this not be about you picking up a chick?”
“I just want to know if I can flirt or not.”
“She’s going to flirt either way for a good tip, so ease up man.”
Merit picked up his menu with a muttered, “And this is why we don’t do lunch.”
Loyal grit his teeth, then forced his jaw to relax while his brother perused the options. By the time he set the menu aside, their waitress—Carly—returned with Merit’s beer and a big, bright smile. She was not wearing a ring, and the two flirted their asses off as she took their order. On her way back to the kitchen, she tossed his younger brother a saucy grin over her shoulder.
While Loyal had no problem finding women to spend time with, he much preferred a more sophisticated approach. Some real conversation added to the whole process and at least gave the illusion of something more than a hook-up.
That realization was somewhat startling, and he frowned slightly. After his two broken engagements, he’d sworn off anything resembling—or that could turn into—a committed relationship. As long as both parties consented, it didn’t have to be anything more than mutual fun, so why the hell would he feel the need to disguise sex as something more than sex?
That was a little too deep of a question to ponder on an empty stomach before noon on a Monday, so he lifted his glass and asked, “What’s new?”
“I’m on a lunch date with my big brother,” Merit deadpanned. “You tell me.”
A wry grin curved his lips as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “It’s been brought to my attention recently that I can be a bit of an ass, and I—”
Merit nearly choked on his beer, then had to wipe a dribble off his chin. “A bit of an ass? Who uttered that massive understatement?”
“I was going to ask if I’m really that bad, but no need now.” He avoided revealing who made the accusation. “I don’t mean to be.”
Not all the time, anyway.
“Only since Lisa.” His brother’s brown gaze narrowed as he rested his forearms on the table while twisting his beer round and round with the tips of his fingers. “But then again, I imagine it sucks having been engaged twice and still never been married.”
“It does,” he agreed. It was humiliating, too.
