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I did love him, but if he didn’t love me back…
I paced around Remy’s house for a while before pouring myself a drink and throwing it back in one go. Someone knocked on the door as I was fixing another drink. Had Beau come back?
“Corbin, are you in there? It’s Lance. I’m tired of you fucking ignoring me.”
Oh shit. I’d been avoiding Lance for a couple of days. He’d called a couple times that afternoon, but I’d let the calls go to voicemail. I was enjoying my time with Beau, and I didn’t know what to say to him. I was afraid I would accidentally reveal what had happened with the Ferrari or say too much about what was going on between Beau and me.
Lance’s visit was just a way of reality slapping me in the face. How long had I thought I could see Beau without my brothers finding out? There was no way it could be indefinite, and no matter how willing Beau was to fight for me, I wasn’t going to let him. He wasn’t getting hurt because of me.
“I’m fine,” I called through the door. “I don’t need you checking up on me.”
“You don’t get to go dark and not have one of us come looking for you.”
I didn’t know what my plan was. Lance wasn’t going to leave without seeing me. I took a deep breath and opened the door. Tony, Lance’s pet monkey, leapt from Lance’s shoulder onto mine. He threw me off-balance, and I would have fallen, but Lance reached out and steadied me. Tony chattered loudly, scolding me for not being ready to receive him.
“Have you got any food for him in here?” Lance asked.
“Probably. Remy usually keeps mango chips for him now.”
“And he says he doesn’t like Tony. One day they’re going to be best friends.”
“I wouldn’t count on that.” Remington barely tolerated the monkey, and I knew he didn’t like Tony being in his house. Remy had given me a long list of things I wasn’t supposed to do in his home: host a party, be too loud—as if that was a thing in the French Quarter—destroy a single one of his possessions, bring home a hookup. He hadn’t mentioned not letting Tony in. What difference did it make? I’d already broken the hookup rule, though Beau wasn’t really just a hookup, was he? Ugh, I really didn’t want to think about that.
“What?” Lance asked.
I’d almost forgotten he was there. “Nothing.”
“You’re thinking about something, something unpleasant.”
“You. I don’t need you checking up on me.”
“You know you can’t refuse to answer my calls and get away with it. Pop and Marjorie would kill us.”
“I’ve been texting Mama, so I’m sure Pop knows I’m fine.” I’d had to dodge a lot of questions, but the last thing I needed was my mother showing up and demanding to know what I was up to. Thank God I was house-sitting. Otherwise, I’d have to explain my absence to her if I stayed with Beau.
“He knows whatever you’ve been telling Marjorie, but I bet neither of them know what’s really going on with you. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
I ignored him while I found the mango chips. I slowly handed Tony a few of them while I tried to calm my anger. Yelling at Lance would get me nowhere.
“I’m not involved in anything. I’m enjoying spending some time alone.”
Lance raised his brows. “Since when do you like to be alone?”
“Since my brothers pester me and treat me like I’m five.”
Lance ignored my comment. “Where’s Remy’s car? For that matter, where’s your car?”
Of course he noticed my car was gone. “Remy’s car is in the garage where it always is. No way would he ever park the Ferrari out in the open overnight.”
“No, it’s not. I looked.”
Goddammit, the day had been going so well until I’d said too much, and Beau had to leave, and now this. “Why were you looking in the garage?”
“Curiosity. Now talk.”
My mind whirled as I tried to determine how little I could tell him.
“Quit trying to make up a good story and just tell me the truth.”
“The Ferrari got a little scratch on it when I was at the casino. It’s at Beau’s shop getting fixed.”
Lance looked both angry and horrified. “A little scratch?”
I was glad I had a lot of experience bluffing my way through things. “Yes, nothing major, but I wanted to return it looking perfect.”
“If Remy finds out…”
“Don’t tell him.”
“Keep talking, and I’ll consider that. Where’s your car?”
“I went out drinking this afternoon, and I got a ride home. I’ll get the SUV later.”
“Who gave you a ride home?”
“I don’t have to share all my business with you. I’m a fucking adult, no matter what you think.”
“I think you’re putting yourself in danger.”
“I don’t always have to call someone in the family to rescue me. I can take a fucking Uber.”
