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Teagan and Wiley appear, holding Angus’s projector TV and a stack of videos.
“Surprise,” Mrs. Royal whisper-yells.
“Mother, seriously? I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away the minute you interrogated Alice about your son.”
Judy Royal crosses her arms and smirks. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Get over here and hug your mother.” They connect, hugging and giggling.
“Alice and Matty, we have a projector TV for ye to watch movies,” my oldest brother announces.
“Awesome.” Matty eyes up the device in Wiley’s hands. “Alice, would you like to watch a movie with me at your house?” He squeezes Alice’s hand, and they both look at each other adoringly, and then he kisses her on the lips.
Dead silence.
Mouths gaping.
Minds grasp what they are seeing.
Angus mutters under his breath something inaudible, but I think it went something like, “I told ye so. Men, we are all the same.”
Wiley curses softly, earning a jab in the gut from me.
“Matthew, son, let’s go for a little walk. We have a few things to discuss.” Jeff is taking charge.
“Yes, sir.” He goes to kiss Alice again.
“Maybe, now, son.” Jeff waves his hand, beckoning Matty to join him.
“Wiley, can you please set up the projector in my house, and Teagan, can you help me to make the couch comfortable?”
Oh, fu—
“Sure. I think? Maybe…um…” My brother isn’t sure what the correct answer is.
“Alice, honey, while Wiley and Teagan are setting you and Matthew up for a movie afternoon, let’s go for a little chat out in the fresh air.” Mrs. R for the win.
“Okay.”
They both walk off, elbows linked.
Angus collapses on the couch with one hand flung over his eyes. “What just happened? I am not ready for Alice to date.”
I slump down beside him. “I will concede. I agree.”
I don’t think Tucker will be either.
Sixty-Two
SWEETNESS OVERLOAD
Tucker
EARLY MARCH
“KNOCK-KNOCK!”Without waiting for permission, I am over-the-top loud, entering Slade’s bedroom at his Cape Cod-style home after receiving a whispered call from Phoenix asking me to come on up to the room quickly. “Sweetness, you rang.” Not a question.
“Sssh!”I smirk at the way she hisses at me like an irritated wild cat, which in no way deters from the beauty of the ash-blonde dreadlocked, kickass female propped up in bed wearing a vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt. “The damn bossy behemoth needs his rest,” she says in a husky voice, acknowledging said behemoth in the room with an unnecessary tilt of her head.
Trust me. Slade’s hard to miss.
