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“Yes,” Whitley acquiesced. “As long as we’re not doing anything?”
“Nope.”
“We have the poker night tonight anyway,” Malcolm reminded me.
“Shit, right. Yeah, I already have plans. So, by all means, and lord help you ladies with Whitley in your midst. What exactly is the plan?”
“Karaoke,” Margaret said.
My grin went feral. “Oh, that’s good. Whitley cansing.”
Whitley smacked me on the arm. “I regretevery daythat I told you about my singing roots, King. Every day.”
“Oh yeah? I remember you serenading me on the beach all night with that voice, Bowen,” I crooned. “Can’t get out of it now.”
“That was a secret,” she teased. “No singing for me!”
“Oh my god, stop!” Margaret groaned. “Y’all are socutethat it’s almost disgusting.”
Whitley’s cheeks colored. “Thanks for the invite. I’ll be there so long as singing is optional.”
“Totally optional. We’ll have … other entertainment anyway.”
“Is tonight actually karaoke, Maggie?” Malcolm teased his younger sister. “Or are y’all just going to get strippers?”
“Big bro, you know that I am always truthful,” Margaret teased. “Us girls are going to have a great time.”
“Strippers?” Whitley asked with an expression I’d read on her before.
I placed my hand on the small of her back and brushed my lips against her ear. I didn’t miss the shiver that shot straight through her at my touch.
“I know what that look means,” I teased. “Maybe don’t hook up with any of the bridesmaids.”
Whitley leaned into my touch with a husky breath. “No promises, King.”
I circled my fingers against her back. “Can we at least share if you intend to bring them back with you?”
“In your dreams.”
I released her with another laugh. “Oh, you know me so well.”
She rolled her eyes at our usual banter and then moved toward Margaret to discuss the night out. I tracked her as she moved away. Because she was wrong. My dreams were nothing of the sort at present. They all revolved around this one little pixie.
* * *
Whitley switched out sundresses and disappeared with my cousin Margaret later that evening. They had been thick as thieves before the day even wore off. They were probably going to burn some buildings down by the end of the night. Whitley was the sort of person to do that with, and Margaret had her own rules about the world.
I’d have been shocked she was marrying at all if I hadn’t known the circumstances.
I frowned when I remembered it, but there was nothing to be done about it.
So, I snatched up my wallet and headed downstairs. Malcolm was hosting the poker night at his home on the outskirts of town. It was nearly the size of my aunt and uncle’s place with the same white roses that thrived for our family. Malcolm had risen in the ranks of Dorset & King spectacularly. He was what I could have been if I’d stayed. Not that I’d wanted to stay. Not even for a shot at running the whole damn company.
I parked alongside Malcolm’s lifted pickup and headed inside without knocking. I could already hear the raucous behavior within. I bypassed the living room and stepped into the game room. The space was already cloudy with cigar smoke. Whiskey sat in crystal glasses around a green felt poker table. A pool table was unused across the room.
“Hey, you made it,” Locke said, coming to his feet to shake my hand. He was the man of the hour and already intoxicated.
Blake stood up next, elbowing me in the side. “You sly motherfucker.”
