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Well, everyone but me and Jude, apparently.
“What are you doing up?” my brother asked, glancing over his shoulder from his spot in one of the Adirondack deck chairs around the fire pit.
“A text message woke me up,” I answered and walked over to sit down in the chair beside his.
“A text message? At one in the morning?” he questioned with a raise of his brow. “Is there something you need to tell me, sis?”
“I know your late-night text messages equate to booty calls, but I’m a happily married woman.” I stared pointedly at him. But also, I smiled. “Sean Phillips and Quinn Bailey decided it was the perfect time to let me know that the power was back on in New York.”
“Hold the fucking phone,” Jude remarked. “Did you just say that Sean PhillipsandQuinn Bailey, one of the greatest wide receiver and quarterback combos in the league, are texting you?”
“A hazard of my job, I guess.”
“Hazard?” he repeated. “More like, a fucking perk. This is Quinn fucking Bailey and Sean fucking Phillips we’re talking about here.”
My mouth curls up at his giddiness. It’s so innocent and pure, and I deeply consider making fun of it. After all, what else are siblings for? “Are you fangirling right now?”
He nodded with a smirk, unabashedly proud of his enthusiasm. “Most definitely.”
“Aw, is my wittle Jude excited about the big men with fancy shoulder pads?”
Jude’s good nature was almost impenetrable, though. Teasing, taunting, ribbing—it all rolled right off his back. It was probably why he was secretly the favorite sibling of all of us.
“Hell yes. I’d wear a dress and heels to the games if I thought it’d catch those guys’ attention.”
I smile. “Well, I’m not sure if you know this, but Sean Phillips is actually Cassie’s brother, so cross-dressing may be unnecessary. Unless, you know, you really want to.”
“No shit?”
I nodded. “It’s a fact.”
“Damn, you and Wes have friends in all sorts of high places. Garth Brooks would be fucking shocked.”
I laughed. “Trust me, it’s more Wes than me.”
He scoffed. “Win, you’re the physician for the fucking New York Mavericks—it’s both of you.”
“Like you should talk,” I retorted and nudged him with my elbow. “You’re the nightclub king of New York. Pretty sure you spend most of your weekends schmoozing it up with celebrity VIPs.”
“Hazard of the job,” he repeated my earlier words, and I laughed.
“Even the supermodels?”
“Oh yeah. They’re the biggest hazards of all,” he deadpanned, and I elbowed him again.
“You’re so full of shit, and you know it.”
Jude laughed and took a swig of his beer, shaking a finger at me as he swallowed. “No, really. They’re trouble.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Fun, but trouble.”
I rolled my eyes. “So, now you know why I’m up, but why are you up?”
“Because my body, albeit Greek god-esque in nature, is on nightclub time.”
“Greek god-esque,” I muttered. “Could you be any more full of yourself?”
“What?” His smile reeked of confidence. “I’m just speaking the truth.”
Unfortunately, hewasspeaking the truth. Jude was perfectly fit and muscular in all the right places that most women lost their minds over. Which was a truly bad combination when it came to a man who had player ways like my charming-as-hell brother.
