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Tim’s eyes glowed with some happy, amused light, something that would be impossible to recreate in a photo or a painting, and I felt it down to the tips of my toes.
“Glad to hear it, sweetheart. And I won’t go easy on you because I like you. Deal?”
He held out his hand, and I took it.
“Deal.”
Chapter 22
Cameron
“You’re full of shit.”
Ian sat back in his chair, pinning Jax with a glare. “I’m not. He walked back into the house, his shirt was all wrinkled, the top button on his jeans was undone, and on his golden boy face was that dopey fucking smile that only means one thing.”
I sighed because I was already regretting saying yes to this. I finished my first beer and stared hard at the empty bottle, debating a second, when I’d promised myself I’d only have one.
“He’d never sleep with a client,” Jax said. Then he glanced at me. “You’d never sleep with a client. I’ve known you since we were ten.”
Two beers it was, then. I raised my hand, flagging down the server and motioning to my beer bottle. In the midst of the busy bar, she nodded.
Jax kicked at my foot under the table. “You’re avoiding. Please don’t tell me he’s right.”
Slowly, I pushed my tongue into the side of my cheek and held his eyes, finally looking away when his gaze narrowed.
“No way,” he breathed.
There was no point lying about it.
“We’re not dissecting this,” I said firmly. “You two pricks are the absolute last people I’d take advice from.”
“You don’t take advice from anyone,” Ian pointed out. “But I think decision by committee is a smart move for you, given how far your head is up your ass for this woman.”
“Oh please, you’re one to talk. Your entire high school experience was trailing Harlow like she had you on a leash, and when she moved, you got so drunk on Captain Morgan that Dad made you sleep on the front porch so you didn’t puke all over the bathroom.”
Ian’s eyes went glacial, and Jax laughed quietly into his beer.
“Maybe that’s why I’m sensitive to it,” he pointed out. “You ever think about that?”
“Where is she now?” I asked. “You ever talk to her?”
“No,” Ian said. “Don’t change the subject.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” I sat back on the stool and held my hands up. “Yeah, I have some shit to work out when it comes to her, but I’ll be fine. I’ll get it handled.”
Ian shook his head.
“I can already hear what you two would say,” I continued. “Jax—with his emotional range of a teaspoon—would tell me to fuck her and move on.” Jax tipped his beer bottle in a salute, wisely not arguing. “And you don’t get a vote, Ian.”
“Why not?”
“Because you see what you want to see when it comes to her.” I held his eyes, letting the brotherly challenge linger in the air between us. “Imagine if all of us did that with you. If we didn’t push past all your bullshit and remember that underneath all that cynicism is a guy who’s a great brother and good friend. We don’t simply tolerate you because we’re related to you, Ian. We just know what you’re hiding, so we love you through your crap. Just like we loved Erik through his before he met Lydia. And how we love Parker through his shit with Dad right now.”
He didn’t argue.
The sound in the bar was just loud enough that no one around our table could hear what we were saying, but we didn’t have to yell.
“You don’t know Ivy,” I told him.
