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“Why aren’t you ready?” he asks me when he steps from the bathroom looking fucking hot. He’s wearing skinny jeans and a button-up black shirt that looks like it was cut to exactly his shape. His gorgeous mop of curls is still damp and tucked a little behind his ears.
“Huh?”
“Dinner is in like ten minutes.”
“You want me to come to dinner?”
“I asked you. Didn’t I?”
“I don’t remember you asking me.”
He runs his fingers through his hair.
“Shit. Sorry. I was going to. I meant to. Do you want to? I mean, you don’t have to.”
“Sure. I mean, yes. I want to. I’ll change. Give me a minute.”
I strip off my shirt and scrounge through my bag for a replacement that will look decent enough for a dinner with his brother. He comes up behind me and presses his bulge against my ass, warm hands gripping my waist.
“Maybe we should cancel dinner,” he says, and his lips press against my back.
“You can’t cancel on your brother. He came here to see you, didn’t he?” I grab a dark blue shirt from the bottom of the stack. It’s not perfect, but it’s clean.
“Fine, but I get to take it back off you the second we’re back.”
“Deal.”
***
We get to the restaurant and his brother and another guy are waiting for us. They wave us over, huge smiles on their faces.
“How much do they know?” I whisper in Brendan’s ear as we make our way over.
“Enough,” he replies, and I suddenly feel like I’m a teenager meeting the parents.
“Nice to see you again,” Carter says, squeezing my hand just that little bit too tight. “This is my fiancé, Lucas.”
Lucas’s handshake is much softer.
“Nice to meet you,” I offer, and he lets go.
“I hear you’re one of the writers on the tour, too,” Lucas says as I take the seat opposite him.
“Yep.”
“Is that how you met?”
My face warms.
“Not really,” I say, but before I can go into any more detail, Brendan interrupts.
“First, he stole my taxi,” he says, grabbing the jug of water and pouring me a glass before starting to fill his own.
“I apologized for that,” I retort.
“Duckie probably deserved it,” Carter says, and just like that, the ice is broken, and we relax around the table. I don’t say much at dinner, choosing to listen instead. They talk about the upcoming wedding, their family, and howPopsis determined to officiate.
“You know how he is when he gets an idea in his head. Good luck stopping him,” Brendan laughs.
