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I grinned and reached for my glass of water. Everyone else at the table—including Brielle’s brothers were drinking margaritas. Spirits were high along with a healthy dose of good-natured sibling bickering.
Brielle threw an errant chip at Virgil, causing Roman to laugh. Homer sat by and glowered, sneaking glances at Jazz when he thought she wasn’t looking.
But I was looking.
And their dynamic was fascinating.
Even more fascinating, Brielle seemed completely oblivious to her best friend’s feelings about her brother.
“Stop!” Virgil said, holding up his hands to fend off the onslaught of Brielle’s chip attack. “I never would’ve told you if I thought you were going to react like this.”
“Plus, we kind of assumed you already knew,” Roman added.
“Already knew?” Brielle demanded, her cheeks pink with rage. “You’re telling me I didn’t have a date to my senior prom because you threatened all the boys in my class?” She looked at Jazz. “Did you know?”
Jazz’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to answer, but Homer spoke up. “No, she didn’t know. If she knew, then she would’ve helped you find a date for the prom.”
Brielle rose from her chair. Her porcelain skin was flushed with anger. “You guys are out of control. Any man I bring home, you scare away.”
“No one is good enough for you.” Roman’s brow furrowed. “And if a man can’t take the heat from us, then he’s really not good enough for you.”
Our table was drawing attention, but Brielle didn’t care. She was on a roll. Twenty-five years of pent-up anger at not being able to live her life on her terms was coming to a head.
“I’ve got to get out of here.” She yanked her bag off the corner of her chair with such force that she knocked the chair over onto the floor.
“You didn’t drive,” Roman reminded her.
“And Jazz is too buzzed to take you home,” Virgil said.
Brielle looked helplessly at Jazz who shot her a look of apology.
“I’ll drive you,” I offered. “I’m sober.”
Brielle gratefully nodded. “Thank you. Don’t bother with the bill. These goons can pay.”
I looked at Tavy and mouthed sorry.
“It’s fine,” she whispered back.
Brielle marched out of the restaurant and I followed at a slower pace. I looked over my shoulder at the table, noting that Homer had leaned closer to Jazz and he was staring at her with an intense expression—which she was purposefully attempting to ignore.
It was late afternoon, and the fall breeze tugged at my hair.
Once we were in the car, I asked, “Where am I taking you?”
“To a different planet,” she muttered. “I guess you can drive me home. Jazz and I actually live together.”
“That sounds like fun.” I handed her my phone to plug in the address.
“Very fun,” she said. “I love my brothers, but they drive me crazy sometimes.”
“I get it. Believe me, I get it.”
She sighed. “I hate to admit this, but they have a valid point. If a guy can’t handle the heat, then he’s not strong enough to be in my family.”
“Maybe you’re not really mad at them.”
“Oh, I’m mad at them,” she said lightly.
