Shit. NowI’mupset. Justin and I co-manage his brother’s fencing business, but we’ve become close over the last year, and I thought we were something like best friends.
“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Erik flew them out on his friend’s plane.”
I check my phone, just in case I missed a message, but…no. Ouch. Still, Bram is standing right there, so I neutralize my expression.
“I don’t suppose anyone’s all that surprised. They’ve been kinda gross with all that swooning over each other.”
“Don’t be so judgmental, Ignacio. I seem to recall your love of regency romances,” Bram responds dryly. “And don’t think I didn’t notice all those poetry books in your checkout record.”
I wrinkle my nose, not wanting to admit how that poetry infiltrated my brain in a way that changed me. My words up to that point had always been harsh, a way to hide who I was, but the poems knew my truth. So does Bram, it seems.
“I was limited by the prison library, and you know it. And don’t worry about Ant—I’ve got him covered. I’ll buy him a coffee on the way to our first project and get him to talk about it. That’ll put him in a better mood.”
“That’s kind of you.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he steps back from the window. “It is very satisfying to see you doing so well, Ignacio. Make sure to stay hydrated today.”
Recognizing the command, I inhale sharply. My eyes fall to his belt, and I can almost feel it across my thighs, binding me to the chair.
“Yes, Dr. Barlowe.”
With an efficient nod, he turns back to the house, his perfect ass flexing as he climbs the steps.
I grab the top of my steering wheel and collapse forward, a familiar swelling against my zipper. Fuck.This is why I don’t come here anymore.
A few minutes later, Ant comes jogging down the steps, carrying his lunch pail, but his eyes and nose are red and his mouth is tilted downward.
Climbing into the cab, he puts on his seat belt and slumps back, crossing his arms over his chest.
He’s worked up a good scowl, and I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a rant in three, two, one…
“You know, they act like I’m their little brother and then completely ignore my existence when they do the most important thing in their lives. I mean…seriously. Who goes to Vegas to get married, anyway?”
Before I can list the number of his favorite celebrities who’ve done that exact thing, he continues, “And if you’re getting married in Vegas, can’t you at least, I dunno…reach out? Tell people?Andthey didn’t even tell me. Erik did.”
“I’m in the same boat, dude. I didn’t know until Bram came out here,” I say, tensing my jaw.
“They could’ve at least given us a heads-up,” Ant grouses. “I thought when you called somebody family, that kind of thing was assumed. Guess I was wrong.”
“Have they told anyone else?”
“No.Erik says they’re gonna announce it at that Sunday dinner thing everyoneelseis invited to, and I’m not.”
Oh, I feel that.
I mean…I get it. Sunday dinner is a Goodnight family tradition, and I’m not part of that family.Butit’s also kind of a queer family tradition, and I won’t lie, I always feel a little left out when Justin comes in on Monday mornings with some funny Anders story. I mean, who doesn’t want to join in on a pop-up pool party?
“I hear you, man. But this is a good thing, right?” I ask, trying to be the mature one.
“Ofcourseit’s a good thing. But I’d rather they didn’t call me family if they’re gonna leave me out like spare parts.”
Same,buddy.Hard same.
“Tell you what, I’ll buy you a coffee, and we’ll try to get this day started on the right foot.”
Ant shifts his jaw, pouting. “Can I get an extra shot and whipped cream with mine?”
“Friend-o, you can get whatever drink you want. Hell, I’ll even spring for a chocolate croissant.”
He lets a small smile creep onto his lips. “Okay. That’ll make it better.”
