Riley lifted his head and regarded me with the kind of glare historically reserved for traitors and pedophiles. "You're not funny."
"You know what else isn't funny?" I asked. "You almost inciting a brawl over dessert. That wasn't cool, man."
Riley knocked his knuckles against the bar top twice. "If you'd just tell me what went down with you and Erin, I'd stop instigating."
"Why do you need to know?" I asked, returning to the coaster.
"Consider it quid pro quo, man. I confessed all of my unrequited love for Miss Honey, and what did I get for that? I found you molesting my sister. Multiple times."
I shrugged, not sure how much I wanted to admit. "It wasn't multiple times, and I did put your nose back together," I said. "She needed a breather from the festivities, so we went into town. We got a drink, walked around the harbor. That's it."
Riley tipped back his drink. "Yeah, that sounds like a nice way of telling me nothing," he said. "That's not even a tenth of the truth, is it?"
I shook my head. "Why are you entitled to a full report?" I asked. I was definitely bitter now.
Riley held out his hands, conciliatory. "Okay, okay. You don't have to say anything. I'll guess," he said.
"Please don't," I said, groaning.
"Hmmm. Let's see," Riley said. "It was the night before the wedding. It was the first time she'd been back to Massachusetts in years. That must've been a lot for her. She probably wanted to get the hell away from the inn because she knew everyone was waiting for her to fuck some shit up and—"
"I'm really fucking tired of hearing that," I interrupted. "Y'all need to give her some credit."
Riley leaned back, his arms folded on his chest as he looked me over. I'd already given too much away. "She wanted to do something crazy," he said, "and you couldn't say no to her."
"Let's talk about football," I said. "Football is a much better topic. Safer."
"Her crazy isn't my crazy, dude," Riley continued. "She likes getting lost in dark forests and climbing fucking glaciers and flirting with priests—"
"She flirts with priests?"
He jerked a shoulder. "I mean, I don't know of specific instances, but would it surprise you that much?"
"A little bit, yeah," I said. Erin lost her religion a long, long time ago. Could anyone blame her? "I don't think she hangs out with many priests, and she's not…" I almost said she wasn't a flirt, but the truth was that she wasn't anintentionalflirt. She didn't know how alluring she was, and she didn't use it with any strategy.
"Salud." The bartender placed another round in front of us, and Riley knocked his bottle against mine. "So what did Rogue dare you to do, and are you sufficiently traumatized?"
I lifted the beer bottle to my lips, drinking deeply while I watched today's college football highlights on the television at the end of the bar.
"It looks like you're significantly traumatized," Riley mused. "Well done, Rogue. Well done."
Shifting in my seat, I leaned an arm against the bar and studied him. There was a smudge of pumpkin pie on his shirt, his socks didn't match, and his fly was open. He played the part of the black sheep, the dumbass, the fuck up…but he was none of that. He was as scatterbrained as they came, and he sincerely struggled with zipping his pants, but he was a good guy, the kind I'd trust with my sisters.
If they hadn't been primarily concerned with marrying for money, mineral rights, and social status, of course.
And Riley was a motherfucking vault. He had a gift for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was often party to his siblings' most confidential moments, but even under the weight of alcohol, he never let those stories loose. It was everyone else who told those stories first, never Riley.
"Remember how we promised we wouldn't let you object during the ceremony?" I asked.
"Yes," he grumbled. "My worst good decision ever."
"You have to promise me that you won't repeat this," I said. "You can get as many medical favors as you want, but you're not allowed to even hint at it. Ever."
"Shit," he huffed. "What did she get you into? Did you get a tramp stamp of a volcano? Dick piercing? Absinthe shots? Cow tipping? Goat theft?"
"That involved a lot of farm animals, man, and that made it strange." I gave him a curious look, waiting for some explanation of his fascination with livestock, but none came. Blowing out a breath, I said, "We got married."
He slammed his beer down on the bar. "You fuckin'what?"
