“How’s it going, Ave?” I whisper back.
A breath escapes like a whistle through puckered lips. “I don’t know. I feel very strange.”
She wobbles, and my hands shoot forward to catch her. I lift her, setting her on the island’s countertop so I can pull off her slinky heels. “Easy there, Cinderella.”
“I think I’d better eat soon.”
“Agreed,” I say with a wink.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have had a second glass. I never drink—”
Her worried look hits home. Drinking alcohol scares her. Has she not been drunk since that time two years ago?
“Hey.” My voice is as soft and reassuring as I can make it. “You’re all right, Ave. I’ve got you.”
“Yeah, I’m all right.” Her head bobs a nod, but it’s as if she’s trying to convince herself. Avery crosses one leg over the other, and the panels of the dress separate enough to give me a view up her thighs almost to the promised land. The alcohol has hit her hard, which speaks to her lack of drinking experience. I don’t even have a buzz.
Her head tilts, noting the direction of my gaze on her bare thighs. “I should get down.” She tries to keep her skirt from riding up as she inches toward the counter’s edge.
“Here, baby.” I pluck her off the counter and carry her to kitchen table. Setting her in a chair, I say, “Just relax. Food’s coming.”
On the island, her abandoned phone chooses that moment to buzz. She starts to rise, but I put a hand on her shoulder.
“Nah, I’ll get it for you.”
I walk over to retrieve the device and am treated to a grin from my grandfather. I roll my eyes at his amusement. The old man’s been waiting for me to get serious with someone. He might think that’s what I’m finally doing. But this thing with Avery is complicated and unlikely to last.
When Avery opens the message, she exhales an annoyed sigh. “They are so ridiculous.”
I glance down and see Declan’s name in the thread. Leaning over, I see it’s a message from Sheri.
“What’s that about?” I ask.
She wrinkles her nose, and it’s cute as fucking hell. “Nothing.”
“Seems like something,” I counter. “Spill.”
“A ridiculous matchmaking scheme.”
That’s a complete sucker punch. When I speak, my voice is a low growl. “What?”
She shrugs. “My mom and Declan’s think because we have similar dark hair and blue eyes, we’d make a cute couple. Black Irish all around I guess,” she mumbles vaguely. Her head tips forward so her wavy hair falls around her face.
What the fuck?
First of all, Declan’s not Irish. He’s a fucking Mayflower blue blood. But more importantly, since when is matchmaking Dec with Avery a thing her mom and Dec’s stepmother engage in?
“When did they say that, Avery? When we were in high school?”
“Yeah.” She tilts her head to the side, and the black velvet strands fall away from her stunning face. “And on and off since. We’re supposed to ski with them…or something? Winter break.”
Jealousy grabs me by the throat, unleashing a tidal wave of testosterone and adrenaline. My heart thumps like a gorilla stomping through the jungle.
My dad invited me for a ski trip over winter break, which I immediately nixed as a possibility. A family trip for the four of us? Hard pass. But Ethan never said anything about the Heyworths being part of the trip. Declan didn’t mention it either. Is Dec trying to keep details of the trip from me? He should know better.
An instant later, I reconsider. Declan’s a brother to me. A girl has never come between us, and if one did, it certainly wouldn’t be Avery Kershaw. Dec distrusts her even more than I did. He’s the one who floated the theory that she knew all along we hadn’t had sex but stayed quiet so the focus wouldn’t be on her night of wild underage drinking.
Declan suspects most women of cunning ulterior motives. Over the years, there’s been an endless parade of gold-diggers after the Heyworth family fortune. Dec says he was about five years old when his grandfather began impressing upon him the importance of a prenuptial agreement.
