I let out a soft, shaky laugh. “That’s a loaded question.”
“Oh?” He opens the truck door for me, and I slide inside.
“My brother sent his best friend to keep an eye on me,” I say, buckling in. “Let’s just say he’s not exactly thrilled with the photos.”
“Who’s the friend?”
“Will Flowers.”
Nash huffs a quiet laugh as he starts the engine. “Thatdoesn’t surprise me. Will’s always had a hot head. Used to throw punches before he learned to keep his gloves on. We got into it a few times when he was still on the circuit.”
I blink. “You fought Will?”
“More than once. He’s got that bottled-up energy. Either uses it or explodes.” Nash glances sideways at me, one brow raised. “Interesting that he agreed to come all this way just to keep an eye on you.”
I shrug, looking out the window. “We’re not dating, if that’s where your mind’s going.”
He chuckles. “Wasn’t gonna ask.”
“Good,” I say, then pause. “But really, we’re not. He’s just loyal to Sam. To a fault.”
Nash hums like he doesn’t quite buy it, and part of me doesn’t either.
As if on cue, my phone dings.
Sam Stone
Will said you’re going out with Kimzey again.
Are you sure this is a wise move, sis?
It’s only going to get worse before it gets better.
I let out a dry laugh and tilt the screen toward Nash. “See what I have to deal with?”
He squints at the messages, then raises his brows. “Damn. On one hand, I approve that he’s looking out for you. On the other… yeah, I can see how that would drive someone to tequila before noon.”
“Exactly.”
The elevator dings, and the doors open. We step out into the lobby, but the air feels lighter somehow.
Will smiles and offers me one of the coffees he brought earlier.
“Well,” he says, tapping his cup against mine, “Here’s to telling overprotective brothers and ex-rodeo stars to mind their own business.”
I grin. “Cheers to that.”
We walk a few blocks to a place Nash knows. It’s a converted brick warehouse with string lights across the ceiling and a menu full of things like jalapeño cheddar grits and brisket Benedict.
The hostess clocks Nash immediately.
“We’ll get you a table on the patio,” she says with a smile that’s too practiced to be genuine.
“Hope you like feeling like a zoo exhibit,” Nash murmurs to me as we follow her out.
“I prefer avoiding being watched,” I mutter back.
He just grins. “No such luck.”
