“That’s just how he is,” Smith offered with a casual shrug.
“How would you know?”
“We’re friends,” he said. “Or becoming friends. I don’t know. It’s…he was at Marshall’s the night we found out about Andrew, and I went over there after dinner. We talked a bit.”
Marshall scrunched his nose, glancing down at our youngest brother. “Did you?”
“After you were asleep, we talked a bit, yeah. We talk. We hung out earlier this week.”
I worried the inside of my cheek, earlier bite mark still tender, as I waited for any indication from Smith that Lincolnhad outed our hookup to him. But Smith looked as innocent and earnest as he always did, so if Lincoln had talked about me, Smith wasn’t going to say a word.
“He’s a little lost without Silas attached to his hip,” Smith said, “but I think he’ll be fine.”
“I’d still rather wait awhile,” Marshall said. “Maybe in a couple of months.”
It had been a bit since I’d spoken to Andrew, and he wasn’t against seeing us, but I wouldn’t have classified him as chomping at the bit either. A couple months between visits wasn’t going to be a hardship on any of our social or familial calendars.
“I’ll let him know next time I talk to him,” I said.
Shortly after that, the waiter arrived with food because Finn had apparently ordered me a steak while I was in the bathroom. It wouldn’t have been my first choice considering how tangled my stomach was over the whole thing with Lincoln, but I managed to force down enough of the it so as to not raise suspicion.
The conversation over the rest of the meal was casual and normal. Finn teasing Marshall about Silas’s age, Smith making heart eyes at Marshall like he hung the fucking moon, Marshall telling Finn he was an annoying human while also making worried eyes every time Smith got quiet for two long. The three of them never ignored me but were happy to let me live on the outskirts of the conversation.
I appreciated it more tonight than normal since it let my thoughts wander back to Lincoln, back to last weekend and the conversation earlier. I still wanted to see him, but he hadn’t given me an answer one way or another, which left my hands tied. Seeing him was going to be like cracking open Pandora’s box, though, because Marshall knew him and Smith knew him,and there was no way to keep anything a secret for long with that many Covington men involved.
We all moved too fast, for better or worse.
We finally made it through dinner, Marshall begging off first so he could be home for Silas, and Finn following soon after. I walked Smith back to his car, told him goodnight, then tossed my keys into the air and headed for mine. I double-tapped the key fob and slipped into the driver’s seat.
It took a minute for my phone to connect to the Bluetooth, but then the computer-generated voice I’d downloaded for my nav that sounded a lot like Henry Cavill said, “Text message from unknown. If you were serious, I’ll come over after I’m done with Silas. If you weren’t serious, just don’t open the door or whatever. See you soon. Or not.”
CHAPTER 11
LINCOLN
Not only was the door to his apartment unlocked when I finally talked myself out of the elevator at Hunter’s building, it was also hanging open. That didn’t stop me from hesitating in the doorway, shuffling my feet and rapping my knuckles against the wood just the same. The door swung wider, and Hunter came into view, no shoes, no shirt, and a drink in his hand.
He didn’t say anything and neither did I.
We stared at each other for a breath, then I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. He made no move to come closer, and I imagined I looked as skittish as I felt.
“Do you want a drink?” he asked.
“What have you got?”
“I’m a vodka guy, but Finn drinks bourbon, and Marshall and Smith drink wine, so…”
“What if I drink rum?” I asked, lip twitching.
Hunter swallowed hard. “I’ve got rum.”
“Vodka soda’s fine,” I said.
He studied me for another breath, and I tried my hardest to not let my eyes wander down to his bare chest. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him without a shirt on, but that didn’t make thesight of him any less glorious. Hunter had the body of a model. There was no arguing about that.
I held strong until he turned to go to the kitchen, and I finally let my stare drift down the exposed length of his back. The broad swell of his shoulder muscles and the narrow dip of his waist right down to the perfect little divots over his ass. I crossed an arm in front of my chest and scratched my neck, following after him.
I hadn’t spent much time in the main part of his apartment the night we hooked up, but while he busied himself in the kitchen, I was able to take a look at his things for the first time. It was still as broody as I remembered, dark green walls and a ceiling to match, vibrant velvet pillows on a black couch, and a scattering of plants and books on every dark wood surface I could see. There was a laptop open on his coffee table, a stack of what I assumed to be court notes scrawled illegibly on yellow legal pads.
