“My brother is an idiot,” is her reply.
“Most men are,” Wylder replies.
“Speak for yourself,” I tell him with a chin lift.
My family, as much as I love them, is so freaking nosy and opinionated about everything. Working together doesn’t make anything easier. Nothing is private, but it never has been. I should be used to it by now.
“If she likes me, she’ll be back. I left the ball in her court.”
“Does she know you’re interested?” Dad asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Clearly, I don’t know much about women.”
“Obviously,” Tate mumbles before I can finish the statement.
“I never knew asking someone for their number was that important. She could’ve asked for mine, you know.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t happen,” Tate says.
“Women have asked for my number, sister.”
“Not the kind you want to marry,” she replies.
I snap my lips shut at her response. I hate to say it, but she’s right. All of the women who have asked formy number in the past aren’t the type I’d ever consider getting into any sort of long-term relationship with, let alone marry. It was all about fucking, plain and simple.
“Is this the sweet woman you were talking about this morning?” Dad asks Ma, trying to catch up to the conversation.
“Yeah,” she says as she places her hand over his.
They’re my inspiration. My entire life, I’ve watched them be completely devoted to each other. Well, not my entire life. My birth mom passed away when I was little, and my dad met Tilly a few years later. I barely remember a time without Tilly in my life. She’s really the only mom I have memories of, which makes me sad, but I’m extremely happy I have her to fill the void.
“How did she pay?” Dad asks Ma.
Ma stares at him and doesn’t reply.
“Did she use a credit card?” he asks her.
Ma nods. “Yeah.”
“So, you know her full name.”
I stare at him as I push my eyebrows together. “Don’t even say it,” I tell him.
“You can find her online, then. Maybe reach out and say hello,” he explains, like it’s really that easy.
“That’s super creepy, Dad,” Tate tells him, coming to my rescue from Dad’s grand plan.
“Is it?” He scratches at the scruff on his jawline. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s kind of romantic,” Ma says, giving him a sweet smile. She thinks every idea the man has is romantic.
“If you’re a stalker,” Tate adds.
“Creepy is better than nothing,” Gram says from where she’s still stuck to me like glue.
I glance around the bar, looking for a rescue from this batshit crazy conversation. I lock eyes with Vinnie. He’ll save me.
But before I have a chance to excuse myself, he heads our way. “What’s up?” he asks when he’s close enough to hear our response over all the talking.
