“Is it just me,” he murmured, sidling closer to Than as they reached the produce section, “or are we getting stared at like we’re Chippendale dancers?”
“What the fuck is a Chippendale dancer?” Than asked dryly.
“Wow, you do need schooling. Vegas, buff male strippers.”
“Male strippers. That’s a thing?” Than was floored. “Men take their clothes off…for money?”
“Yeah, are you asking yourself ‘Where do I sign up?’ Weighing the pros and cons of each job? Navy SEAL, badass warrior. Guns, bullets flying, mission focused. Half-naked object of female attention, all that weightlifting and protein shakes, and man, never skipping leg day. That’s a hard one.”
Fly’s shoulders shook. “Shamrock, shut the fuck up before Than decks you.”
“He wouldn’t deck me. I’m an encyclopedia of?—”
“Useless facts,” Fly said.
Meanwhile, Fly grabbed bananas, apples, and a pre-packed salad with that baby-brain genius intensity he used for everything. He dropped them into the cart without looking, then turned just in time to catch Shamrock reaching for a tub of caramel dip. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Fruit needs a wingman,” Shamrock muttered.
Than caught sight of a young woman near the end of the aisle, maybe twenty, maybe younger, openly staring at Fly like she didn’t know if she wanted to flirt with him or sketch him in charcoal and keep the portrait under her pillow. Fly was too busy wrangling Shamrock’s impulses, and he did have a girlfriend.
Smart, Than thought. He and Fly were technically jailbait. But when her eyes flicked toward him, his body still responded. Sex was always on his mind. Sometimes it hit so hard, he could barely think straight, but this wasn’t about pickups. This was about Bailee, who needed them. Bear had put his trust in them.
Before they rolled on, Than reached out and added a package of strawberries to the cart. Nobody stopped him.
Fly’s jaw was tight. His knuckles were white where they gripped the cart, like this whole thing was personal. Than figured it kind of was. Fly had been the one who got the card, passed from Bear’s hand without ceremony, like it was just an errand.
But Than had seen his brother’s eyes.
Not just tired. Different. The kind of different that makes a man forget his usual silence and raise his voice in a room full of warriors. The kind of different that showed up in the angle of a mouth. The way a man walked when he wanted to be somewhere else.
Bailee.
Than didn’t know all the details. Didn’t need to. He’d watched Bear on the beach that morning. The tension under his skin. That strange, deliberate softness in his voice after the phone call. When they’d been told to load into the truck, Bear’s tone had been gentler, but his eyes had been elsewhere.
Something had shifted. Something that had always been still at Bear’s core suddenly... moved. His rooted brother was sweet on that stunning woman.
Bailee respected his big brother. Than had seen it. Felt it.
Bear never moved like that for anyone, and he never raised his voice.
But Than had heard it. Plain as a thundercrack.
Sit. Down.
Sharp, capable, proud Bailee had folded into it like she trusted it more than her own strength.
Than filed that away. Quietly. Like he filed everything.
Shamrock whistled under his breath, running his hands reverently over an end cap display stacked high with a dizzying array of potato chips. “We’re quite a fucked-up society.”
“How so?” Fly asked, holding the two jars of tomato sauce like he was about to conduct a Gallagher Logic experiment.
Than clocked the setup immediately; he smelled a bait-and-switch coming on.
“There are countless varieties of potato chips,” Shamrock said solemnly. “Categorized by brand, cooking method, and flavor. Why? We don’t know what we want until we see it in comparison to something else.”
Fly made a choice, grabbing the sauce on the left.
