Their eyes narrow.
Sierra makes another strangled sound—the kind that tells me she's remembering exactly how good I am at secrets.
Don't crack now. You're the one who wanted this secret. Own it.
“Bourbon?” I don’t wait for an answer. I cross to the bar, pull down four tumblers, and start pouring with deliberate, unbothered precision.
Because feigned confidence is great—but whiskey’s better.
Chapter Four
Everett
The thingabout bourbon at four-thirty in the morning? It's either a solution or a starting gun.
Right now, it’s both.
I keep my back to the room while I pour like a good damn host. Not because I'm being a good host. Nope. But because my hands won't stop shaking and I need a goddamn second.
Just treat it like any other reunion. Any other version of reality where Sierra's taste isn't still burning on my tongue.
I’ve been clean for eleven years. A damn good run. I should have thought about that before I climbed right back into my addiction.
Warm and sweet andmine.
Yeah, I said it.
Except she's not, and if you ask her, she never was.
My cock throbs against my zipper,inconvenient as fuck, practically ready to step up and tend bar on his own.
Down, boy. Her brothers are right there.
I adjust myself with my free hand. A subtle move you pick up when you spend your formative boner years wanting a woman you’re not supposed to touch in a room full of people who can’t know.
Roman says something behind me, but I don’t catch it. Because her words haven’t stopped echoing in my head.
I hate you.
No, she doesn't.
That's the whole fucking problem. For her. Pisses her off good.
I pour a drink of my own, take a breath, and turn around with a smile on my face making sure the fucker reaches my eyes, because my best friends will see clear through anything less.
“So.” I slide glasses across the bar like I didn't just have my tongue in their sister's mouth.
“What possessed you assholes to show up to my mountain at the unfuckinggodly hour of four in the morning?”
“Oooh, he’s testy,” Caleb says with a hearty laugh at my expense.
A lesser bartender would spit in his drink for that.
Isn’t he lucky my lesser has a rock bottom that stops right between his sister’s thighs.
I’m sure he’d rather I spit in his drink.
“An idea that couldn’t wait,but it can wait another five minutes.” Roman’s gaze swings to Sierra. “What brings our baby sister to the lodge at ass o'clock in the morning?”
