To which Ivy responds in the same hushed tone, almost sounding embarrassed. “Shut up!”
My lips twitch. My sister couldn’t be more right.
When I get down to the parking lot, I lift the box into the bed of my truck, just after Maverick does the same.
“So you get a girlfriend, then she moves in the same day?” he asks with a lift of his brow.
“Shut the fuck up,” I grumble. “Should I have let her stay here?” I ask with a lift of my brow.
I ignore the girlfriend comment, because it feels strange to agree with it, but it feels wrong to deny it. I’m not sure what our label is—girlfriend seems too juvenile—all I know is she’s mine.
“I’ve got plenty of space at my house,” he says, shrugging. I know he’s just trying to piss me off, but it works all the same.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask in a daunting tone.
I see the classic spark of a challenge light my brother's eyes. With his devil-may-care smile, he charges on. “Yeah. The room right next to mine is perfect for her. The walls arerealthin.”
I nod casually and ease the tailgate of my truck closed. Then, without warning, I kick the back of Mavericks knee, sending his leg buckling. When his body drops, I grab the hem of his shirt, and yank it up over his head, blinding him. He stumbles, struggling to stay upright, and just when I lift my foot to spartan kick him in the chest, I hear Sophie’s voice ring out.
“Boys!” Sophie yells, sounding exactly like mom.
Before I have a chance to complete my attack on my dip shit brother, he fixes his shirt, laughing so hard he clutches his stomach.
“You’re too easy, dude,” he says through his laugh.
I flip him off, then begrudgingly thank him for helping. He waves to the girls, and gets in his own truck to go to work at the bar.
My siblings are a pain in the ass.
After Ivy does one last sweep of the room, making sure she didn’t leave anything behind, we walk over to the front office to turn in her keys. When we enter the office, Ivy smiles brightly at the old man behind the desk.
“Hi, Richard,” she says cheerfully.
“Yeah… Hi, Richard,” I say, my tone dripping in annoyance.
Ivy notices, and gives me a death glare. I told her my qualms with the motel's owner, and how easily he gave out her room number. She then promised me that he’s been nothing but nice and helpful to her, and made me swear I wouldn’t say anything to him, bribing me with kisses while rubbing her tight little body all over me.
Lucky bastard.
She tells him that she’s leaving and returns her keys to him. They exchange phone numbers for some reason, and when we leave the office, I ask her about it.
“What would you need his phone number for?” I ask in disbelief.
“I thought him and Rose would be cute together. She could use a little male companionship,” she says as she waves the post-it note in the air with Richard's number on it.
“Isn’t she still recovering?” I ask, confused by her need to matchmake for an injured eighty-year-old woman.
“She broke her hip, Wesley. She didn’t die. The elderly need orgasms too,” she scoffs, then practically skips to my truck.
Jesus Christ.
I pick up the pace to beat her to the passenger door, and when I open it, she turns to look at me, and says a bit more seriously, “Speaking of elderly people who need to come… can we make one more stop?”
That question makes me feel very weird, but I help her into the truck, and nod anyway.
26
Ivy
