Flipping over his phone, he checked to see if one of those wonderful red numbers had appeared beside his Messages app.
Nothing.
What the hell, Hannah?
“Good lord, brother,” Fisher muttered. “Ya got it bad.”
Grimacing, he slammed his phone facedown on the table. “I don’thave it bad.Having it badimplies I have romantic feelings for Hannah. Which Idon’t.She’s like a kid sister.”
Visions of Hurricane Hannah flashed through his head. Big, dark eyes that took up too much of her face. Small, Cupid’s bow of a mouth that covered a set of train-tracked teeth. SpongeBob SquarePants pajama bottoms that were frayed around the hems from her walking on them.
Except…
That wasn’t Hannah anymore, was it? That was the girl from sixteen years ago.
The woman she’d grown into had amazing purple hair, an hourglass figure, and porcelain skin that looked too soft to touch. The woman she’d grown into had come back into his life like a breath of fresh air, reminding him that noteverythingfrom his past was dark and disturbing. Reminding him therehadbeen parts of his formative years that were sweet and uncomplicated. And then she’d disappeared without a word, taking that breath of fresh air with her, and leaving him with—
“I call bullshit.” Once again, it was Grace who dragged him from his thoughts. “No one obsesses over their kid sister not texting them back. Take it from me. Ihavea kid sister.”
“I’m notobsessing.” He realized his tone might invite a response ofme thinks he doth protest too much. He tempered his next words. “I just owe her a steak dinner for helping us out two weeks ago, and I’m trying to nail her down on a time. We’re flying outta here in three days, and I hate leaving loose ends behind.”
Especially because, in their line of work, there was no telling if they’d make it back home in one piece.Or if we’ll make it back home at all.
“Whatever ya need to tell yourself.” Fisher smirked.
Sam was usually immune to the good-natured ribbing that came with being part of such a tight-knit crew. But something aboutthisribbing hit a nerve.
He told himself it was because what they were insinuating gave him the ick. To think he could view Hurricane Hannah as anything more than the funny, sarcastic younger sister of his high school girlfriend was…well…gross.
“You guys dunno shit.” His South Side accent had grown right alongside his temper. “Not every relationship has to look likethat.” He gestured toward Grace, who’d leaned in to catch Hunter’s earlobe between her teeth. “Now, what were we talking ’bout before this discussion got turned on me?”
The look on Fisher’s face made Sam think he was in for more ridicule. He was relieved then when Fisher only shrugged. “We were talkin’ about how Graham here has been campaignin’ for an ass whoopin’ for years now.” Fisher nudged Graham with a not inconsiderable amount of force. “And how he just won the election by honin’ in on my newest conquest. I mean, I go to the bathroom for two minutes and come back to find he’s seduced the woman I’ve been makin’ eyes at all night.”
Sam lifted an eyebrow at Graham, awaiting the big man’s response. He should’ve known better than to think Graham might rise to Fisher’s bait.
To say Graham Colburn was the strong, silent type was an understatement. Graham rarely spoke. And when he did, it was more of a low grumble that forced everyone to lean in to listen.
Ignoring Fisher completely, Graham hitched his chin toward a dark-haired woman in skintight jeans who sat with a group of ladies two tables over. Raising his deep voice above the din of the bar, he called out two words. Just two. “You ready?”
The woman’s face lit up like a kid whose Christmas wishes were about to come true. And the way she launched herself from the table, it was a wonder she didn’t knock over her chair.
Graham was a little slower to his feet. The big guy spent most of his life moving at a snail’s pace. Which just made his occasional bursts of speed that much more astonishing.
Sam remembered the time he’d watched Graham run across the Saharan Desert like a freight train pegged to full-tilt. A truckload of armed enemy fighters had been trying their level best to gun him down. And even as Sam had been laying down cover fire, his jaw had slung open to witness that much bulk moving so quickly.
Graham towered over the petite brunette when she joined him beside the table, her eyes wide with excitement as she stared up at him.
“I’m musical.” Fisher pulled the harmonica he always had on hand out of his pocket and wiggled it at the brunette. “Does that change your mind?” When the woman only blinked at him, he sighed. “I get it. It’s cuffing season. And according to SZA, all the ladies are lookin’ for a big boy.”
The woman’s friends clapped and cheered when Graham placed his big, meaty mitt on the small of her back to escort her from the bar. And Sam caught the eye of one of her friends.
The blonde had a mouth made for sin. And the smile that curved her lips when their eyes collided could only be described as an invitation.
“See?” Eliza said from beside him, having caught the exchange. “The ladies are waiting in the wings, eager for you to say the word that you’re ready to take the leap.”
He waited for that burst of adrenaline, that kick of hormones that usually went hand-in-hand with a beautiful woman’s come-and-get-me-big-boy look. But…nada. All he felt was irritation that his phone was resoundingly silent.
After tipping his chin toward the blonde in a gesture that conveyed a polite thanks-but-no-thanks, he flipped over his cell.
