"The glitter bomb was justified," Wyatt says at the same time.
Danny loses it, laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes. "Oh man, you guys are killing me. This is the best thing that's happened all year."
"So glad we can entertain you," I mutter, trying not to notice how incredibly good Wyatt smells. This would be so much easier if my body would stop noticing every damn thing about him.
"Come on, Merri, you have to admit this is hilarious. My best friend and my little sister, finally getting along. It's like watching stubborn mules realizing they’re hitched to the same wagon."
"Are you calling me a jackass, asshole?" Wyatt growls.
Danny snickers. "If the shoe fits…"
"This is strictly business," I explain.
"Nothing else," Wyatt agrees.
Danny's expression turns even more amused. "Sure." He leans closer to the camera. "Merri, did you know Wyatt punched Brad Kellerman for calling you?—"
"DANNY!" Wyatt's voice is loud enough to make Admiral lift his head from his dog bed. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
My brother cackles as he waves at the camera. "Okay, I'll leave you two alone. But seriously, I might try to swing by for that showcase to see this in action. And try the beer, obviously."
"You're always welcome," I answer.
"Love you, sis. Wyatt, keep her out of trouble."
"I'll do my best."
The call ends, and I'm left staring at my phone, my face burning. When I finally glance up, Wyatt is studying the temperature gauge on the fermentation tank with intense focus, like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
"So," I say, breaking the awkward silence. "Brad Kellerman, huh?"
Wyatt's jaw tightens. "He deserved it."
"I never knew you punched him." I should probably be irritated that he thought I needed his help. Instead, I'm stuck on the image of seventeen-year-old Wyatt defending me.
"There are a lot of things you don't know."
I stiffen, the casual warmth between us evaporating. Oh, so we're doingthisnow. The mysterious, brooding act. How original.
He turns to face me, crossing his arms. "And for the record, I wasn'tthatbad."
I level him with a glare. "Are you serious right now? You tormented me constantly!"
"I did not torment you."
My jaw hits the floor. "You convinced me there was a ghost in our attic! I refused to sleep in my own house for a week!"
"That was…" He grimaced. "Okay, looking back, that may have crossed the line a bit."
I want to punch the smirk off his annoyingly chiseled face.
"Abit?" I step closer, jabbing my finger at his chest. "What about the red dye in my shampoo before my eighth-grade dance? I looked like a fire hydrant! My date couldn’t even look me in the eye."
"That was supposed to wash out." Wyatt’s mouth twitches as if he’s fighting a smile.
I swear if this prick laughs, I will junk punch him into next week.
"It didn't, you big ass! I had pink hair for two months!" I'm on a roll now, years of grievances bubbling to the surface. "And let's not forget the time you called me 'Merri the Contrary' in front of the entire cafeteria. I still have jerks call me that on occasion."
