It had nothing to do with anything else.
At least, that’s what I told myself when I fired off the text message.
CHAPTER 7
SMITH
After the embarrassment of passing out against the broad chest of one of the most attractive men I’d ever seen and then accidentally stealing his hoodie, I managed to make it to dinner with my brothers only marginally late. Marshall, Finn, and Hunter were already there, and I slid into my usual seat at Marshall’s right, shoulders hunched.
“Whose hoodie?” Hunter asked immediately.
I tried to settle my shoulders, ignore the throbbing burn that pulsed in my forearm, and lie to my brother’s face, “I’ve had it since college. I don’t know where I got it.”
It was obvious he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t say anything, asking me instead about work. I hadn’t gone to work, so I gave him another lie, at which point Marshall interjected.
“Do you still hate it?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Depends on the day.”
“That feels normal,” Finn said. “That piece of crap from Hunter’s firm got shit-canned today.”
It was a quick segue that sent my eyebrows up to my hairline.
“The trash takes itself out or something,” Hunter said. He reached under the table and pulled his phone out of his pocket at the same time I heard Marshall’s buzz with an incomingmessage. The flush that colored Hunter’s face assured me it was a picture or message from Lincoln that was definitely not fit for public consumption. I looked between his face and Marshall’s, frowning at them both.
“What?” Hunter asked.
“Is that Lincoln?”
“He’s out with Silas. They spend Fridays together since Marshall and I are here.”
“Where are they?” I asked.
Marshall choked on his drink, and I glanced at him in time to see him try to chase it down with a swallow of water that didn’t quite seem to do the trick. The two of them shared a look, and I found myself curious about what sort of message they’d both received that had them so caught up in their answers.
“Rapture,” Hunter finally answered.
As with most things, I looked again to my oldest brother, my mentor, my idol. His cheeks were pinked below his eyes, and it didn’t take an expert to deduce he knew what kind of club Rapture was and Hunter also knew what kind of club Rapture was, and they were hedging their bets that Ididn’tknow what kind of club Rapture was.
“Oh,” I said simply.
The corner of Finn’s mouth quirked up, almost imperceptibly, and he leaned forward so he could rest his elbows on the table. He propped his chin on his hands and smiled at me from the across the table.
“Have you been?” he asked, and I knew all of my brothers were familiar with the establishment, and I was obviously the last to know.
“Haveyoubeen?” Marshall shot back.
“Don’t assume you’re the only person in town who likes kinky sex, Marshall,” Finn snapped, which meant it was my turn to choke on my drink.
“I’ve been,” Finn answered casually. “I’m sure Hunter has been. Marshall, obviously. I don’t know if this is genetic or not, but?—”
“I’ve been!” I blurted out, mostly because I wanted the conversation to stop and go in literally any other direction than down whatever kinky road led to all four of us knowing what kind of club Rapture was.
“I don’t want to know,” Marshall said.
“Do they want to make you an equity partner now that Shaw is out?” Finn asked, swirling his ice around and changing the subject with a wink. The rest of the meal went as normal as it could be after that slight detour of conversation on the front end, and by the time we’d wrapped up and paid, I was more than ready to call it a night. My arm hurt from the tattoo, my entire body ached from the adrenaline fluctuations, and I was in desperate need of sleep. But the thought of being alone was almost too much for me to think about.
After saying goodbye to Finn and Marshall, I lingered alongside Hunter, wanting to ask if I could come over but not being able to get the words out.
