The following Thursday, Riggs picked me up after work on his bike. We went for a cruise through the hills and down the coast, finally ending the ride at a little Thai place in Santa Monica that Damon had picked for us. We were early, and we’d just gotten settled and ordered drinks when somebody flung themself down beside me in the booth and slung an arm over my shoulder. I immediately knew it wasn’t Damon.
“Baby brother,” Finn cooed. “What a treat, running into you.”
I tried to not tense, to not react to the sharp glare Riggs shot at my brother. Much like the hickey and the tattoo, there was no use fighting or hiding.
“Finn.” I sighed. “This is Riggs. Riggs, this is one of my brothers, Finn.”
Finn was still dressed for work, a crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He shoved his hand across the table, and Riggs gave him a strong shake.
“You didn’t tell us he was rugged,” Finn whispered, mouth quirked up in the corner.
“I didn’t tell you anything.”
“Told us he was the one responsible for those hickeys and that tattoo,” he said. “But you didn’t say he rode a motorcycle.”
“It didn’t seem to be any of your business,” I muttered.
“You know Marshall is going to shit kittens.”
I sighed, scrubbing a hand down my face. “I know.”
I’d thought, more times than I wanted to admit, about how my brother would react upon meeting Riggs. Would Marshall welcome him because I lo—because I liked him? Or would Marshall be cold and judgmental about him because of the way he looked and what he did for work?
“What do you do for work, Finn?” Riggs asked, swirling his straw around the thick mango lassi in front of him.
“Finance.”
Riggs eyed him. “You’ve got the blue eyes down, but I doubt you’re six-five.”
I groaned, the chronically online comment almost too much for me to bear.
“I’ve got a trust fund, though, so I think that makes up for the two inches I’m missing.” His mouth twitched. “And besides?—”
“Don’t!” I shoved my hand against Finn’s cheek, pushing him to the side and halfway out of the booth. It was bad enough we were caught off-guard with his arrival, but I didn’t want him to make dick jokes at the man I was currently involved with. I was only getting used to being with Riggs, I didn’t want any of my brothers to ruin it for me.
“He’s fine,” Riggs promised, reaching across the table and taking my hand. “Damon is much worse.”
“Who’s Damon?” Finn asked, sliding back into the booth and pushing me against the wall to make room for himself.
“My best friend.”
“Mouth on him, then?”
Riggs made a thoughtful sound. “You could say that.”
Our waitress walked back to the table, an extra menu in hand, but Finn waved her off. “I’m not staying, but thanks.”
“You’re more than welcome,” Riggs said before I could agree with Finn that it was time for him to go.
My brother cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed at the invitation.
“Trying to butter me up?”
“Just being polite.”
“How did you meet Smith?” Finn asked, changing direction fast enough to give me whiplash.
“I already told you this,” I groaned.
