Did he have more? He had to.
“How did it go with Finn?”
“How did what go with Finn?” The brother in question asked, flinging his long and lanky body down into one of the empty chairs at our table.
I flipped over my phone to check the time. There was still about fifteen minutes before they were supposed to be here, and Finn was rarely the first one to arrive.
“Meeting the boyfriend,” Lincoln said, finishing off the rest of his cocktail. “I think the appearance of a second Covington is probably my cue to kick rocks. Let me know if you want to set a date with me and Silas.”
Before I could argue or ask him to stay a little longer, Lincoln hopped up and came around the table, dropping a loud kiss on the top of my head. He headed for Finn and hesitated, but when my brother angled his chin toward his chest to make his hair more reachable, Lincoln left him a kiss too.
“For good measure,” he said.
Finn lifted his head and gently patted the place Lincoln had kissed, then he dropped his hand into his lap. Once Lincoln left, Finn threw me a wary look.
“Serious with Riggs then?”
“I’m surprised you remember his name.”
Finn looked offended. “Why wouldn’t I remember his name?”
“You met him on accident,” I said. “In passing.”
“But you’re in love with him,” my brother said simply.
“What? I…no. I mean…I wasn’t then.”
He rolled his eyes at me and mussed up my hair before hauling me to my feet.
“Of course you were,” he said, gesturing toward my half-drank glass of wine. “Let’s go grab the booth.”
Unsurprisingly, by the time Finn and I paid my tab at the bar and headed to the dining side of the restaurant, Marshall and Hunter were there already. Hunter’s gaze dropped to my wine, darted to Finn, then to Marshall.
“Are we pre-gaming dinner now?”
“I met Lincoln,” I said, taking my usual seat beside Marshall. Since I’d left work early, my sleeves were rolled up, but none of them said anything about my tattoo. “Finn just showed up.”
“What’s your excuse?” Hunter asked Finn next.
He swallowed hard. “I was bored.”
It felt like a lie.
Finn had been lying a lot lately, but about what? I didn’t know. He was very good at putting on and pretending everything was okay, but there were cracks in his veneer. If Marshall and Hunter had noticed, they hadn’t called him out on it, at least not publicly. I hoped he’d at least talked to Hunter. The two of them were close, but Hunter gave Finn a worried look that left me feeling unsure.
“So,” Marshall said, clearing his throat. “How is your boyfriend?”
“I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” I downed the last of my wine.
“Smithy,” Finn teased, “he’s trying.”
I glanced over at Marshall and found his expression earnest, if not pained. He was trying, but it was one thing to sit at a table with men who shared your last name and play nice. It was another thing entirely to come face to face with a man who looked nothing like the vision you had in mind for a person you cared about. I’d gone through the same thing when he’d gotten involved with Silas.
I’d always pictured Marshall with someone like him—put together and meticulous. Silas was those things, in some ways, or he would be when he was Marshall’s age at least. But the two of them were an undeniable complement to each other, regardless of how I had pictured Marshall’s partner looking. The same with Hunter, though him ending up with a man like Lincoln wasn’t so off base.
“When you think about me being in a relationship, what kind of person do you picture me with?” I asked.
Marshall squared his shoulders, smoothed his hand over his already impeccable tie.
