“Sorry this is super unconventional. At the very least, it’ll make a good story one day. Maybe even a song.” I realize I’m babbling while failing to invite him into the house. “Oh, sorry. Come in. We usually hang out in the basement, so we can convene down there.”
I don’t know why I saidconvene. I sound like I’m about to lead a board meeting. Maybe I’ll offer him a PowerPoint presentation on why this whole thing isn’t the worst idea ever.
“Thanks.” Chase shuffles inside, scuffing his boots on the welcome mat. Tugging off his beanie until a mop of dark-caramel hair emerges, he runs his fingers through the mess and glances around. “Your boyfriend is cool with this?”
My heart teeters. “What?”
“The guy from the restaurant. He’s okay with you spending time with me? Alone?”
“Um…sure. Why wouldn’t he be okay with it?”
His eyebrows crawl up to his hairline. “Just a hunch.”
Heat skates its way down my neck, dappling my collarbone.
Despite our issues, Alex and I have always been loyal to each other. There’s nothing sneaky or unsavory going on. But I can see it in Chase’s eyes—he’s not convinced.
My mind races back to when Alex made a theatrical show of possession after he overheard Kenna summoning me out to the dining area for a customer. For a man.
He wasn’t subtle about it.
And I guess that’s why I never told him about this get-together, knowing he’d jump to conclusions, fly off the handle, and assume the worst. It wasn’t worth the ensuing damage control when I know this is nothing more than an outlet for me.
A tentative friendship, at most.
“It’s fine.” Lies.“Alex isn’t like that.” More lies. “He’s always encouraging me to make new friends and pursue my passions.” A tangled web of all the lies.
I chomp down on my tongue, forcing it to stop spewing fabrications before they weave themselves into a rope that promptly strangles me.
Chase squints at me. “Right.”
Footsteps thunk up the staircase, amplifying my jitters.
Tag appears behind us.
He wedges his shoulder against the wall and just stands there. Stares. A statue made of scorn.
Chase peers across the room before wheeling his gaze to me. “Your brother is here.”
“Oh. Yep. This is actually his house.”
I must have forgotten to mention that.
His grip tightens on the guitar case, like he’s about to double back through the front door and evaporate into the night.
A disgruntled sigh leaves my brother as he saunters into the kitchen, and I hear the telltale sound of a beer can popping open.
“Don’t worry about him,” I say, waving Chase toward the basement opening before Tag returns with a pointy weapon. “He’ll get over it.”
“Something tells me the permanent bloodstains in his car will be an eternal reminder.”
Tag reappears with two more beers clasped inside his inhumanly large hand, catching us before we disappear down the stairs. “I’ll supervise.” He hands me the grapefruit-flavored beer.
“You say it like you’re my babysitter.”
“Think of me more like a correctional officer here to make sure you don’t commit any more crimes against sound judgment.”
“That is not comforting, or funny, or even remotely necessary.”
