“They’re having barbeque, right? They’d better not start serving food at eight. I’m starving! Text your friend and tell her we want food ready when we arrive.”
“I’m not going!” I said, horrified at the idea. “I’m going home. I need to pick up my brother.”
“Relax!” Hunter said as he buttoned up his shirt. “My brother Remy is babysitting.”
“That doesn’t fill me with warm feelings of comfort,” I said with a frown as I dressed. “It’s likeLord of the Fliesat your house.”
Though I had always believed my home life was crap, the Svenssons’ childhood really took the cake. There were about a hundred of them, products of a polygamist father and his many wives. Hunter was one of the oldest and had come of age in a doomsday cult in the desert. The only good thing that had come out of the tragic situation was that he knew how to ride horses and was a fantastic polo player.
He also had to take care of his multitude of younger brothers. While I only had the one I was responsible for, I did appreciate having a buddy in the trenches of sibling parenting.
“You can’t just sit at home or in your office all day,” Hunter insisted, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
I slipped on my sunglasses as we walked out of the locker room to squeals from all the horse-girl groupies.
“Where are your boots?” one woman hollered.
I peered into the crowd, half expecting to see the crazy girl with the yellow sunglasses.
She probably already left, or she’s passed out drunk somewhere.
“The mixer will be fun,” Hunter said, elbowing me. “You could meet someone.”
“I highly doubt I’m going to meet my soul mate among this lot,” I replied.
One of the staff offered to take our bags.
“I’m actually leaving,” I said.
“No.” Hunter grabbed my bag from me and handed it to the coat check. “He’s staying. You need food and socialization that doesn’t consist of your little brother, Alfie, or the small-town kooks in Harrogate.”
“To Harrogate’s credit,” I said, accepting a drink from one of the servers, “at the last town hall meeting, I had a very enlightening conversation with a member of the feral-cat committee.”
Hunter grimaced. “Every day, I thank my lucky stars that I am not the mayor.”
“I bet you’re also thankful because if you had won, Meg would have drop-kicked you to the curb.”
And maybe she would have chosen me instead.
I shook off the thought. I hadn’t even dated Meg, the mayor of Harrogate. If Hunter weren’t two steps away from batshit insane, I might have, but it had been made very clear to me when I moved to the western New York town that Meg was Hunter’s, and god help anyone who got in the way of his flailing around, trying to convince her to take him back.
But he had eventually succeeded, and now they were getting married.
You always go after unattainable women,I reminded myself as Hunter dragged me to the serving line.
“Sebastian!” A pretty young woman wrapped her arms around my neck, the stone on her large wedding ring grazing my cheek. “Oops!”
Speaking of—Layla was another friend of mine who I had never even pretended to make a move on, though I had sometimes imagined what it would have been like to have her as a wife. Now she was married—and not to me. I was still alone.
“I’m shocked you’re actually at the mixer,” she said happily.
“I made him,” Hunter said, handing me a plate of food.
Layla raised an eyebrow.
“Is that Hunter Svensson or one of his happier, younger, better-looking younger brothers?” she teased and fist-bumped him. “Heard you finally got the girl after she wiped the floor with you in the election!”
“Worth it,” he declared.
