“What’s his name?”
I’m not sure who asked what because Dom and Griffin both snarl their questions at the same time.
“Nobody to worry about,” I say airily. “I don’t know if I’ll even see him again.” It’s the truth; even if his wife calls about her jewelry, it’llprobably be me and her working on the designs. But I intentionally make it sound more scandalous because Dominic’s and Griffin’s reactions are hilariously over the top.
I mean, do they think I don’t date? That I don’t meet guys at the coffee shop or the grocery store or at games? I don’t—or at least, not very often—but there’s no reason to rub my nose in my lack of a dating life. Because I’m fine on my own, thank you very much.
“If you do, tell me first,” my brother orders.
I laugh. “No way. You’d do some FBI-level background check on him, show up ten minutes before our date, and then scare the shit out of him so badly that he cancels on the spot.”
I level him with a look, daring him to disagree, because we both know it’s not an educated guess. It’s exactly what happened when I naively and excitedly told Dominic about Jacob, a guy I did, in fact, meet at the coffee shop down the street, thinking he’d be thrilled for me too. Instead, he invaded my apartment, greeted Jacob at the door, and then literally asked about his intentions toward me like I was some fifteenth-century princess whose hand in marriage had been requested. I haven’t breathed a word about any other dates since then—not that there’s been many. Since my last serious boyfriend three years ago, I’ve been on maybe ten dates? That’s less than one per quarter, as Talia likes to remind me. It’s not that I’m averse to dating, I’m just busy. In that same amount of time, I’ve created around 150 pieces of jewelry, a statistic I’m proud of, unlike my dating history.
“If he’s scared of me, then he’s not the guy for you,” Dom argues.
Okay, he kinda has a point there. Except ...
“You’re terrifying and you know it,” I counter. “And then you play it up even more when you meet any of my friends. Talia thought you were going to murder her and nearly backed out of being my roommate because of you, ya fucking menace.” I give his shoulder a sisterly punch at the memory, but like the jerk he is, he doesn’t even drop a single grain of rice from his fork at the impact. “Talia is the best roommateI’ve ever had, and if you’d screwed that up for me, I would’ve never forgiven you.”
“But has she ever swiped your food from the fridge or borrowed something without asking?” he asks, looking mighty pleased with himself as he points at me with his now-empty plastic fork. I purse my lips, refusing to answer, because he already knows what I’ll say. “I rest my case.”
Griffin watches our sibling back-and-forth with a deep scowl on his face that makes me cut my eyes back to him, snapping, “This is your fault, you know? You started it by giving me a hard time for simply going on a hike, which is a nice, normal, perfectly reasonable activity.”
Griffin’s sharply arched brow says he disagrees with that particular declaration, and fine, he maybe has a point, given my history and the fact that I did slip. No,halfa point. Maybe even just a quarter.
Begrudgingly, I amend, “Reasonable for most people. It’s not like I went skydiving or swimming with sharks. I hiked a professionally plotted trail.” I walk my fingers through the air like that’s all I did today. “And basically just sat down ... a teeny-tiny bit hard. And unintentionally.” I hold my finger and thumb up, so little space between them you can’t see light.
He inhales loudly and deeply, his brown eyes unblinkingly locked on mine like he’s searching for the strength to deal with me. “Just be careful,” he finally says, the three little words effectively negating his earlier offer to go with me.
I’m glad. I don’t want to spend time with him, anyway—with his grunts and growls, frowns and scowls, and cutting remarks—and now, next time he tries to scold me for going out alone, I can remind him that he simply told me to be careful, something I always am anyway.
“Excuse me, I’m going to the restroom before we leave,” I clip out, sounding bratty even to my own ears. I stand and see that I’ll have to step over Griffin’s ridiculously long outstretched leg to get out, so I glare at him for creating the inconvenience despite there not really being room for him to bend his legs beneath the tiny café-style table.
To his credit, he does try to move out of my way as I high-knee it over him, but instead, he manages to catch my back foot, effectively tripping me.
I’m going down.
Twice in one day. I’d love to say it’s a record for me, but it’s not even close. I should really consider walking around with music playing in an earbud, because if I stay on beat, there’s no stopping me. Unfortunately, this time something else stops me.
Griffin.
I land haphazardly against his shoulder, one of his arms wrapped firmly around my waist and the other around my thighs to catch me, and somehow, in my mad scramble to grab for something, anything, and hang on for dear life, I’ve clutched his head in my hands and pulled him right into my abundant cleavage, forcing him into a motorboat position.
“Shit!” I hiss, pushing him away immediately, even before I’ve gotten my footing.
But Griffin doesn’t let go, his sure grip the only thing holding me steady. I can feel the restaurant’s air-conditioning hitting my skin way too high, which means I’m exposed in a not particularly family-friendly sorta way. I also feel the heat of his big hand on my thigh, right beneath the dress’s band I thought was going to protect my modesty, making him in dangerously intimate territory, and when he peels his hands from me, instead of going cold, I get even hotter.
“Sorry,” I utter, annoyed with myself. Yes, I’m clumsy, but it’s usually no big deal, and I’m used to it. Around Griffin, it always feels like a bigger, more embarrassing situation, though. Praying I haven’t exposed myself to the whole restaurant, I shove my dress back into place too forcefully to be discreet, and more carefully, I step past Griffin. “Back in a flash.”
That is not what I meant to say, but still, I giggle at my own slip of the tongue. So worried that I’d mooned everyone, I basically highlighted the humiliating move. Griffin grumbles in displeasure. Dominic shakes his head, disappointed in me.
Fine, if that’s how they want to be, but I choose humor because, in my experience, if you can’t laugh at yourself, someone else will do it for you. “Get it? Flash? Because everyone saw my butt? Do you think they saw the tattoo that says ‘kiss here’ on my cheek?” I turn like I’m going to ask the couple at the table a few feet away, though I’m not really. They seem really into their conversation, like maybe it’s a first date. Or a last one.
“Just pee so we can go. I need my beauty sleep before the game,” my brother clips out in annoyance.
I can’t add a tally mark in my column for that one since the scores are me versus Griffin, but still, irritating my brother always warrants a point in our never-ending battle.
I hurry to the restroom, taking care of business and washing my hands, but I guess I wasn’t fast enough, because when I step back into the dining room, there are two new occupants at our table. A blonde sitting in my spot next to Dom and a redhead beside Griffin. The women are obviously on their A game, smiling and batting their lashes while twirling their hair. Might as well have “DTF” written on their foreheads, or maybe on their cleavage.
