‘For Jett Alvarez? I’d do pretty much anything.’
She makes a note in her book. I hate that too. For a second it had felt a bit like we were just two people having a conversation. But that’s never the way it’s going to be with Bailey. For three weeks she’s going to reach in and lift the lid on whatever she wants in my life, then she’s going to go home and write all about it. I’ll never see her again, and yet she’ll know all kinds of shit about me.
‘Are you close to your family?’
I start to wonder if it’s a deliberate technique to keep me off balance by moving from one topic to another so quickly I get whiplash. She’s like the conversational equivalent of a bucking bull.
‘Yes.’
She makes a note, but frowns. ‘Yes?’
I wait for her to keep going, but she just taps her pen against the notepad, then reaches for her beer. Fuck, I wish she wouldn’t drink it like that, with her eyes feathering closed, her lips all pink and soft as she swallows. It makes me want to reach over and brush my thumb over her lower lip, to cup her cheek. Maybe I need to go out and meet someoneelse. SomeonenotBailey James. Maybe this is just pre-event adrenalin or something, a buzz I need to wear off.
Except, even as I think it, I know that’s not the case—why bother lying to myself?
‘Close to anyone in particular?’
‘Depends on the time of day.’
‘Are you being deliberately annoying?’
A lazy grin itches on my lips. ‘Cole’d say so.’
She glances down at her notebook, flicks through a few pages. ‘He’s the oldest?’
Frustration flares through me. I don’t want her to know this stuff because she’s googled it or whatever. I want her to know it because she’s learned it from me. Which is ironic, because I’m also doing a damned fine job of shutting her down as much as possible. So which is it, hotshot? You want to tell her about your life, or not?
‘Yeah.’ The word rumbles out of me.
‘And you have a twin, right?’
I nod.
‘You must be close to him.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Beau—’ Her tone carries a warning, and I lift my hands in silent apology.
‘I told you, I’m no good at this.’
She compresses her lips, sighs, then slips her notepad into her bag. I instantly feel a weight lifting off me. ‘Let’s just talk,’ she suggests. She smiles, but it’s a cajoling smile, like you might offer a kid who won’t hand over the candy they’ve snuck.
‘Nash—my twin—lives in Phoenix. He’s a music producer.’
‘Yeah, I saw that,’ she murmurs, and I can just tell she’s itching to pull her notepad back out. ‘And there’s another brother?’
‘Austin.’
‘He works on the ranch?’
‘He’s a Marine,’ I murmur.
‘Oh!’ Her surprise is obvious. ‘I didn’t know that.’
I lift my shoulders. ‘Why would you?’
‘I’ve done a fair bit of research.’
