“I remember everything you’ve ever told me, darlin’,” Curtis said, his tone low and gruff.
Donovan grinned.
“Brady come with you?” Lorrie asked, glancing around and effectively changing the subject.
“No.” Donovan sighed. “He’s bein’ a grinch this year. Probably sittin’ at home in front of his drawing table.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” Curtis said.
“Did you need him for somethin’?”
“Just thought we’d check in,” Curtis said. “See how he’s doin’.”
Yep, everyone who knew Brady was thinking about him this year. This would be his second Christmas without her, and while Donovan hadn’t been able to get Brady to agree to come to his folks’ place last year, he wasn’t going to let him back out this year.
“He’s good,” Donovan assured his uncle. “He’s havin’ dinner with us.”
“That’s good.” Curtis nodded. “Real good.”
“Hey, Donovan!”
“We won’t keep you,” Lorrie said, touching his hand. “Tell your mom I’ll be stoppin’ by next week to swap holiday dinner stories.”
“I’ll definitely tell her.”
When they walked away, Donovan turned toward whoever had been calling him, but he wasn’t sure who it was, so he started walking to see if someone got caught up in another conversation.
“I told you, that’s not gonna happen.”
The adamant tone of voice had Donovan looking around. It was then he saw Tate talking to someone. He couldn’t see the guy’s face, but there was something familiar about his cocky stance.
“No, I don’t,” Tate stated firmly, shrugging off the guy’s hand.
Donovan kept walking, watching the pair. He drew up short when he reached the other side of them and could see who Tate was talking to.
What the fuck was Tate doing talking to that fucker? Donovan didn’t know Tate’s ex-boyfriend, but he knew what he looked like and enough about the guy not to like him. According to Reilly, the bastard had cheated on Tate too many times to count. And his philandering had caused Tate to go into a panic the last time. Donovan hadn’t pushed Reilly for more information, but he’d learned enough to know that Tate had been concerned that the fucker had been screwing around without protection.
“Stop, Ben. I told you I’m willin’ to hang out, but that’s it.”
“What’s goin’ on?” Donovan asked as he approached, keeping his eyes on Ben as he stepped closer to Tate.
“Oh … hey,” Tate said with a sigh.
“Is there a problem?”
“No,” Ben answered. “We were just leaving.”
“No, we weren’t,” Tate told him and turned to walk away.
Tate didn’t get two steps when Ben grabbed his arm.
Donovan intervened before he could think better of it. He grabbed Ben’s wrist and gripped it firmly. Their eyes met and locked.
“I think he’s good,” Donovan told him. “You should go.”
Ben released Tate’s arm, so Donovan let him go. He grinned when Ben made a big production of adjusting the cuff on his pretentious coat. It was barely cold enough for a fucking coat and certainly not for those stupid fucking gloves.
“Is there something going on that I should know about?” Ben asked, gesturing between Donovan and Tate.
