But, hello, her big brother Donovanwasgay, so why in the world wouldn’t he want Tate?
Tate was the sweet, boy-next-door kinda cute with his curly blonde hair, big blue eyes, and perfect lips. Not to mention a body even she was envious of. At five-six, Tate considered himself short, which, based on the men in this town, he was. However, his trim, compact body was what athletes everywhere would spend hours and hours attempting to sculpt. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, and his abs … washboard was an understatement. And yeah, she was jealous of how easily he’d been able to build that body. No matter how hard she tried, Reilly would never have a sculpted stomach. As far as she was concerned, her hips were too wide, her boobs were too big, and her belly was only flat when she sucked it in. But no amount of sucking it in was going to make her look good in a crop top.
Then again, she could rock a bikini. Or so she’d been told. It was her boobs. Men liked big boobs, and she would be the first to admit hers were rather voluptuous, even if she would’ve preferred a nice C-cup over the double Ds she’d been gifted with.
But their looks didn’t factor into their chances of landing two hot, older men. Her inability to land Brady McCord had nothing to do with her body type and everything to do with the fact that he was turning thirty-nine this year, and she was only twenty-three. There was the same age difference between Donovan and Tate, except Tate’s twenty-fourth birthday was coming up in three weeks.
Not that twenty-four was any different than twenty-three. Not when there was a fifteen-year age gap. To add a visual flare, Donovan and Brady were getting their driver’s permits the year Reilly was born. While her mom and dad were rocking her in a cradle, Brady McCord was out racing his friends on the backroads of Coyote Ridge. So it didn’t matter that Brady looked at her like he wanted to devour her in one bite. She knew he would never give in to that craving.
Not unless he was enticed to do so.
“You know what?” She turned to look at Tate. “I think we should go for it this year.”
Tate wiped marshmallow off his nose, setting his cup on the table. “Go for what?”
She canted her head and waited for him to catch on.
His eyebrows shot up. “You want me to make a play for Donovan?” He snorted. “Your brother’s not gonna give me the time of day, and we both know it.”
“You won’t know if you don’t try.”
She could tell he was intrigued by the idea, but she knew Tate. He was overly skeptical. Not to mention a little shy.
“Seriously,” she said, reaching for the envelope. “Give me a pen.”
Tate hopped up from the couch and hurried to the kitchen, rummaging through the junk drawer. He returned with a pen.
Reilly took it and looked at the logo. It was a pen from M-J Architecture & Interiors, the firm her brother and Brady owned. “Apropos.”
She grabbed the envelope from 2018 and put a line through the year, then wrote 2023 below it. She turned it around and showed Tate.
“You up for it?”
He stared at the envelope for the longest time while she licked marshmallows off the top of her cup.
“Come on, Tate. We’ve got to grab the bulls by the horns. We’re single. They’re single.”
“There’s only one problem with that, sweetie,” he said, his expression serious.
“What’s that?”
“We’re delusional.Theyare not.”
Reilly laughed, nearly snorting melted marshmallow out of her nose.
“Live a little, Tate.”
“And what if they don’t go for it?”
“We won’t give them a chance to back down. All’s fair in love and war, right?”
Tate smirked and rolled his eyes.
She added, “There’s no better time than the present.”
“You’re just a little ball of cliches today, huh?” Tate grumbled, his blue eyes glittering with amusement.
She grinned because she could do this all day. “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”
