“Maybe if y’all’d started three weeks ago…”
They both looked at him as though they couldn’t fathom what that meant. Whatever. It was too damn early to debate this. Until he filled his tank with some high octane, he’d only go down swinging.
Stone shrugged. “Hope you don’t mind I slept in your bed.”
“Hope you changed the sheets,” Reilly said, mocking his tone.
Stone frowned.
Tate’s eyes widened, and he shook his head at Reilly, then looked his way. “Don’t listen to her. They’re clean.”
“So he says,” she drawled.
“Rye,” Tate admonished.
“What?” She’d certainly perfected that wide-eyed, innocent look. “You and Dweregettin’ busy in that bed the last—”
“No!” Stone held up a hand. “No, no.” He shook his head and carried his coffee into the living room. “I don’t wanna hear about howanyonewas gettin’ freaky in that bed with Donovan.”
“Oh, but they were,” Reilly said with far too much enthusiasm. “My noise-cancelin’ headphones couldn’t drown ’em out.”
Stone took a seat on the couch and glanced at Tate. The kid’s face was beet red. If he had to guess, Donovan thought that shit was adorable.
Never in his life would Stone have imagined his big brother settling down with Reilly’s best friend from childhood, yet that was exactly what they were doing. Not only were they shacking up together, they were getting married. Provided Tate accepted D’s proposal. According to Reilly, he would. One day. Probably.
Stone sipped his coffee and studied Tate. He would say yes eventually. Right?
His sleep-deprived brain decided that yes, Tate would get around to saying yes and walking down the aisle because, although Stone hadn’t been around much these past few years, something told him they were going to get their happily ever after. Donovan deserved it. They were an interesting pair, that was for damn sure.
Almost as interesting as Reilly and Brady. Stoneneversaw that one coming. Then again, he’d never thought of his sister as being old enough to settle down and get trapped in domesticated bliss.
“So, you think we could borrow your trailer?” Reilly asked, practically skipping into the living room.
“Sure,” he said, staring at her over his coffee mug. “Just as soon as you unload it.”
“What’s in there?”
“All my shit.”
“Oh.”
Yeah.Ohwas right.
“What do ya need it for?” he inquired, still sipping coffee.
“To move our stuff.”
“D’s not springin’ for movers?” Stone asked Tate.
“He offered. I declined.”
“Well, that’s not fair,” Reilly said, hooking her hands on her hips. “Brady didn’t offer to movemystuff.”
“Probably figured you needed to earn your keep.” Stone gave her a mocking grin.
Reilly looked at him, her innocence shining brightly in her big green eyes. “No. I pretty much paid my dues last night when—”
“Nope!” Stone shouted, shooting to his feet. He sloshed coffee on his hand but ignored the sting from the heat. “Donoteventhinkabout finishin’ that sentence.”
