Page 4

“Put your shirt on.”

Dillon is reaching for something but pauses to look back at me. “Why? I thought you like men.”

“Yes, men. Not you. Your sweat is leaking everywhere. It's unsanitary.”

He wipes his hands on his shirt and lets it fall back where it stays, safely tucked into his pocket.

“What's wrong with me?”

I quirk an eyebrow.

“There are about three brain cells between you and Warren. I like my men with at least five, personally. And—” I flick my eyes to that pierced nipple and pretend my dick doesn’t twitch behind my very thin pants—“I like pretty men.”

Dillon’s face stays blank for all of two seconds before he lets out a snort. “You thought I was pretty enough when you—”

All the blood drains from my face, and I slap my hands over my ears like a toddler. Nope.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

“Rule number one,” I snap loudly, cutting him off. “We will not be discussing that. Not now, not ever. Understand? Rule number two, I am here to decorate, not pretend to be Bob the Builder. I don’t do this.” I wave a hand around the gutted place.

“Then why are you here?” He makes a subtle gesture at the door with his head, and my blood pressure rises.

“My brother said to swing by today. I was under the impression there would at least be walls to look at.”

“Hey, when you inevitably call Warren as soon as you get in the car to throw a little bitch fit about him deceiving you, tell him I said that seems to be all he’s good at.” He picks up what looks like a nail gun, and my brows shoot straight up my forehead when he points it at me. “Oh, and then tell him that I think he’s a pussy and a liar, and he should go suck a bag of dicks.” He nods at himself, like that will really tell him.

I cover my mouth, biting back the laugh that wants to come out so I can properly stick up for my brother. But I actually have no idea what happened. None. Warren clammed up when I asked him at the bar. But Dillon here must know something for him to say these things, and I’m willing to bet a good chunk of my shoe collection that Dillon is the one responsible for the bruise that had been on my brother’s cheek.

Wheels start turning. Ideas. Likely terrible ones, but I have to start somewhere. Maybe I couldn’t help with Morgan, but maybe I can help with Dillon and Warren. And possibly, being a nosy bitch will lead me to gaining some details on what happened to cause all of this in the first place.

Warren looked more wrecked than I think I have ever seen him. So much so that I have sent a text to him every few hours just to make sure he’s not living off alcohol and making bad life choices. He made it seem like there was no hope for him and Morgan, but maybe there can be hope for him and Dillon.

“A pussy, huh? I thought you liked those.” Dillon had turned and started measuring something, but he turns back to me with a very unimpressed look. I hold my hands up and add, “Just saying.”

“Not all of us can like dicks,” Dillon mutters, albeit poorly because I hear him clear as day.

“You say it like all of us are gay, Dilly. Last time I checked, I’m the only one in your family and mine. In fact, I would argue that not enough of us like dicks.”

His response is no response, unless you want to count the low sigh and loud thunk of the nail gun. I bite my lip, thinking. Subtlety has never been my strong suit. I lived with four rambunctious brothers who were all bigger than me. I learned from a young age that being loud and direct was the quickest way to be noticed. But it's very much lacking people and noise here. Just me and an annoyed giant of a man. How does one subtly scheme information from someone?

“If you’re not going to help, you can leave. I will text you when there are walls to look at. Maybe by the end of the week.”

I was obviously being dismissed. Him and I both know I have no fucking idea what he is doing or how I would even begin to help. But he was in for a rude awakening if he thought he could push me out the door that easily. Warren told me to come today, and I didn’t drive Wanda the Beetle up the mountain for nothing.

“How many bathrooms will there be?”

“One.”

“Bedrooms?” I ask, indulging myself in looking at his back for a moment longer before stepping carefully around the scattered tools and piles of materials and trying to imagine the space walled up. It felt a lot bigger inside than it had looked from the outside.

“Two bedrooms, one bathroom.” Dillon bends to pick up another board and swipes at the sweat on his cheek with his shoulder. “Kitchen.” He nods ahead of him and then gestures with his elbow behind me. “Morgan wanted a den off the living room. Probably thinking they would need the space for all the babies your brother promised her.”

I cross my arms and give him my very best neutral look. “It’s not like he left her, Dillon.” My voice sounds very assured, but inside, I’m holding my breath for his answer. If there is one thing I am willing to bet in all of this, it is that Morgan left Warren and not the other way around. He did just about anything to keep her from hurting, and the tortured look on his face was a man in pain with no way out. Not a self-inflicted heartache.

But what do I know? Nothing about love. And less about relationships. I love strawberry ice cream and minty shampoo. They could never wrong me. But a person? I couldn’t imagine it.

Dillon swings around so fast, I react before I can even think not to. Stumbling several steps back, I just manage to not fall on my ass when one big hand wraps around my bicep.