Page 105 of Lace 'em Up

Those being not against Annie.

Because, swear to God, our little sister is sneaky as fuck and has major Thumb War skills.

I chuckle, but the noise on the other end of the call dies down and I reach for the mug that’s now mostly full, sucking back more coffee and bracing for the firestorm of my younger brother.

“So, you don’t have anything to say about it?” Jakob grinds out a moment later.

“Well”—I take another sip, lean back against the counter—“I probably would have something to say about it if I could hear you over your hellions.”

A snort. “You know that we Bangs aren’t quiet.”

“This is true.”

“I thought you’d sworn off women,” he says. “I thought that you were going to make sure Mom stopped with this happily-ever-after bullshit that she’s been pushing on us.”

I sigh, set down my mug and rub my temple, try to soothe the throb that’s begun there.

He’s not wrong.

I did promise those things—right after my laptop was stolen by my mom’s last setup-gone-wrong.

It’s just I promised those things…

Before Rory.

“It’s not like you think,” I begin, intending to tell him that she’s different, that I’ve never met a woman like her.

“Dude,” he says. “You know that every woman is a greedy parasite that wants to suck you dry before she flits off to the next better thing.”

I used to think that.

Before Rome and Chrissy.

Before…Rory.

“Rory—”

“Rory,” he mutters. “Christ, is her mom’s name Lorelai and you’re going to have lots of teen drama at the local small town coffee shop?”

I frown. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He blows out a breath, the sound echoing through the speakers. “Never mind. Just ask Annie about the crappy TV shows she made me watch after you moved out sometime and then you’ll get the full rundown.”

That clears up my frown.

Because I’ve been subjected plenty to Annie’s brand of entertainment…and dealt with the mind melt afterward.

“Annie aside,” I say. “Rory’s full name is Aurora?—”

A humorless laugh. “And it gets worse. She shares her name with a fucking princess. Jesus Christ, you’ve seriously lost it now, man. Don’t make the same mistake of marrying a spoiled brat like I did?—”

I want to argue.

To tell him that what I have with Rory isn’t that.

She’s not a princess. She’s far from spoiled. She works her ass off, has overcome so much.

That I only call her princess, only treat her like one because she fucking deserves it—deserves the world.

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