Page 36 of Five Brothers

“Do you really want to know?” Clay folds her smile between her teeth.

Liv heads behind the counter, toward the kitchen. “Probably not,” she mumbles. “I’ll get the pie.”

I smile after her, then look to Clay. “So, what do I do? How do I figure out which one it was?”

“Well, I’m guessing more of him than just his dick touched you last night, right?” she presses. “See which one starts acting familiar with you. Putting his hands on you. Looking at you differently. Being flirty.”

I look over at the guys’ table, Trace fitting together six packets of sugar, ripping them open in unison, and pouring them all in his iced tea at the same time.

“Any of them besides Trace doing that today?” she asks.

Iron chews his ice.

“Maybe,” I murmur. “I mean, we can probably rule out Dallas, right?”

“Did it feel like him?”

I look at Dallas’s back, a bad taste hitting my mouth. “Well, it wasn’t hate-fucking, but … it was aggressive, I guess.” I shoot hera look. “God, if it was him, I probably don’t want to know. It wouldn’t be him, right? He hates Saints.”

She kind of flinches, tilting her head side to side, thinking. “I’m not sure how much that’s true. I wouldn’t rule him out, honestly.”

“Oh God.”

“Relax.” She laughs quietly. “My guess is Iron. But I sure wish I could stick around and watch this one play out.”

No, thanks. I’d rather endure this mess only I could get into without my friends spectating.

Liv comes out with a pie box, holding it by the string.

“I’ve got to go,” Clay tells me.

I rise and move with her toward the door. “Lighthouse?”

“Back to my mom’s, actually. She’s away.” She does a little dance. “We’re gonna skinny-dip before Liv’s flight.”

I’ve seen girls skinny-dip in the Jaeger pool, but obviously Liv’s going to want Clay naked in private. Understandable.

“Have fun,” I tell her.

She gives me a hug. “Are you going to be okay? We can stay over here if you’re uncomfortable …”

“Go.” I push her toward the door. “I’ll be over on my side of town tonight. I’m not staying.”

Liv embraces me quickly, and they both leave, climbing into Clay’s old Bronco. I’ll see Liv at Thanksgiving, but … this was the last time she’d see Iron outside of …

My throat tightens.

Three and a half years.

But instead of sadness and pity, I’m mad at him. Then I lock eyes with him, seeing his narrow on me, because he can tell something is wrong. But I just head over to Paisleigh instead. She’s stopped eating and is tearing her napkin into strips, puzzling them back together.

“Ready to go?” I chirp.

“Can we come back tomorrow?”

“You’ve got school tomorrow.”

She drops her head back in dramatic disappointment like kindergarten is living hell. I pick up her sketchbook and markers, stuffing everything into her backpack. I take her hand and start to walk out, but I crash into someone and look up. Two men have entered the restaurant, dressed casually in slacks in a pathetic attempt to blend in, but they’re Cucinelli. My father wears them. Tourists don’t.

---