Page 96 of Borrowing My Bestie's Brothers

“Trouble in paradise?” Clinton appeared at my shoulder, waiting for access to the sink. I looked at him sharply, but he was actually expressing real concern for the first time. He glanced up at the stairs. “The boss has been quiet all afternoon. Well, quieter than normal.”

“Want all the gossip?” I asked, keeping my tone light.

“No.” He was serious, which had me turning around to face him as I dried my hands on some paper towel. “Look, I know I’m a prick?—”

“You are. You really are.”

“But none of us want to see you get hurt.” Ken and Gary walked into the room then, as if summoned. “If Brock fucks you over…”

“We know you’ve got brothers,” Ken said, “but you’re like a daughter to me. One that’s way more interested in cars than makeup, but still.”

“Just because he’s the boss doesn’t mean he can jerk you around,” Gary grumbled.

“He’s not…” My hands rose and fell. “We’re not…” I blinked and blinked, but still my eyes ached as their words sank in. We didn’t do touchy-feely shit at all in the workshop, so they caught me completely off guard. “I mean, I…”

“What’s that, Mousie?” Clinton wrapped an arm around my neck, tugging me closer. “You need to squeak louder. Full sentences, you can do it.”

That bullshit I knew how to deal with. I drove my elbow into his ribs, forcing him to gasp and the others to cackle, but right as things devolved into pushing and shoving, Brock walked into the room. Everyone fell silent like troops the minute their commanding officer entered the barracks.

“Jamie?”

He jerked his head, indicating that I should follow him, not giving anything away. I sighed and nodded to the rest of the guys, following him out into the garage. If I was wondering what this was about, he communicated that physically rather than verbally, pressing his body against mine as he pinned me to the side of a car.

“We’re good,” he said, cupping my jaw with his hands. “I just needed to process things.” His nose grazed mine. “You go out with my brother tonight and have a good time. Try to forget about the bullshit of the engagement party for just one night and…”

Our mouths collided, as if staying apart was somehow a painful experience, one that could only be resolved by this. His hard, biting kiss branded my mouth with his beard, just as he had with his dick earlier this afternoon.

“So I don’t need to kick the boss’ arse today.” We pulled away to see Clinton smirking, but one growl from Brock had him bolting for the door. “Good to know. See ya tomorrow, Mouse!”

“That little prick…” Brock shook his head. “Why do I keep him around?”

“He’s really good at what he does?” I said, because he was. Clinton had an encyclopaedic knowledge of newer model cars.

“He is. And you…” The heat rising in his gaze, that slow smile, it was everything I hadn’t realised I missed this afternoon. “Are really good at what you do.” Another slower, softer kiss to make sure I knew exactly what he meant. “I’ll be playing that moment over and over in my head when you go out on that date.” He spoke the words against my ear so no one else could hear. “And I’m hoping you’ll be thinking about the same.”

When he pulled away, my hands wanted to reach out and drag him back. I instantly missed the warmth, the weight of him. One look at his smug smile and I knew that was exactly what he had planned all along. I shook my head and walked out to my car, heading home to get ready.

I’d turned my phone off silent when I got home, just in case Hunter needed to call me, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when it started ringing. I was midway through washing my hair, so I spluttered and then was forced to rinse off before sprinting out to answer it, dripping water all over the floor. My hand reached for it, my thumb tapping on the screen before I bothered to see who it was, because I assumed it was Hunter calling with a change of plans.

“Hello?”

“Finally!” My grip on the phone tightened when I heard Mum’s voice. “Why didn’t you ring me back? Why haven’t you answered my messages?”

Because I was at work. Somehow that never occurred to my mother. She would never ring my brothers during their work days, but for some reason I was different. Was it because she didn’t work, preferring to stay home and keep house for Dad? Or was it simply because I was a woman and she’d grown up in an era where women’s incomes supplemented the family budget but they were not the primary breadwinners? I didn’t know, and asking her questions like that hadn’t gotten me far.

“Mum, I’m in the middle of getting dressed to go out.”

“With who?” Her voice grew sharp. “Not that Brock boy. He’s not the one for you, I’ve realised. Neither is that other one. Leading the children in a water fight? Could you imagine what kind of father he would be?”

“With Hunter,” I said.

She fell silent for a few blessed seconds and I sucked in a breath, banking on the fact she hadn’t met him yet and so he was a tantalising possibility.

“You’re going to ask him to be your date at the engagement party?” she asked.

“Maybe.” A sharp knock on my door had me walking down the hall to unlock it and when it swung open, Hunter stood leaning against the door frame. He took in the towel wrapped around my body in a long, slow look before meeting my eyes. One eyebrow cocked upwards. “I’m still feeling him out to see if he’s interested.”

But he was, that was clear. He stepped inside, herding me backwards until the backs of my legs hit the couch. One hand went to the edge of the towel, a question in his eyes.

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