Page 4 of More To Us

"What's that?" Jake asks.

"A girl's number." He smiles. "She gave it to me as I was walking to the restroom. So there. I still got it, asshole."

"No shit?" He picks the piece of paper up. "Where is she? Is she still here?"

"She's at the table in the far right corner. She's with some other girls."

Jake spots her, then slowly smiles. "The hot redhead?"

"Yeah, how did you—" Nash shakes his head. "Fuck. You've been with her."

Jake laughs. "Just once. And it was a long time ago. Does she know you're my brother?"

"Who the hell knows? But when I told her I was engaged, she still gave me her number."

"Yeah, if I remember right, she wasn't too selective." He grins at Nash.

"Asshole," Nash mutters, but he's grinning too. We all give each other shit. It's the way we show our brotherly love.

"Do these girls come up to you when you're out with Ivy?" I ask Jake.

"All the freaking time. She knows I'd never cheat on her, but still, she makes me buy her something every time it happens."

"Like jewelry, or what?"

"Tools." He grins. "How awesome is that? Words can't describe how much I love that girl."

"Which is why you still get her jewelry," Nash says.

"Well, yeah, but not every time. I'd be broke if I did."

My phone dings. It's a text from Van, asking when I'll be over there.

"I gotta go." I slide out of the booth. "Thanks for lunch, Nash."

"No problem. Have fun at practice. Sorry we can't make it tomorrow."

"Next time," I say. "See ya, Jake."

"Call the waitress!" he yells as I leave.

I just shake my head. I'm not calling her. She's not my type. I'm not really into blondes and that heavy makeup is a turn-off.

When I get to the house, Van and Dylan are already playing.

"What took you so long?" Dylan sets down his guitar. He's our lead singer but also plays bass. It's a three person band. I play guitar and Van plays the drums.

"I was having lunch with my brothers."

"They coming tomorrow?"

"No. They've got plans. And I'm not late, so stop giving me shit."

"Ignore him." Van tosses his drumstick in the air and catches it. "He's just nervous about his song."

"I'm not nervous." Dylan gets up and takes a water from the mini-fridge. "I just want to make sure we get it right. Austin, you want a water?"

"No thanks." I go in my spot and get my guitar set up.

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