Page 8 of From Our First

I wasn’t going down that path. I’d done it once before, and I had been betrayed in the end. I wouldn’t allow myself to get stuck in that cycle again.

“I don’t want to do this.”

“Okay, just once.”

I narrowed my eyes at Prior. “How doesjust oncefit with me not doing it at all?” I asked.

“Because if you do it once, then the family will move on to something else and forget that we put you in this situation.”

“Are you now playing good cop/bad cop with the Bradys? Because that was a bizarre episode.”

“Stop makingBrady Bunchjokes.” Prior’s eyes twinkled.

I snorted. “I’m just saying. And with our last name, they come out of nowhere.”

“That is true. Thank God we’re older now. Because when we were kids? That was ridiculous.”

“Mostly with the parents,” I said, reminiscing before we burst out laughing.

“Seriously. Just try it out. It’s only dinner and drinks. And if it sucks, you can go home. But at least you can say you tried.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“What if I dare you?” Prior asked, smug satisfaction in his gaze.

And that washow I found myself standing at a host stand, my hair clean and pushed back from my face, ready for a blind date.

I could have said no to many things. But a dare when it came to my pesky and annoying bigger brother? No, I couldn’t back down.

Prior had been one second away from clucking like a chicken. So now here I was, caught in the middle because I was an idiot.

I moved up to the hostess stand and smiled. “Hi. I’m here for Smith, party of two.”

“Ah, Smith,” the woman said, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

I didn’t know if that boded well for me. Maybe she knew it was an alias. Apparently, the brothers wanted to make sure that it was a completely blind date. So, here I was, unable to use my name or know the last name of the person I was supposed to meet.

“Your party is already here. I will take you to your table now.”

“Thank you.”

“I sure hope you have a wonderful time, Mr. Smith.”

I nearly tripped over my feet at her tone. “Did you have a photo of me so you knew I was the right Smith or something?”

The hostess beamed. “Yes. I was also told that if you try to run, I’m supposed to make clucking sounds. I refuse. However, I do have a recording of who I believe are your brothers making those chicken sounds.”

“Why would I run from my date?” I asked, but I didn’t need her to answer. I didn’t need the hostess to say anything because I knew what had happened.

Myra sat at the table, looking regal and sexy as fuck in a tight black dress that showed off her curves with the tiniest bit of cleavage that begged me to look.

I wasn’t going to look.

Simply because I knew what she looked like naked when we were younger, didn’t mean I knew what she looked like under her clothes now. And I wasn’t going to imagine it either. She had filled out a bit more and looked even sexier than she had when we were together, but that didn’t mean I needed to focus on it.

Her honey-blond hair had been curled back from her face, the tips brushing her shoulders. She looked gorgeous, sweet. And I knew that once she looked up, I would see those blue eyes. And I would fall.

I would hate myself.

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