Page 165 of Smooth Sailing

“Remember that, because it’s the bottom-line truth,” Tack stated.

Then he hung up.

Hugger shoved his phone in his back pocket.

Then he fired up his bike, backed out, and rode to Di’s workshop so he could hand over her licorice.

18

MISSION

Diana

“That’s me and Georgie when we got hitched,” Dutch said, turning his phone my way so I could see what was on the screen from where I sat across from him at my dining room table.

It hit deep when I saw the picture of the fabulous-looking Dutch Black looking even more fabulous in a tuxedo sans bowtie, his collar open.

He was standing next to a model-gorgeous woman with shining brunette hair. Her wedding gown was bodycon with lots of ruched tulle, in a mermaid style, with a princess neckline and cap sleeves made of lace. It was understated but hella elegant with a nod to girlie. A miracle of execution. I dug it entirely.

And she was curvy.

I’d now seen Hugger’s body top-to-toe naked. It was sheer perfection, without an ounce of body fat. The furred boxes of his abs were mouth-watering. The delectable V indents at his hips were life-affirming. The bulges of his biceps, veined sinews of his forearms, definition in his shoulders and back, power in his quads (you get me), were proof there was a God.

This was nowhere near what I offered up, and although Hugger gave absolutely no indication he had a problem with my ass, thighs and belly, seeing how happy Dutch and Georgie were, with an obvious underlining of sheer contentment, made something in my heart settle.

Dutch took his phone away, slid his finger on the screen, turned it around and said, “This is Jag and Arch at their shindig.”

Whoa.

The woman in that photo was also beautiful, but slender, wearing a strapless sheath of ivory satin with a color-matching circle scarf of soft chiffon that fell from her neck down her back. Her hair was up with no adornment, and there were some fancy chandelier earrings made of pearls falling from her ears. That was it. It was utter simplicity, and so freaking cool, it made me rethink the wedding dress confection I’d always dreamed of wearing at my own “shindig.”

“Looks like you boys have good taste,” I remarked.

Dutch turned the phone around and studied the picture, “Yeah. Arch is the shit.” He aimed a smile at me. “And obviously, Georgie was the most perfect bride there ever was.”

I returned his smile. “Obviously.”

“I got some,” Big Petey said from the head of the table, and I turned to my right to see him also showing me his phone.

On it was a picture of an adorable little boy with an equally adorable little girl, both of them dark-headed and smiling.

“That’s Playboy and Princess,” Big Petey said as he reached over the phone to slide the next picture where a ridiculously handsome, lanky man, with dark hair and green eyes, was holding the little girl from the earlier photo on his hip, another less-little but still little girl on his other hip, and he was standing next to a stunning brunette with sapphire eyes who had the little boy’s hand in hers. “Shy and Tabby’s kids.”

I turned to Hugger, who was sitting beside me, and asked, “You don’t have a hotness quotient your brothers have to meet before they become members?”

He grinned at me.

I heard Big Petey and Dutch chuckle.

I turned back to Big Petey who was shuffling through pictures on his phone.

“Playboy and Princess?” I asked.

“Nicknames,” Pete grunted. “Real names are Landon Kane and Caroline Tyra. Their middle girl is Wren. Their son is named after Shy’s brother and Tab’s father, and their last girl is named after Shy’s ma and Tab’s stepma. Wren is pure wren, our pretty little bird.”

“Ah.”

“This is Joke and Carrie’s brood,” Big Petey said, turning the phone back to me.

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