Page 6 of So Bad It Must Be Good

“You want me to do what?” Liam very nearly pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure it was actually his brother on the line and not, say, an alien.

“I’m caught up, and I don’t want to stand her up.”

Liam shook his head, trying to work through his brother’s nonsense. This was what he got for bringing his cell into his workshop. Which was a dilapidated detached garage, all in all, but he’d made it into a functional space to do his woodworking. “Call her and tell her you can’t make it.”

“You can’t leave a hot woman in a bar by herself stood up. My God, half the dumbasses in the joint would have a shot with her.”

“So, to be clear, you want me to go on your date in your stead,” Liam returned, his voice as flat and dispassionate as he could possibly manage.

He wished he could feel all that on the inside, because on the inside he felt pretty fucked up. Chest tight. Jittering heartbeat. Knots tying in his gut.

“Hell no. You go. You explain the situation. You make sure she leaves, and then you’re free to hit on any other woman who’s been stood up.”

“I’m supposed to leave my work—”

“Thought it was a hobby,” Aiden interrupted, the smugness nearly oozing across the connection.

“All so I can make sure some other guy doesn’t hit on the woman you somehow have it in your head is yours. But are standing up for mysterious reasons.”

“Liam,” Aiden said, his voice dropping into a rare serious tone, “I don’t ask you for much.”

Which was true. Aiden asked him for things approximately never. He didn’t ask, but he made it impossible for Liam to walk away from that need to fix, to help. Even knowing Aiden was a master manipulator.

“Fine,” he grumbled. Because he was a weak moron.

Because you want to see her without him around.

He pushed both thoughts away. Firmly. “If it takes more than fifteen minutes, I am leaving her to the wolves. Got it?”

“Sure you are, brother,” Aiden returned jovially. “I’ll expect a full report tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Where the hell are you?”

But there was no response, just the beep of his phone telling him the other caller had ended the conversation.

Liam irritably tossed his phone on the worktable. He scowled at what he’d been working on. Because he’d meant to make a pair of serving spoons since he’d sold out on Wednesday, but . . .

He’d ended up starting another bear figurine. To replace the one Kayla had bought, not to match it.

Now he had to go to some bar in fucking Central West End and somehow explain to a woman he couldn’t seem to say three charming words strung together to that his brother would not be showing up.

“You could try saying no once in a while, you helpless fuck,” he muttered to himself as he put away his woodworking equipment.

But it wasn’t in his nature. Turning down a plea for help, and maybe . . . maybe actually doing something for his older brother would help Liam get over all those old fractures of bitterness. If he could say he had a hand in helping Aiden have a chance with Kayla, well, maybe it would give him the same satisfaction he got out of being the “Son” in Patrick & Son Patch-ups.

Too bad the idea of Aiden and Kayla left a sick feeling in his stomach as he changed into clean jeans and a shirt that didn’t look like he’d owned it for ten years. Which was a challenge to find considering his life was fixing things and carving things.

He drove from his house in South City to the bustling Central West End, irritated by just about everything, because irritation covered up that other thing in his chest and gut. And since he wasn’t a pansy-ass, he’d take irritation over the rest any damn day.

He swore under his breath while trying to find parking, then swore some more as he walked through the brisk April evening looking for the whiskey bar his brother had picked out.

Once he arrived, it didn’t take but a cursory glimpse around to find Kayla’s shining beacon of red hair. It was darker than when they’d been teenagers, no longer the flaming orange that had earned her Aiden’s Carrot nickname.

Did she like that? He’d only ever hated any of Aiden’s nicknames for him. Of course they were names like Reverend Tight Ass and President Boring, but Carrot wasn’t exactly flattering.

Neither was the look on Kayla’s face as he approached. Great.

Kayla fidgeted on the bar stool, smoothing her hands down over the dress that covered her thighs. She looked so damn elegant, and that was the sheer opposite of everything he was or could ever hope to be.

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