Page 129 of The Broker

Why the fuck hadn’t I lived like this before?

“Remind me,” I said, “what time tomorrow?” Because we were doing Thanksgiving with her side of the family at her parents’ house.

“My mom said three, so that means dinner won’t be ready until at least four.” She’d been amused with herself, but it vanished, becoming totally serious. “But be there at three. Because she gets mad if anyone points out she’s running behind.”

“Got it.” I wiped away the water droplets clinging to the inside of the roasting pan. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

She hesitated and her voice dipped low. “About going to the club?”

Heat spread through me at her meaning. After dinner tomorrow, we had plans to go to Club Eros.

Since we’d fallen in love, we hadn’t played with anyone else. These last two months, we’d just been enjoying our time together. We’d discussed if we wanted to play with others, but we’d see how we felt about it when we got there and only do it if we were both interested.

There was a strong possibility we’d be satisfied just watching this first time. No matter what, I was confident the evening would be a lot of fun, not to mention, hot.

“No,” I said, “I meant the part where I’m meeting your family.”

“Oh.” She considered it as she rinsed the sink. “No, I think they’ll love you.”

“Even your dad?” I said it as a joke, but I was serious. I’d only seen Ardy twice since our meeting where I’d asked for his help, and both times had been awkward as fuck. But she assured me he’d come around.

“Yeah, even my dad.” She had a thought. “But, maybe, bring some bourbon. He likes the expensive kind.”

I chuckled. “Of course he does.”

Footsteps shuffled across the tile, and we both turned to look.

Tyson was only a few years older than I was, and he had classic middle child syndrome. The guy loved flying under the radar. He pulled open the fridge, grabbed the tin of pumpkin pie and a tub of Cool Whip.

“Dude,” I said. “We just ate dessert.”

He shrugged. “I got sent in here to see what you’re doing. Mom wants to know the status on the wine.”

I stared at him as he pulled down a plate from a cabinet and dug through my silverware drawer for a fork, spoon, and knife. “She ask you to get her some pie too?”

“Nope, pie’s for me.” He cut himself a slice and used the knife to transfer it to the plate, sending pie crust crumbs skittering across the counter. The tub of Cool Whip was opened, and the spoon scooped out a dollop and plunked it down on the slice of pie. “I figured I’d get some as long as I’m in here.”

I felt Charlotte’s intent gaze watching him as he stood at the island, holding his plate while eating and making a mess whereshe’d just cleaned. But she said nothing, maintaining a perfect smile. It made me think of the GIF where the dog was sitting at the table, saying everything was fine while the house around him was on fire.

“Are you two,” Tyson said with a mouthful of food, “about ready to start game night?”

I forced the irritation from my voice. “Yeah, we’ll be done in a minute.”

He scraped the plate with the fork, getting every last bit of the pie, before setting the plate down. He pulled the spoon out of the Cool Whip, tapped it on the side of the tub... and set the dirty spoon on the counter like a goddamn savage.

He did the same with the knife he’d used to cut the pie, carelessly smudging pie filling across the stone.

My brother didn’t hear her sharp intake of breath or notice how her shoulders tensed.

“Really, Ty?” I sighed.

“What?” He capped the tub and pulled the plastic wrap back in place on the pie, before putting them away in the fridge.

“Come on,” I groaned, moving swiftly to the island so I could stack his dirty utensils on the plate.

Tyson watched me with wonderment. “Bro. When did you become such a clean freak?”

His question was rhetorical. Or maybe it wasn’t, but I ignored it. Charlotte moved beside me, grabbed the plate, and swept the crumbs onto it with the sponge.

---