Page 43 of The Chase

He responds with a scowl. “Oh, hi there. How was Rome?”

“Rome?” she says blankly.

“Yeah. Rome.” His dark look travels toward me. “Right, Brutus?”

I reluctantly turn to Fitz for assistance. “What the hell is he talking about?”

“Et tu, Brute,” he murmurs wryly.

“Davenport told us where you were,” Hollis accuses. “So don’t try to hide it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I say cheerfully. “Bee, you want a drink?”

“Obviously.”

From the armchair, Hunter cracks one eye open. “Only thing left is the bottle of Fireball,” he mumbles, haphazardly gesturing to the end table.

I eye the whiskey bottle apprehensively. “Feeling spicy?” I ask Brenna.

“Always.”

Grinning, I duck into the kitchen in search of shot glasses. When I come back, Brenna is nestled on the other side of Fitzy, trying to convince him and Hollis that she was coerced into attending the Cambridge party.

“It was terrible,” she bemoans.

“Bullshit! She had the best time ever.” I set the glasses on the table, then glance at my roommates. “It’s okay if Brenna stays over, right?” I’m wondering now if I should’ve asked for permission.

But Hollis waves his hand dismissively. “Of course you’re staying over,” he tells her. “My bed is your bed.”

Fitz snorts.

“Oh honey, I wouldn’t touch your bed with a ten-foot pole.”

“Speaking of poles…” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Keep it in your pants, Michael.”

“Aw, have some mercy on him. He needs it tonight,” Fitz says, slinging one tattooed arm around her shoulder.

And no, I’m not jealous seeing that.

Why would I be?

I tear my gaze away and focus on pouring the Fireball.

“Why does he need my mercy?”

“Because he shaved his entire body for a woman and got stood up.” Fitz looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

From his chair, Hunter doesn’t bother refraining. He chuckles, albeit sleepily. I think maybe Hollis wasn’t the only one smoking weed tonight. Hunter has barely moved since we got home.

“Oh, dear.” Brenna reaches across Fitz’s big body and pats Hollis on the arm. “My apologies, sweetie.”

I study him as I finish pouring. He’s wearing jeans and long sleeves. Not a hint of skin. “On a scale of one to ten, how hairless are you?”

His lips curve. “C’mere and find out…”

This time Fitz reaches over, smacking Hollis on the backof the head. “Enough, dude. Even I’m starting to get skeeved out.”

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