Page 15 of Stick Handled

Shit.I take a deep breath and shrug, not trusting my voice to be steady. I’ve never been a good liar.

“We’re heading out to a club tonight,” he says, his tone gentle, but there’s an undercurrent of expectation there. “Would you like to come with us?” He finally releases me and steps back to lean against the kitchen island. I glance over at Ares, who’s uncorking a bottle of white wine.

I bite my lip. It’s not that I don’t want to go. It’s just… clubs. People. Loud music. It’s not exactly my scene.

Rowan must sense my hesitation because he steps closer, his gaze soft but intent. “You’ll be with me the whole time, Av. I’ll have someone drive you back here as soon as you want to leave, I promise.”

And damn, I love him for that. He always knows how to say the right thing and makes me feel like he’s looking out for me without pushing too hard.

I give him a small smile as I watch Ares fill a glass of wine.

“Thanks, Rowan. Really. But I think I’ll pass tonight and just have Sarah come over.”

He doesn’t push further; he just nods in understanding. “Alright. You can order anything you want and call me if you change your mind.”

I appreciate him more than I can say. He’s overprotective, sure, but he’s always tried to get me to step out of my comfort zone, even when I retreat back into it.

Ares slides the glass of wine over to me, and I look up at him, confused.

“While you wait for your friend,” he says in that impossibly deep voice as he puts the cork back on the bottle. He only poured one glass.

He opened the wine for me?He knew I’d say no to Rowan’s invitation. And that’s what unnerves me about Ares. If mind-reading is real, he definitely has it.

As Rowan heads upstairs to change, Ares lingers in the room. He’s quiet, like always, but his presence fills the space with an intensity that makes me want to disappear. He’s almost terrifying, but not in a bad way. More in the way that makes you second-guess everything you say around him because he’s so clearly one step ahead.

He heads to the pool area outside and lights a cigarette. Rowan would kill him if he smoked inside the house.

I look at the cigarette resting between his tattooed fingers. All three men are heavily tattooed, but Ares is the one with the most ink covering his skin, snaking up his neck and all the way down to his knuckles.

Before I can stare too long, the front door swings open, and Damien’s imposing silhouette fills the room. And just like that, the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface rushes back with full force. His eyes lock onto mine instantly, a gaze so intense it makes my skin tingle in ways I can’t fully understand.

“Hey, Red,” he greets, kicking the door shut behind him with his leg.

He’s wearing a black long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his tattoos. The veins on his forearms wind like snakes, curling up his arms. He looks more than good, and for a moment, I can’t do anything but stare.

He doesn’t say anything either; he just watches me.

I shift under his gaze, the flutter in my stomach growing impossible to ignore. “Hi,” I finally say, my voice coming out more breathless than I intended.

“You coming with us?” He flashes me that familiar, slow smile, his arms crossing over his chest with that effortless cool.

“Not tonight,” I murmur, glancing away before I lose my nerve completely.

“Looked like you were pre-gaming with that wine,” Damien notes, walking closer to where I’m sitting.

“Actually…” I glance over at Ares, about to explain that it was him who poured the wine. But Ares is watching Damien intensely, his eyes slightly narrowed. I change my mind. “Sarah’s coming over.”

“The girl from the airport, right?” he asks nonchalantly and, without asking, takes a sip of my wine.

I nod, not trusting my voice, as I watch his strong throat work to swallow the liquid. I look down, and my gaze flicks to the open journal in front of me, full of a list of books I want to buy since I have barely any here at Rowan’s place.

Damien sets the glass down and follows my gaze. Before I can stop him, he snatches it up.

“What’s this?” he asks, his eyes scanning the page, the teasing glint back in his eyes.

“It’s nothing,” I mutter, standing and reaching for it across the island, but of course, he holds it out of my reach, his smirk fully in place. I should have seen this coming.

“Book titles?” His eyebrow arches, amusement clear in his tone. “You’re making a list of books?”

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