Page 11 of The Situation
“Yeah …”
“Tate.” Gannon does something I’ve never heard him do.He cackles. “Tate, really?”
My brows pull together. “What?”
The humor is still thick in his voice. “Let me get this straight. You met Kelly Kapowski, and now you think you’ll marry her? Have you been drinking?”
His amusement is annoying, but I don’t dwell on it. As my eldest brother, he’s made it his mission in life to either flat-out ignore me or to heckle me in the most frustrating way possible. He’s barely more tolerable now that he’s married to my best friend.
“No, I haven’t been drinking,” I say, slipping off my shoes. “We met on the plane and connected.We had a moment.I can’t explain it.”
“I bet you did.”
“You know what? I don’t like your tone.”
He chokes back another laugh.
“Why is this so funny? Renn got accidentally married in Vegas. Jason married his secretary. You married my best friend. And you somehow think that meeting your soulmate on a plane is wild?” I ask. “It sounds like a pretty normal way to meet a woman, if you ask me.”
“You know what? Valid point.”
“Thank you.” I step into the en suite. “Where is Carys? I need her.”
“My wifeis home, and let me reiterate to you for the thousandth time that I don’t like you saying you need her.”
I ignore him and give the room a quick once-over. After my shower, it’s not too messy, but the vanity could use some work. I gather my toiletries and shove them back into my Dopp kit. Then I wipe the counter down with a washcloth.Much better. Still, the suite is missing something …
“Well,for the thousandth time, she was my best friend before she was your wife.”
“Whatever,” he mumbles. “I have a meeting in ten. Give Carys a call. And Tate?”
“Yeah?”
“Ask Kelly if she knows Slater.”
“What—”
Gannon’s laughter fills the line just before he ends the call.
I roll my eyes as I press Carys’s name. As the phone rings, I straighten the pillows on the bed and toss my candy bar wrapper in the bathroom trash. I grab my cologne on the way out and give the pillows a little squirt in case Kelly makes it back to my room tonight. Women usually love a bed that smells like me.
“Hi,” Carys says brightly. “Sorry for all the rings. I couldn’t find my phone.”
“You, Carys Brewer, have done the impossible,” I say, cutting to the chase.
“Oh really? What did I do?”
I open the closet, pull a few things, and lay them on the bed.
“You’ve started to rub off on your husband,” I say, surveying my selections. “The fucker almost has a personality.”
“Be nice, Tate.”
“I’m always nice. But this isn’t about Gannon. I need a favor.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I need your help choosing something to wear tonight.”
