Page 4 of Hale Yes
Then Phoenix delivers the kill shot. “One of our choosing.”
Our brother’s dark eyebrows inch together over his brown eyes. “Who gets to pick? I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but I don’t trust you, Phe.”
“I’ll pick,” I offer, and Remi’s eyes shoot toward me before he nods.
“Okay, I know Helix won’t do me dirty. What are the terms?”
Phoenix taps his chin with a well-manicured finger. “Hmmm. If I win, you have to slow dance with me tomorrow night at my wedding reception. Like junior high style with your arms over my shoulders.”
Dutton and I crack up because that is classic Phoenix… utterly ridiculous. Remington is not so impressed if the sigh he blows out is any indication.
“Fine, and if I win, you have to play golf with me every Saturday for the next year.”
My twin grimaces. We all play golf, but none of us are as fanatical as our older brother. “I’m only asking for one dance, and you want me to give up my Saturdays for fifty-two weeks? Completely unreasonable.”
Remi, ever the negotiator, counters with, “Okay, once a month for six months.”
“Deal,” Phoenix says, shooting his hand out to seal the arrangement. “But if it rains, you forfeit that month, and I don’t have to make it up.” My brothers shake, and Remington turns his bleak gaze to me, like I’m the grim reaper coming to take him away.
“Who are you choosing, Helix?” His head swivels slowly from side to side, assessing the women in the VIP area.
“Nope, not gonna be someone from up here. I’m picking someone down there,” I tell him, striding to the floor-to-ceiling glass separating the exclusive section from the rest of the club. The group follows me, and I cross my arms over my chest as I scan the women down below.
Remington was right to trust me. I’m not going to screw him over, but I am going to make him work for it. That means no wealthy party girls. Skipping the dancing bodies, I let my eyes flit across the seating area on the far side of the room.
Two women are sitting at a high, round table on the edge of the dance floor, a brunette and a redhead. The brunette stands and tugs on the other woman’s hand, but red pulls her hand back and shakes her head.Hmmm. Is she a little shy?
I watch as her friend joins another group of women on the dance floor and finds her groove to a Gwen Stefani tune. My eyes go back to red, who is still seated. She fidgets with the top of her dress, as if she’s uncomfortable with the amount of cleavage she’s showing. She appears to want to be anywhere but here.
If I’m reading the scene correctly, brunette dragged red to this club tonight, probably insisting she wear a skimpy dress. Brunette would be the easier target for my brother, but I need to make this a bit more of a challenge for Remi.
After another quick scan of the area, my eyes are drawn back to red. She’s beautiful, her hair cut in a cute bob of dark auburnwaves. When she attempts to pull the bottom hem of her dress down to cover more of her legs, I smile.Bingo.
“Her,” I tell my brothers and cousin as I point. “The redhead at the fifth table from the left.”
Turning my head, I find Remington with his nose practically pressed to the glass. “Fuck,” he breathes, eyes trained on the beauty. “Thanks, Helix. You’re the best brother ever.”
Phoenix snorts and smacks Remi between the shoulder blades. “She seems like a wallflower. Good luck with that, bro.”
“You better get your putter polished, Phe,” he warns, backing away from the window and adjusting the collar of his black shirt. “Watch and learn, boys.”
Dutton grabs his elbow and stops him before he can head toward the stairs. “You’re supposed to look and act like a regular guy, not a dude with money coming out of his ass.”
Remi holds his hands out to the side. “What the fuck? I look regular.”
We survey him from head to toe, and Phoenix snorts. “Hate to tell ya, Rem. Regular people don’t wear thousand dollar shirts, Brioni loafers, and a Patek Philippe watch that costs more than a Toyota.”
Our older brother rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll go down there naked, but then it will be gravy. I look awesome naked.”
“Just take off the watch and change your shirt and shoes,” Dutton suggests.
Remington pats his pockets sarcastically. “Well, shit, I seem to have left my spare shirt in the car.”
“Switch with one of us,” Phoenix suggests.
Remington eyes each of us, quickly dismissing our brother’s neon pink monstrosity and Dutton’s western shirt. His gaze falls on my simple charcoal-gray button-down. It cost me about eighty bucks, so definitely a far cry from Mr. Fancy Pants, but it’s better than his other options.
“Helix, switch with me.”
