Page 25 of Fabulous Filthy Friend

I chuckle, open my door, step inside, and drop my bag. “I do, but it sounds like you’re busy as hell.”

He laughs. “Yeah, but that’s a good thing.”

“How are the plans for the restaurant coming?”

He releases a heavy sigh. Baby brother was always the melodramatic one of the family, and that hasn’t changed with age. I wander into the kitchen and pull out the half-bottle of wine from the fridge.

“It’s going okay, I guess. Grant agreed to be my primary financial backer. But he wants fifty-one percent in exchange and wants input on location and some other things.”

I pour a glass and take a sip. The cool, crisp pinot grigio gives me a moment of relief from the stress of the day. “You’re willing to give over that type of control?”

It’s not a very Fury trait. Especially not for Jameson. He makes Bash look like he’s easy to boss around—something any of his coaches would disagree with.

“I don’t want to, but I don’t know if I have a choice. I’m still pretty young, and restaurants are about the riskiest investment you can make. I’m lucky I have a friend with money willing to do this at all.”

“That’s very true.” Though, I’m sure if he asked Bash for the money, he would give it to him. Even though they are like oil and water at times, they’re still brothers, and deep down, they love each other. But Jameson would never go to Bash for help. It’s just not in his nature.

He jostles the phone for a minute. “That’s actually why I’m calling.”

“What is?”

“Well, I was hoping I could talk to Flynn about something.”

I freeze with my glass halfway to my mouth while my heart sinks into my stomach. “Why don’t you just call him?”

“Why? Because I wanted to talk to you, and I figured you two would be together.”

We probably would be if there weren’t this weirdness. Mondays are usually Webflix, beer, and pizza to help ease our way into a new week.

I gulp some wine and set down the glass with a shaky hand. “No. He’s working late tonight. I’m not sure when I’ll see him next.”

A beat of silence passes between us before Jameson clears his throat. “Is everything okay?”

I tighten my hand around the wine glass and fight back the sting of tears. “Yeah, why?”

“Because everything doesn’t sound okay. Are you and Flynn fighting or something?”

Or something.

I sigh, grab my wine, and drop down onto the couch. My eyes drift closed, and I press my head back against the soft, plush back. “That’s just it. I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Hold on, let me go outside so I can hear you better.” Shuffling and a banging door follow. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Jameson usually isn’t the one to be offering any kind of life advice, but with Greer so close to making it into the playoffs, Bash is a little preoccupied right now. “Tell me what’s going on, Rach.”

I sigh. “I don’t know. He got weird with me this weekend.”

“Weird how?”

Jameson could offer me some insight into the male psyche. Though being in Jamo’s head isn’t anywhere I’d ever really want to be.

“It’s hard to explain. He was acting off at church—”

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. You went to church?”

I bite my lip and cringe. “Yeah. Why?”

Stupid.

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