Page 113 of Head Over Heels

“Neither do you,” he pointed out.

“Better than anyone else in this town. I’m a big boy. I know she doesn’t want to stay, but I won’t sit here and have you vote on whether you think I’m being stupid.”

“Never said you were being stupid,” Ian interjected.

Jax raised his eyebrows slowly. “You told him he had his head up his ass.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And I don’t. Trust me, my eyes are wide open.”

“So she’s rich,” Jax said.

“Her dad’s a billionaire,” Ian added helpfully.

Jax whistled softly. “Never pegged you for a rich girl type.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.” The server set down another round of beers, and I picked mine up. “I’ve hardly dated the last few years, so why is everyone so certain of what’s not my type?”

“Marcy Jenkins wants to be your type,” Ian muttered. “She keeps looking over here like she wants to eat you alive.”

I grimaced. I’d noticed the same thing when I walked into the back entrance of the bar, and she lit up at the sight of me like I was walking her way stark-ass naked. “She’s nice, but…”

“But you don’t want to bang her while our whole family waits during a football game we were supposed to watch together?”

Slicking my tongue over my teeth, I gave Ian a long look. “No.”

Ian tapped the table with his thumb as he thought. “I should tell Parker about this. He should know where his games rate on your priority list.”

He pulled out his phone and started typing. I tried to grab his phone, and he sat back, thumbs flying over the screen. Then he gave me a smug look when he sent whatever bullshit message he sent to our youngest brother.

I flipped him off.

“I’d take sex over football any day,” Jax said.

“We know,” Ian and I answered in tandem.

Jax glowered. “You two act like I sleep around constantly.”

“Don’t you?”

“No.” He glanced around the bar. “When there’s no one new, you know I stay far, far away. And I know everyone in this town.” Then his eyes sharpened. “Except her.”

The clear interest in his voice had Ian and me turning in our chairs.

The bar was busy. It always was on the nights when there was live music. The lights were low, the tables and the bar full, hardly an empty seat in the entire place. A few couples swayed on the dance floor in front of the stage, and I had to scan the faces to see who he might be talking about.

A group of guys shifted as they stood to leave their table, and when they cleared out, my throat went dry.

Ivy sat at the bar, a glass of white wine in front of her.

Her hair was down in soft waves tonight, but even from behind, I knew it was her. It was the way she held herself, the poise in her shoulders, the long, graceful line of her back. The tilt of her head as she took a slow sip of her wine.

The ivory dress skimmed her upper body, nipped in tight to the waist, and when she shifted on the stool, it stopped somewhere above her knees, based on the bare leg underneath the bar. On her feet were wicked-looking heels in black.

Ian chuckled under his breath. “Jax, I think you should go buy that one a drink,” he said smoothly.

My head snapped toward his, and I felt a growl building in my throat before I could stop it.

But he held up a finger. Relax, he mouthed. Then he nodded back to the bar.

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