Page 3 of Theirs

“Hi, I’m Teagan,” I say, reaching my hand out for him to shake and plastering a smile on my face. He looks my arms up and down. They’re fully tattooed which puts me at least a little out of place among the posh socialites. Finally, he shakes my hand. “Forgive me, I don’t get let out of the house often.”

“I’d be happy to swap you seats, Mr. MacKenna,” says the curly headed brunette from across the table. He looks like he fits in here just as well as I do. He’s overdue for a haircut and appears at least six years younger than all these guys, possibly a couple years younger than me. His smile is boyish, and when he winks at me, it sets my body on fire. He’s kind of adorable.

“No, need, Colin,” says Mr. MacKenna. “I specialize in bratty little girls.”

“You motherfu—” I start to say, tensing in my seat.

Kane grabs onto my thigh and squeezes just like we’re kids again. He knows I have a sore spot there that can take me to my knees in the worst kind of pain. “Sorry, Mr. MacKenna. My sister is such a comedian.”

“I’m not joking,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Drink your wine and play nice,” Kane says again. “It’s a charity event. I’ll keep getting you wine as long as you behave.”

“Yes, sir!” I say with mock defiance, taking a sip of my wine. The joke is on Kane—the more wine he gives me, the more I’ll be vulgar.

B.D. lifts his own glass and clinks it against mine. “I’ll keep getting you wine if you keep misbehaving.”

I roll my eyes and sit back in my chair while my brother discusses business with the men at the table. I wonder if this is how Kristen feels when she comes to these events with Kane. Does she feel like she’s supposed to be seen and not heard? Does she pretend to be a meek little housewife? In college, Kristen and I were a force to be reckoned with. We ran our sorority like a finely tuned engine. Kind of funny though that now neither of us are using those fancy little degrees we worked four years to earn. She’s a homemaker and I’m a dog walker.

Please don’t let any of these men ask me what I do for a living.

Kane whispers in my ear to give me the run down during dinner that I’m surrounded by two CEOs, Mr. MacKenna and the young, curly brunette, Chicago’s most famous plastic surgeon, Dr. Big Dick aka Benjamin, and... I’m not sure what the other guy does. He hasn’t stopped looking at his phone and typing on it. He didn’t even touch his dinner. The juicy steak was removed from in front of him, and my mouth salivated as I watched the waitress take it. I’m sure they’re just going to throw it away. He could have at least asked them to box it up. That could have given me two meals this week.

“Hey, you,” I yell across the table, and B.D. nudges him for me. “You know a guy named Kenny?”

He glances at me, his breath stopping for a moment before completely ignoring me and going back to his phone.

“It’s rude to say hey you,” Mr. MacKenna chimes in, leaning close to me.

“It’s also rude to sit on your phone while at the dinner table,” I shoot back. I lean away from him as I sip on my third glass of wine. I’m starting to get more comfortable around this guy. “How old are you?”

He smirks at me and takes a drink of his water. “Why?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Just curious. You don’t strike me as an old man looking for a sugar baby.”

“Jesus Christ, Teagan,” Kane groans next to me. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Hey, I wasn’t supposed to be here,” I tell him. “You’re the one who begged me to attend with you, bro.”

Colin Gatsby, the handsome brunette, and B.D., who I’ve found out is really Dr. Benjamin Donaghue, both laugh.

“Calm down, Kane,” Colin says. “This is the most entertainment we’ve ever had at one of these events. You should bring your little sister around more often. Maybe bring her to a hockey game sometime. I’ve got the box seats again this season.”

“You go to hockey games with box seats and you never told me?” I ask, elbowing my brother in the side of his torso. He knows that’s my favorite sport. “I love hockey. That’s not fair.”

“Ow! Fine, I’ll bring you to hockey nights,” Kane says.

The guy who hasn’t looked up from his phone finally gets a call, and practically darts from the table to answer it somewhere in private.

“I think he’s in the mafia,” I whisper to Kane.

He takes a swig of his drink. “Not every attractive male in Chicago works for the mafia. Stop reading that mafia smut, it gives you an overactive imagination.”

“You mean overactive libido,” I say, coughing and giggling. I don’t think Kane is going to allow me another glass of wine tonight.

“You know,” Ben Donaghue says, “I’m starting to understand why you never told us you had a sister when we were in college.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupt. “These are your college friends you were always talking about? The reason you never let me visit?”

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