Page 56 of This

If any of our group of crashers was worried about sneaking in, they shouldn’t have been. None of the employees blink an eye at us. Not that we’d leave even if they asked us to once we see Liam on the main stage—cowboy hat, a leather vest without a shirt underneath. Keaton cackles so hard beside me that I have no idea why it takes so long for any of the guys to notice us.

Lincoln’s the first, relaxed in an oversize chair. “Hey, Keats,” he shouts around the set of tits in his face. Then he leans over, so he can better see me and nods. “You workin’ tonight, Lex?”

I mime a laugh and flip him off.

At the sound of my nickname, Ford jumps up from a chair. The girl previously on his lap hits the floor, and he starts toward me to stake a claim. But a different brother beats him there.

A tree trunk of an arm slides around my shoulders as Chevy steps between Keaton and me from behind. “These jackasses make it easy for me to be your favorite.”

I smile up, and he grins down. The last of the garage and the youngest by three minutes, Chevy is my favorite. He has a calmness about him Lincoln lacks, confidence Ford needs, and the heart Bentley will never possess. My ally, even when I probably didn’t deserve one.

Our attention jerks to the stage when a loud thump travels through the speakers, followed by a short burst of feedback. Liam has dropped the microphone, eyes set on Keaton. He walks straight to her. And I mean, a straight line that leads him right off the front of the stage, over a chair, the table, another chair.

“My woman!” He dips her almost to the ground, and Chevy and I sidestep before we’re a part of the sloppy-drunk reunion suddenly taking place.

Our group has started dispersing through the club. Most know either Liam’s frat brothers or the few cousins from Keaton’s side. People watch the dancers on the smaller stage and lounge around, catching up with each other. I scan them all, searching for one in particular but not seeing him anywhere.

By now, Ford has reached us. I expect to be handed off from one brother to another, but before it happens, my feet leave the ground. Dane swoops me up, coming from I don’t know where. In the same motion, he hitches my legs up around him and crashes his lips down on mine. My curiosity about him at the airport? Gone. Dane will kiss me how he wants to kiss me without any concern about anyone else’s give-a-damn. Except for mine. But I don’t care near as much as I thought I would. He tastes like bourbon, and I’m drunk the second his tongue plunges into my mouth.

As he carries me toward the bar, I cradle his face in my hands. His lips leave mine, and his teeth immediately dig into his bottom one. “Filthy party-crasher. How am I supposed to bachelor with you here, tasting like a fucking dream?”

“It’s not my fault you left out the details of your night.”

“Two words, baby. Dance class.” He nips at my jaw and sets me on a stool. Barely half-open, his glassy eyes gaze into mine.

“You’re trashed.”

His head bounces in something resembling a nod. “Wasted.”

“I’ve never seen you drunk before.”

“Well then”—he reaches for a drink beside me—“you’re in for a treat because I’m a delight.”

“I can tell,” I say.

A smooth smile forms, and he tips the glass toward me in offering. “Be drunk with me. We’ll get fucked up, and when we go home, I’ll hold your hair and let you have the toilet while I puke in the bathtub.”

I laugh, taking the glass from his hand. “This is a terrible proposition.”

“Oh, it will be awful,” he says, waving at the bartender for another. “We’ll wake up in the morning, tangled up on the bathroom floor, absolutely miserable and swearing we’ll never put ourselves through it again.”

“Why do it in the first place then?”

He grows serious, skimming his hand over my arm. “Because it’s what should have happened a year ago. But I showed up too late, and you were in too much of a rush to go.”

It feels like something I should have remembered without him telling me. That one year ago I walked out of the bar as he walked in. Our lives passed without either of us realizing they were already intertwined.

“I sip whiskey,” I say. “If you want to get me drunk, you’ll want tequila.”

“I want.” Dane swipes the glass from my hand and finishes it. “And this time, you’re not leaving this fucking bar without me.”

Four shots into our nightof redemption, Dane disappears on me. Chevy has taken over his barstool and is surprisingly on board with someone he only just met plying me with booze.

“You’re supposed to watch out for me,” I say, playing with the tiny straw in his drink. “My brother-cousin or some shit.”

He laughs once and shakes his head. “The second he steps out of line, I’m there, sister-cuz. Until then, I’m going to enjoy the show.”

“Show?”

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