Page 2 of Hot for the Jerk

“What was what?I got ambushed into singing.You know I can’t say no to that song.I had no choice in the matter.It was compulsory.”

Bennett, Wyatt, and Dom all snorted and shook their heads.

“Which was why we put that song on, doofus,” Wyatt said.“What we mean is, your little eye-fuck masked as eye-hate with Raina Aaronson.And then she just came up and snatched the microphone from you.”

“And is doing a hell of a good job singing Madonna, I will say,” Bennett added, turning to face the stage where Raina poured her heart out.

Fuck, she even had a nice voice.Damn her.

“It’s nothing,” I grunted, taking a sip of my beer.“Leave it.”

They all rolled their eyes.We all had blue eyes, but mine were the darkest.Clint’s were a royal blue, Bennett’s were darker, Wyatt and Dom had hazel mixed with their blue, and mine were the darkest yet.When my pupils dilated, you could barely see the irises they blended so much with the almost-navy shade.

I was also the only one with a long, thick beard.We all had facial hair, but they kept theirs trimmed and hugging their jaws.More of a scruff than anything.Mine was long, soft, and luxurious.

Wyatt, Bennett, and I wore glasses, but I wore mine the most.

There was no denying we were all brothers.

We were all tall; though, I was the tallest.We all had dark hair—mine was the lightest—and besides me, the other four served in the Marines.I got a football scholarship and went to college, only to get an injury early on and graduate with a psych degree.

My brothers and I all stood at the bar, sipping beer and watching Raina sing her heart out when Vica joined us, along with Clint’s woman, Brooke.Both of them wore very suspicious, very sneaky looks on their faces.They sidled up beside their men.

“What’d you do?”I asked them both, knowing immediately that it had to do with me.Neither of them were subtle.And Brooke should be, since she was a very famous Hollywood actor.Her acting skills should have been a hell of a lot better.

“Nothing,” Vica said, feigning innocence.“Absolutely nothing.Right, Brooke?”

Brooke blinked at me with her green eyes, tossing her flaxen waves over her shoulder.“I don’t knowwhatyou’re accusing us of right now, Jagger, but it’s very offensive.”

“Offensive, indeed,” Vica added.

I growled and glared at them.

“While you’re back there, Jagger dear, could you fetch me a cranberry spice Witbier, please?”Brooke asked, blinking innocently and tilting her head to the side.Her innocuous shtick wasn’t working on me for a second.I got her the beer anyway, but set it down on the bar with a bit more force than necessary.

Raina’s song was winding down and Vica was quick to exit our little group and race forward, stopping Raina from leaving the stage or relinquishing the microphone.She reached for the second microphone and locked eyes with me.“Jagger!”

I shook my head stiffly.“No.”

Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers’s duet “Islands in the Stream”started to play.Nobody had sung yet, but it was an easily recognizable song.It was one my parents always listened and danced to in the living room when we were kids.

My nostrils flared, and I shot daggers out of my eyes at my sister-in-law, who continued to try to usher me on stage.

Tiny hands behind me pushed my back.I craned my neck around to find all of my nieces and nephews shoving me out from behind the bar toward the stage.

“Go sing, Uncle Jagger,” Aya, the feistiest seven-year-old on the freaking planet, said.“It’s a song for two people.”

Griffon, Wyatt’s youngest—who had also just turned seven—raced around me, grabbed me by the belt loops, and started to haul me forward while Talia, Emme, Jake, and Silas all pushed from behind.

“You can’t deny the children,” Bennett said with a smirk.“Not on Christmas.”

“I absolutely fucking can,” I ground out.“And it’s not Christmas yet.”

I glanced at the children I would literally fucking kill for and growled like a bear at them.But that didn’t deter them at all.They all knew my bark was way worse than my bite.When it came to them, I didn’t even have a fucking bite.

To make matters worse, they gave me sad, puppy dog eyes and started to beg.

“Please, Uncle Jagger!Please go sing.”

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