Page 110 of Fraud
“This is all part of that crazy couple goals thing, isn’t it?”
The grin widened. “Yep.”
“All right,” I said, “but he’s not coming over for dinner.”
She didn’t answer, just stepped forward as the shiny doors parted.
“Kate,” I growled. “Kate!”
Silence.
Fifteen minutes later, my brother was in the back of the car, joining us for dinner.
“Damn, Killer, she’s cute,” Liam announced under his breath a split second after Kate went into her bedroom to change.
“Stop fucking looking at her,” I said, slapping him on the back of the head.
He grinned, ignoring my comment, as he took a look around. “I’m guessing my words of wisdom worked, and the other night went well?”
I shook my head. “I’m not talking to you about this.”
With his hands shoved in his pockets, he leaned over the fireplace, checking out pictures of Kate and her family. “Figures. You don’t talk to me about anything anyway.”
“Like you’re one to talk, moocher. Why exactly are you here again? To visit me, is it?”
His face darkened, anger creeping up his neck. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Our brotherly conversation ended there as I left him to his snooping. He’d always been far more interested in people than I was. I would go where the story took me but only if it interested me—or at least, I had when I had integrity and conviction in what I did.
For Liam though, everything was a story.
Everything was interesting.
From the liquor store owner down the street to his second-grade teacher, he’d always been curious about the lives they led and how it all fit together.
Maybe that was why he was so damn smart at figuring out patterns and intricate details.
He’d been doing it since birth.
“You guys ready to order food?” Kate said, returning to the living room. She’d changed out of her bathing suit, and she was now in a simple black dress that showed off her toned legs and the bit of sun she’d gotten today.
“You’re not cooking?” I asked, making my best appalled face.
She grinned. “I’d prefer to keep you two alive past tomorrow.”
“I can cook,” I offered, making Liam instantly perk up.
“Have you had his cooking? It’s amazing.”
She nodded, taking a seat on the sofa. I did the same, throwing an arm over her shoulder, as my brother continued to roam around the apartment, like a caged bear.
“He made pancakes for me this morning, and they were out of this world,” she said, trying to maintain her straight face as the memories of what had happened shortly after breakfast no doubt filled her mind.
“But, since we’re celebrating his birthday, I thought we’d let him off the hook. For one night, at least.”
“Okay, but don’t let him get away without making you homemade pasta. Seriously, it’s the best. He and Mom used to make ravioli almost every Sunday. I’d suffer through church just for that one meal.”
