Page 14 of My Brother's Best Men
Well, actually, Idoknow, but it’s not something I want to think about right now. Not with Sam’s wedding on the horizon, not with the pre-rehearsal dinner tonight, and certainly not with fucking Matthew standing in my driveway.
“What do you want?” I ask as I slam the door shut.
Matthew sighs. “He’s been a basket case all morning because you didn’t come home last night.”
Home.
When I agreed to let Elijah stay with me after he moved back to town—until he found a place—I didn’t think that hunt would land him in my guest room for nearly eight months. And then Matthew showed up, moving back after he left his job to come home and help his sister with her kids, and suddenly my bachelor pad became a fucking hostel with Matthew in the basement.
But I digress. I guess it is kind of nice having people in my space, makes things a little less lonely. And not just people, but…
The guys.
As much as I don’t want to admit it, I like having my friends with me. In some ways it makes it feel like we’re teenagers again. Well, at least Elijah and me.
Elijah…
I sigh, running a hand over my face. Of course, I should have expected this from him.
It’s no secret from any of us how he feels about Sophie. How Elijah has always felt about Sophie. Hell, I think the only person who doesn’t know is Sophie.
Which is another reason I shouldn’t be thinking about my best friend’s little sister, who showed up here—early—with a suitcase and red-rimmed eyes, tenser than a tightly wound coil.
Elijah’s going to be a fucking mess andsomeoneneeds to be the one in control. And lord knows that ain’t Matt. Man couldn’t control his fucking bladder without serious concentration, and even that’s iffy.
“Relax, I crashed at Sam’s. I’m fine.”
Matt looks at me with a look that I can only describe as skittish. “I know, but?—”
That’s the moment I hear the front door burst open, and out walks Elijah in all his chino-clad glory with his button-down, looking poised as hell save for his messy hair and worried eyes.
“You’re back,” he says, not bothering with pleasantries.
I sigh, heading toward the porch. “Told you, Eli, I don’t have to answer to you. You ain’t my daddy.”
Eli purses his lips, glaring at me. “I wouldn’t want to be your daddy. Or your therapist.”
I growl at him as Matt steps between us. “Okay, cool it, guys, seriously. Eli, he’s home, he’s fine. In one piece. You can rest easy. Benny probably needs something to drink, maybe a water…” He looks between us. “So let’s just head inside, yeah?”
Eli steps aside, letting me intomyhouse.
Fucking asshole, acts like he owns the place. I could kick him out, but I won’t. I should. Despite what most people think, I’m not that much of an asshole.
But I guess it’s hard to envision me as a decent guy with a heart when I dress in all black half the time and I’ve got more ink than available skin at this point.
I like it that way, though. The ink is like armor, repelling the assholes who aren’t worth my time or energy because all they see is a loser with tattoos, rather than a small business owner who built his business from the ground up and is one of the highest paid artists around these parts.
Once in the house, Matt collapses on the leather couch and Eli follows me into the kitchen. “Did you?—”
I sigh in exasperation. I’ve barely made it into the house and already he’s up my ass about her.
Sophie. His dream girl, the one he was too scared to pursue, the one who got away when she left for college and he didn’t have the balls to chase her.
My princess.
I know she’s notmyprincess. Never was, never will be. Even if I wanted her to be.
For starters, she’s my best friend’s sister, so she’s automatically off-limits.
