After all it isn’t the 1950s and Lily is no wilting violet. I don’t say that though. The details are something an overprotective brother doesn’t need to be privy to. Especially a brother like Hudson Kelly. He practically raised Lily on his own. Played mother. And father. As well as sibling. That’s a lot to build a relationship on.
My own relationships are way more screwed up. I can’t even begin to imagine how much therapy I probably should have attended over the years. Lily makes me want to try for something better.
“You and I are not going to talk about it.” He goes back to unloading bottles. That’s it. Discussion is over.
It’ll probably be a good few weeks before he brings it up again. As long as Lily and I are careful. As long as he doesn’t get suspicious. Maybe it’s time we consider telling him, but what if it changes everything? What if it ruins everything? What if I ruin everything?
I should leave it alone. I should empty these slabs into the fridges and go about my normal Friday night routine. Possibly sneak out to check my messages to see what Lily had to say. Find out whether I’m going to see her tonight. At the bar. And then later at my loft.
I shouldn’t taunt him just because it’s part of our dynamic and it’s so easy to do. Not about this. “Your sister is all grown up, man. It’s time to accept that she’s not a little girl anymore.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” He folds up the empty carton and places it with the other stacked boxes to be taken out to be recycled.
“You treat her like a kid,” I try again. “She’s twenty-five. She’s been to college. Frat parties and keggers. You remember what it was like. There’s no chance she hasn’t—”
He claps his hands over his ears, cutting off my words. “I can’t hear you.”
“You’re being an idiot.”
“What was that?” He lifts his hands from his ears.
“Had sex,” I rush the words. “You know your sister has had sex.”
“You mother ducker.” He folds his beefy arms across his chest and glares at me with green eyes three shades too dark to be my favorite color. “I don’t want to hear your disgusting theories about my sister. Were you raised by wolves?”
Ha. Not quite. But it feels awfully close to the truth. Wolves will eat their own young when the situation gets dire enough. My father sold me down the river to protect his own back.
I fire back with my own quip. “At least I wasn’t raised by the Spice Girls, you Wannabe lovin’ man child. Could you be any more of a 90s teenage girl?”
“Oof.” He clutches his chest, his mouth hanging open exaggeratedly wide. “How dare you say anything against my beloved Spice Girls?”
“One day soon your sister is going to bring home a boyfriend,” I warn him as I move onto the next fridge in the row. Hopefully sooner, rather than later. We’ve kept this secret from him for months now and it’s as uncomfortable as a polyester sweater in a heatwave. “How are you going to handle that? How are you going to deal with knowing your little girl is all grown up?”
My phone beeps again. More messages. Maybe something sexy. Or funny. Or cute. I’m dying to take a peek. My mouth is awkwardly and desperately trying not to smile as I consider what might be in those unread messages. There’s a thrill in it. This running around in secret. I cannot give myself away.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Hud raises an eyebrow at me.
“It can wait.”
“Last night’s hook up?” He nods his head like he knows me. All my secrets.
“I don’t do that anymore.” He does know me. I used to be that guy. Before her. Until she made me want to be a better kind of man. It scares me. How far I’m willing to go to be someone different. Someone who deserves Lily Kelly. Someone who doesn’t ruin everything he touches.
“You don’t do it any less either,” he retorts. His lips firm up into a smile. His brow furrows. He’s probably thinking back over the last few months and trying to recall the last time I went home with someone.
For a second I think he’s going to try to count on his fingers the number of girls he’s seen me with. It’ll be a short list. He won’t even be able to flip me the bird with the number of fingers that list will take.
His gaze clears. He clicks his fingers. “Oh, trench coat girl.”
He thinks he has it, but he doesn’t. Because there hasn’t been anyone but Lily. “Wasn’t a hook up.”
His mouth forms an O. He shakes his head. Frowns. “Mystery girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” But trust me, I want to change that.
“Aww, it’s okay to admit you want what the rest of us have,” he says. “Or are you still struggling with your brother marrying your ex?”
“Everything is fine.” I’m with your sister.
“Are you sure? You can talk to me.”
Nope. Not about this I can’t. At least not without the proper safety gear. Padding and a mouthguard. A cup at the very least. And not yet. I have to talk to Lily first. Tell her everything and hope she believes me when I say I will try to be the guy who deserves her. “So about Lily? How are you going to deal when she finally introduces you to someone she’s serious about?”
“I’m fine with it,” he says. “As long as it isn’t you.”
Three months earlier…
Chapter Two
Lily
“I’ve got the solution,” Lewis, my trade manager, shouts as he approaches me. “We’re about to set you up on a dating app, Lilly Pilly. It’s going to be awesome.”
It’s mid-morning so people are checking out of the upscale Chicago hotel where we’re meeting to work through our presentation to the Gladstone Hotel Group. Several guests stop what they’re doing and glance around in curiosity at his booming voice.
I half lift my hand to wave. Yes, it’s me. Desperate and dateless in Chicago. Except I’m not desperate, and I’m dateless by choice. The embarrassment that heats my cheeks, though, is a gift from my best friend and favorite contractor.
“Was that necessary?” I ask as the hotel’s guests go back to checking out.
“I brought baked goods.” He grins from under his blue Cubs cap. Dark curls that match his scruff explode from under the rim and his brown eyes dance with cockiness. He has his arms full with a tray of coffees and a white cardboard box with the name of the bakery across the road stamped on the side. “Bear claw? Cruller? Devil’s food cake?”
“That’s not fair,” I whine as he pops the box on the table between us and flips open the lid to reveal the sweet, sweet contents. Chocolate ganache. Vanilla glaze. Pie filling. My stomach growls. “Buttering me up isn’t going to work.”
“I got you one of each.” He takes a seat in the black leather tub chair opposite me and hands me a tall carryout cup. “Caramel macchiato with a shot of vanilla and extra chocolate drizzle.”
“I hate you,” I whisper, nuzzling the cup to my chest. I lift it to face height and kiss the side. “But I adore you.”