“Dude. Are you listening to me?” Cal prods me in the ribs.
“We’re having fun.”
Lot of sex. Lots of fun.
“We’re having fun?” He snorts, resting his elbows on the counter in the bar we’re sitting in. “Humor me and define fun, would you, because you say fun and all I hear is I’m banging your sister.”
Cal uses air quotes when he sarcastically intones the word fun.
He’s perceptive. Calculating. And clearly not amused.
I look him in the eye, tapping the bottom of the beer bottle in my hand against the counter. “Without getting into detail, Tabitha and I are friends—”
“It better not be friends with fucking benefits.”
“Would you let me finish?” Okay, initially I assumed he was going to be cool with me dating his sister, but now I’m not so sure. I tread lightly, choosing my next words carefully. Don’t get me wrong—Cal is cool guy and he’s perfect for Greyson, but he’s also built like a tank, has about thirty pounds on me, and I’ve literally watched him suckerpunch a guy between the eyes during a rugby match. So yeah. Pissing him off is not on the itinerary.
“Tabitha and I are friends. I’m not just physically attracted to her; I respect the shit out of her. Do you even know how amazing she is?” I take a swig of beer. “The minute I saw her, I just kn—why the fuck are you staring at me like that? Am I starting to sound like a goddamn pansy?”
Cal rolls his eyes. “The minute you saw her at your housewarming party?”
“No, man, the minute I saw her hiding behind a rack of chairs at Target, working herself up into a tizzy, wearing that cute pink hat. So fucking adorable.” I chuckle when Cal looks back at me, his brows scrunched into a confused scowl.
“My sister is not adorable. She overreacts to everything and is a giant pain in the…” He stops short when I cock an eyebrow.
He shakes his head, regathering his thoughts. “Look, I’m not going to start an argument with you. All I’m saying is you better not be playing around. She’s dated enough assholes; she doesn’t need to date another one.”
“Have you ever met your sister? Pretty sure she’d have my balls in a vise if I screwed her over.” Cal nods in agreement. I swallow what’s left in my beer bottle before waxing poetic. “So sweet I can barely stand it. Last night she surprised me with a—”
“Keller, stop.” My sister’s boyfriend curls his lips, disgusted. “You’ve obviously never seen her throw a hissy fit about having to chop fire wood on the weekends at our parents’ house.”
I scoff, unimpressed. “Puh-lease. You think that’s bad? I’ll counter a wood-chopping hissy fit and raise you one you’ve obviously never seen Greyson stuff eighteen marshmallows in her mouth at one time. Ask her to play Chubby Bunny with you once.”
Cal’s blue eyes widen. “Seriously? Eighteen marshmallows? Dude, what the fuck.”
“Yes, seriously. It’s a game they used to play at sleep-away camp. Then she’d come home and play it with her friends. It’s freakishly disturbing.” I grimace at the memory of my dainty, blonde-haired and bright-eyed little sister—my parents’ pride and joy—cramming white puff after white puff of fluffy marshmallow into her mouth as a teenager.
Like a boss.
My sister’s boyfriend snickers. “Well, being able to fit large objects in her mouth is a skill that comes in handy for us both—where can I send my thank-you letter?”
“Ha ha, real funny, asshole.”
Cal’s booming laughter echoes loudly, sounding unpracticed and rusty as the girls re-approach, Greyson taking the lead with Tabitha nipping at her heels.
She eyes us skeptically.
“What are you two laughing at?” Greyson asks, automatically shimmying up to Cal, her body contouring to his—like two puzzle pieces that were made to fit together. Her arm slips around his waist while narrowing those light hazel eyes at me.
My sister unattractively purses her lips.
“What? What did I do?” I ask. “What’s with the stink-eye?”
Those slits of hazel get thinner. “What did you tell him?”
I immediately grab a square white cocktail napkin from the center of the table, wad it up, and shove it in my mouth. “Chubby bunny.”
“Oh my god!” Greyson laughs and smacks me in the arm. Hard. “You shithead!”
I wad up another one. It joins the first. “Chubby. Bunny.”
“Stop it, Collin, or you’ll choke. I don’t want to have to call Mom and Dad from the hospital because you’re jamming napkins down your throat.”
“Hey, I was forced into it—we were comparing bratty sister stories.” My voice is muffled around the two napkins packed in my mouth. A white corner sticks out from between my lips as I continue. “He didn’t leave me any choice.”
I can’t tell by Tabitha’s neutral expression if she’s amused or appalled by my childish antics.
My sister grabs a cocktail napkin, balls it up in her fist, and throws it at me, laughing. “On second thought, here. Shove this one in your face, too. Maybe it’ll shut you up.” Greyson turns to Tabitha and rolls her eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know what you see in him, and now I have to question your taste in men. For a grown man, sometimes he is so immature.”
Tabitha giggles.
Cal glances back and forth between his sister and me. “Wait. For real, you’re seeing each other? I thought you were full of shit before.”
“No. Why would you think I was full of shit?”
He glances at his sister. “I mean, I love you, Tabby, so no offense—I’m just not used to seeing you dating anyone. I was already in college when you were dating that douchebag baseball player, and even I knew he didn’t deserve you.”
I move closer to Tabitha, pull her in, and relax my hand on her hip. “Damn right he didn’t deserve her,” I add, even though I have no idea what baseball player he’s talking about. I make a mental note to ask about it later. “Your sister is incredible.”
“I know that, Collin. I’m just saying she’s dated some real dickshitters.”
“Not on purpose,” Tabitha points out, resting her head on my shoulder. I give her a squeeze. “Remember Bryan Rickman? He wasn’t completely horrible.”
Cal laughs. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you date him in ninth grade?”
“What’s your point?”
“That doesn’t count. You were fourteen.”
She narrows her bright blue eyes. “How do you even remember all this?”
Cal blushes, the gash on his face appearing even more severe. Chagrined, he mutters, “I may or may not have read your diary.” Tabitha hauls off and whacks him with her purse. “Ouch! I said I may have! Jeez! There’s no tangible proof that I actually did.”
“Okay, break it up you two,” Greyson referees, stepping in. “Go to your rooms.”
But Cal is on a roll and brings the conversation full circle. “Really though, I’m just curious—how did you end up hooking up in the first place?” He grimaces. “I didn’t mean hooking up. I meant talking.”
“Dating?” Tabitha clears her throat. “Well, coincidentally, we ran into each other one afternoon doing out-of-office work stuff. Sometimes I take everything to a coffee shop, sit with my laptop, and drink coffee.”
I agree. “Same. And that’s what we were doing when we bumped into each other before the housewarming—”
“He scared the crap out of me—” Tabitha interrupts.
“She had the most adorable panic attack and spilled coffee all over herself. All over her white shirt. I was hoping it would turn into a wet tee-shirt contest—”
“Shut up, you were making me nervous!”
“I was making you nervous? Pretty sure it was the other way around.”
“Oh my god, you are so sweet.” She pecks my cheek, excited, then speaks to her brother. “So he’s just standing there staring, right, which was weirding me out. I end up knocking everything off the table, including the proof of my book—”
“It just lands under the table,” I add with a knowing smirk.