"So, what's the deal with you lately?" Nate waits until Angelo is seated and we're passing around brunch dishes before he starts in on me.

I knew this was coming. My brother isn't stupid. He's smart and observant, and he knows me too well to believe that I've been bailing on brunch for weeks solely because I've been writing.

The trouble is it's the only excuse I've got. The only one I can tell him, anyway.

"I'll have you know that I've been writing," I say sanctimoniously. "A lot. My writer's block is gone, so I've been trying to capitalize on that."

Angelo gives Nate a look. "See?"

"What's that look for?" I ask.

"Nothing," Angelo says innocently, giving me a shrug as he holds out a plate. "Homemade donuts."

My stomach growls a response that's loud enough for everyone in the next town to hear. "I might be a tad hungry," I admit, taking a donut. "But don't think I didn't notice that look you just gave Nate."

When I set down the plate, Angelo puts another donut on my growing pile of food. "Have you been eating?" He doesn't wait for me to answer before he leans toward Nate. "Does your brother look like he's lost weight? He's lost weight, hasn't he?"

Nate rolls his eyes. "He's not losing weight, and even if he is, he's going to gain twenty pounds at brunch today alone."

"Well, skipping brunch obviously hasn't done him any favors."

"Are you finished talking about me like I'm not here now, or do you want to continue this conversation between yourselves like I don't exist?" I ask, taking a bite of a dark chocolate frosted donut filled with raspberry cream cheese that I think might be the most amazing thing I've ever eaten in my life. "I'll be just fine sitting here quietly and eating all of your food."

"I'm not sure," Nate muses. He stage-whispers to Angelo. "I kind of want to just keep talking about him like he's not here."

"Suit yourselves." I shovel food in my mouth and drink my mimosa.

I've missed brunch with Nate and Angelo. I've been avoiding coming here because I was afraid my brother would be able to see right through me and realize immediately that I was seeing someone, which would open up a whole line of questions I'm not sure I'm ready to answer.

Questions like what the hell do I even call what's happening with Purity?

Seeing her isn't exactly the phrase to use, is it? I'm not seeing her. We're not dating. Hell, I'm not even fucking the girl.

Fooling around? Hooking up?

What's the phrase the kids today use? Hanging out.

That sounds so much more diplomatic and casual than fucking her face and fingering her in my kitchen.

We're just hanging out. That makes it sound like it's no big deal – certainly no reason to feel guilty for not telling my brother and Angelo all about it. It's not like I'm hiding Purity – there's just no reason for them to know about her.

That's what I tell myself.

Nate gives me a skeptical look. "So you've been skipping brunch only because you've been holed up in your house writing?"

"It's great that you're writing again, Gabe," Angelo says, giving Nate a pointed glare.

Nate grunts. "The other week, he said he had the flu."

"Oh, leave him alone, Nate," Angelo scolds. "We've been giving him shit for not writing, and now he's writing and we're still giving him shit."

"Yeah, Nate," I echo, mock-glaring at my brother.

Nate laughs. "I'm giving him shit because I know when my brother is lying. And right now, he's totally lying. I just want to know why."

I take a bite of my donut. "Has anyone ever told you that you should be a cop? Or a detective? You missed your calling with the whole goat clothing line. How is that going, by the way?"

Angelo beams as he reaches over and covers Nate's palm with his. "I'm so proud of your brother," he gushes. "He's booking so much work, it's insane. One of the photos of the goat tuxedo from the wedding is going viral."

"It's not going viral," Nate sighs.

"It's going viral," Angelo repeats. "Why are you downplaying this, Nate? You know how I hate when you minimize your success. Just own it."

"I'm not minimizing my success," Nate says. "I'm just trying to make sure that my little brother knows he hasn't distracted us from interrogating him."

"Interrogating?? What interrogating?" Angelo asks innocently. "We're not interrogating him. We're simply a concerned brother and brother-in-law."

"You should try an intervention," I deadpan. "Gather all of my friends and family here. It would be much more subtle than this line of questioning."

Nate takes a sip of his mimosa. "Please," he says drolly. "We all know that we're your only friends."

"Oh, that was mean," Angelo says.

"That was honest," Nate replies.

"I know other people," I protest. "I have friends."

"Yet you've never brought a single person to brunch," Nate notes.

"He's got you there," Angelo points out.

"Well, maybe I'm embarrassed of you," I tease. "Did that ever occur to you?"

Angelo reaches for my plate and slides it toward his side of the table. "Now you lost your donuts."

"That's really hateful."

Angelo slides the plate back toward me with a grin. "So tell us about the book. You're writing again, which is cause for celebration."

"I want to hear about the goat photo going viral," I insist.

"Don't fall for it, Angelo," Nate warns. "My brother has no interest in who's forwarding the goat picture. He's literally just avoiding talking about the book – or whatever it is he's trying to hide from us."

"What makes you think I'm trying to hide something from you? Goat tuxedos are inherently hilarious, so why wouldn't I want to talk about them rather than my boring book??"

Angelo gives Nate a look. "He has a point, you know."

Nate rolls his eyes. "You've always been a sucker for his antics."

"These are not antics," I declare, taking a bite of a different donut. "Angelo, this is so fucking good, by the way. I've been too distracted by having to defend myself to tell you that."

Angelo gives Nate a smug smile. "That's a cinnamon-apple donut with bourbon cherry glaze," he says.

"Holy shit," I mumble, my mouth full of food.

"I live to feed you," he tells me.

"I thought you lived to feed me," Nate protests.

Angelo wiggles his eyebrows at Nate. "I'll feed you later."

Nate leans forward. "He's talking about cock."

I choke on my bite of donut and sputter. "I'm eating!"

Nate laughs and leans back in his chair. "I'm talking about eating, too."

I make a gagging sound. "Totally want to hear about my brother's sex life at brunch, thanks."

"Well, speaking of sex lives…" Angelo directs his attention toward me.

I groan. "I walked right into that one."

"Your brother insisted that you've been skipping out on brunch because you were getting laid, not writing," he continues. "I know that's not true."

"Thanks, Angelo. I'm glad someone believes in my honesty."

"Well, I know it's not true because you're destined to be a sad old maid," he finishes.

Nate snorts. "At least I think you're capable of getting laid."

"Who's saying I'm not capable of getting laid??"

"Which are you – sad old maid or getting laid?" Angelo asks.

"You're such a poet," Nate says.

"It's one of my many charms," Angelo replies.

"I'm not getting laid," I tell them. I don't even have to lie about that. I haven't gotten laid – yet. I'm doing everything else but that.

"Nope, don't believe you," Nate declares, wiping his mouth with a napkin and tossing it on the table in mock disgust with me.

"I believe him," Angelo insists.

"That's because you want to win," Nate replies.

"Win what?" I ask.

"Nothing," Angelo says quickly.

"Wait a second. Do you have a bet going about me??"

"Noooooo," Angelo says.

"A little bet," Nate chimes in. "Tiny. Very small."

I glare at the pair of them. "Is it a bet about my sex life or my book?"

Nate shrugs. "Both."

"And you say I have no life?"

"Well, that's kind of what the bet is about, really," Nate tells me.

"Let's talk about goats," Angelo interrupts.

"I want to talk about the bet," I insist.

"Do you want to get in on the bet?" Nate offers helpfully.

"So the bet is about what I've been doing for the past few weeks?" I ask. "I'll join in if you add 'plotting my brother's murder' to the list of things I might have been doing."

"That seems plausible," Angelo muses.

Nate's gaze is fixated on me. "It's the ex-wife, isn't it?"

"Is what the ex-wife?" I ask.

"It's not the ex," Angelo declares, making a face. "He hated that bitch. He'd never get back with her. It's the history professor."

"I'm not getting back with the ex-wife," I tell them, disgusted at the mere thought. "Really, Nate??"

"It's a valid theory," he insists.

"Why do I even come to brunch?" I muse.

"Because you love us," Nate says.

I pretend to consider the possibility for a moment. "Nope, that's definitely not it."

"Because you love my cooking," Angelo adds.

"You better be glad you're good at cooking," I tell him.

"I'm good at football, cooking, and screwing," Angelo declares. "If you tell us who you're screwing, we'll leave you alone. Unburden yourself to Angelo."

I laugh. "Can you imagine what would happen if I did confess to screwing someone? You'd be making goat tuxedos for our wedding within a week."

Angelo's eyes go wide and his hand goes over his heart. "Aw, Nate, can you do a whole thing? I'm seeing a whole goat wedding party, with tuxedos and bridesgoat dresses."

"Rein in your husband, Nate."

"The reins are for later tonight," Nate deadpans.

I groan. "You two are in rare form today."

Angelo shrugs. "We have a lot of pent-up snark because we haven't seen you in weeks, literally. It's like you've risen from the dead."

"Speaking of rising from the dead…" Nate interjects. "How's the preacher's daughter?"

Oh, shit.

I choke on my mimosa, sputtering and coughing for at least a full minute while the two of them stare at me.

"Interesting," Angelo hums.

I cough harder. "No, that's okay, I'm fine, really. No one come to my aid or anything. I'll make it."

"Are you joking?" Nate asks.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"Whoa," Angelo exclaims, his eyes wide as he reaches for a croissant. "The preacher's daughter?? Isn't she like, eighteen?"

Nate furrows his brow. "No. Alan's daughter?! You've got to be fucking kidding, Gabe."

"I don't know what either of you are talking about," I lie, my face warm.

"You're not…" Nate blinks rapidly. "I mean… you wouldn't…"

I have half a mind to tell him that not only would I, but I already have. Okay, I have more than half a mind. I'm close to just giving up my secret – but then I realize it's not only my secret. It's hers, too.

It's ours and I don't want to dissect it with my brother and Angelo – or with anyone else, for that matter. I want to keep it to myself. I've never felt that way before about anyone, much less a girl I hardly know and haven't even screwed.

I want to keep her to myself. All mine.

"Are you insane??" I ask, deflecting their attention by reaching for another donut. "She's a student."

I force disgust into my tone, and then quickly stuff a bite of donut into my mouth, almost choking again.

Nate lets out a heavy exhale. "Good God, for a second there I thought you were going to come in here and tell us you were screwing one of your students."

Angelo laughs. "Could we say 'midlife crisis', everyone?"

Nate slaps him on the arm. "He'd need a convertible, too."

"And hair plugs," Angelo adds.

My hand automatically goes to my head. "My hairline isn't even receding!"

"Oh, no, honey," Angelo says in an excessively soothing tone. "Not yet, anyway."

"You two are such bitches," I huff. "Like neither of you have hooked up with someone half your age."

"So you are hooking up with someone half your age??" Angelo asks.

"Oh, shit. Are you hooking up with a student?" Nate continues.

"No!" I exclaim, frustrated with their ongoing interrogation. "It's the history professor, goddamn it!"

"Oh my God, I knew it!" Nate shouts loudly, slamming his palm onto the table. "Pay up, sucker!"

Angelo sniffs. "I know I was the one who gave him her number, but I really didn't think he'd follow through."

"Well, I did," I lie. "Follow through."

Nate looks at Angelo. "I can't believe you actually thought he might be screwing Alan's flesh and blood," he scoffs. "After that man's church picketed our wedding? My own brother wouldn't touch that girl with a ten-foot pole. I mean, really, I might give Gabe a lot of shit, but he's the most loyal person I know."

The most loyal person he knows.

I down a mimosa in a single gulp.

Yep, that's me: loyal to my brother and Angelo, not having a midlife crisis. and definitely not screwing Alan's eighteen-year-old daughter.