“Mommy said SHIT!” Hayden yelled at the top of her lungs, running in circles around Jenna’s legs until she spied the cat and took off after it.

“HAYDEN, NO!” Jenna shouted, taking off after her.

I shook my head, grinning at Noah as he came in the door.

“Hey, Em. Welcome to the nut house. Wanna come help me organize the garage?” Noah grinned at me before looking around the kitchen and wincing. Without another word he turned around and headed back to the safety of the garage.

Jenna came back in the kitchen then, dangling the poor cat, Tommy (Hayden named her, poor thing) in her outstretched arms, who’s fur was matted and sticky with syrup where Hayden’s hands had grabbed her. Blowing out a breath, I grabbed a washcloth and wetted it with warm water and a little bit of dish soap.

Between the two of us, Jenna and I managed to get the cat, Hayden, and the kitchen cleaned in record time. Jarrod came down the stairs fresh from the shower, shook his head at his sister, and went out to the garage with his father.

A couple hours later, Jenna and I were sitting on her back deck sipping wine and I made the mistake of mentioning Luke, which led to how I met him, which led to Jenna shrieking and calling our mother to tattle on me. Geez, like I’m not almost thirty!

Jenna was mad that I hadn’t shown her the tattoo right after I got it, but shut up pretty quickly when I reminded her that she was quite preoccupied with her stakeout fiasco the last time I saw her.

“Speaking of, Jenna, are you done trying to convince yourself that Noah is cheating on your dumb ass?” I asked.

“Smart ass,” Jenna replied. “Yeah, we worked it out. And for the record, I was going a little crazy at the time. I was late. As in, late!”

I choked on my wine, setting my glass down and staring at Jenna wide-eyed. “Are you pregnant?”

She shook her head at me. I think she looked a little sad, but then Hayden came running outside wearing Jarrod’s underwear on her head, Jarrod hot on her heels yelling, “Mo-om!” Jenna just leaned forward, put her head on the table and began banging it, whispering, “Why me? Why me?”

I left Jenna’s house around six and called Allie from my cell when I got in the car.

“Emma Marie Jensen, you devious little bitch!” Allie yelled into the phone, not bothering with niceties like saying hello or anything. “I gave up fat clothes night and special sundaes for you to roll around naked with that hot piece of ass and you can’t even call me to give me details? I thought you were my best friend! I’m breaking up with you!”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Allie, calm down!”

“You don’t get to tell me to calm down, chickie la la. I went out since we weren’t having fat clothes night, and instead of finding me a hot piece of my own, I ran interception for you because I saw Leah at the bar. She was working herself up over the loss of her current man candy of the month and was planning on crashing your place again. So what now?” Allie yelled into the phone.

“Okay, okay, okay, geez, keep your panties on! I’m sorry, thank you, I love you, you have my undying gratitude, and if you are done yelling at me, meet me at Griff’s for a drink and I’ll give you the low down dirty details. Will that make up for it?” I asked.

“Yes,” she huffed. “Be there in ten. Maybe fifteen.” She hung up.

I chuckled, pulled out of Jenna’s drive and headed downtown to Griff’s.

When I got to Griff’s, I headed to our favorite booth in the back. It was primo positioning, you had a clear view of the bar, clear view of the door, and, for the nights they had bands play, a clear view of the small stage. Unless people start a mosh pit in the middle of the floor, but I try to avoid those nights.

When I got to the booth, I pulled up short because it was occupied. Then I got a clear look at who it was and my night just got even better.

“Calland Andrew Jensen,” I drawled. “Imagine finding you here, little brother.” I slid into the booth beside him, effectively blocking him in. Well, as much as I could because we both knew he could get past me if he wanted. He could slide out under the table, or, frankly, could bodily shove me out of the way. And he’s done both before, so…

“Emma, how many times do I have to tell you? Younger brother, youn-ger. I’m bigger than you. I’m stronger than you. Do we need to have this conversation again?” Calland asked.

Calland is 27, the only boy, and, well, there’s no way around it. He’s a spoiled rotten little asshole. But he’s a gorgeous spoiled rotten little asshole. He’s tall, topping out at six-two, and he’s built. He has thick, dark brown hair cut almost in a high and tight, but his hair is a little longer on top. It always looks like he just ran his hands through it, but its actually styled like that. Weird, but it works for him, I guess.

His eyes are the same jade green as all of ours, rimmed in thick, long dark lashes that should have made him look feminine, but did no such thing, and his skin is nicely tanned. (Makes me sick because I generally just burn; which is why he’s always so kindly telling me that I was adopted. Asshole, see?)

“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath before saying, “So. You owe me so big for Monday night. You barge into my house, where I’m clearly busy, and then if that’s not bad enough, you left our sister passed out, not three sheets to the wind, but like six sheets to the wind, on my living room floor. I didn’t get laid because of you, jerkwad!”

Eek! I realized as soon as the words left my mouth that I had yelled that last part. And, of course, the song playing on the jukebox had just ended, so my words echoed in the sudden silence of the bar. The whole bar. Ugh. I hate my life sometimes.

Willy, a regular at the bar who, more often than not, was drunk by two turned my way and hollered, “I’ll do ya, sweet cheeks! Won’t leave ya hangin’, either!” Yikes.

I chose to ignore Willy (he hits on everything that walks by with long hair and two legs. Caused a few tiffs, that’s for sure, especially when it’s a poor unsuspecting dude with long hair.)

I turned back to Calland, opened my mouth to say something, and he punched my arm.

“Don’t call me names!” he smirked.

Rubbing my arm (it stung!) I replied, “What are you, five? Cheese and rice, man!”

Allie, fortunately or unfortunately, however you want to look at it, chose that moment to barrel up to the table, throw herself into the booth, and yell, “Go!”

I shook my head at her, knowing she was giving me my cue to spill. So I started telling her, relishing the horror that flashed over Calland’s face before he shoved me out of the booth in front of him and took off, waving and hollering, “Later!” over his shoulder.

When I finished telling Allie every last little detail, she blinked for a second before saying, “I just have one question.”

Uh oh, I mentally groaned.

“Please, please tell me you had mowed the lawn. You did, right?” she asked, a pained expression on her face.

Really? She had to go there? “Yes, Allie. Mowed down to the dirt. Bare floors. However you want to call it, there’s nothing there. Are you satisfied? Can we forget about that for once?”

“Well, Em, you have to admit it’s a valid question. I mean, you did look like you were smuggling Side Show Bob in your bikini bottoms. Bushzilla, baby!” She cracked up like she was the funniest thing alive.