Reece pulled his arm back, appalled by what he'd just done—and at the same time, certain he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

"Reece!" Jenna's scream cut through the rage and jealousy and betrayal that clung to him like mist. He turned to see her staring him down, Brent's robe tight around her body. She was probably naked underneath, and the image of Brent's hands on her filled his mind. Brent stroking her, taking advantage.

Taking what was his.

No. Reece clenched his fist again, this time as much in defense against his own thoughts as against the fury that still bubbled inside him.

"Christ, man." Brent rubbed his jaw, manipulating it from side to side like he was checking for broken bones. "What the hell was that for?"

"We're supposed to be watching out for her, not fucking her."

"Have you lost your mind? We haven't—"

"Watching out for me?" Jenna's voice rose with indignation. "Who elected you to the posse?" She stepped in front of him, her back to Brent. "Because in case you missed the memo, I can sleep with whoever I want to."

Bile rose in Reece's throat. He'd been right. Oh, holy fuck, he'd been right.

"And what the hell do you think you're doing coming in here like a warden and throwing punches?" She took another step and got right in his face, so close he could count her freckles, dark against her pale, angry skin. He was struck by an overwhelming urge to taste each one. Either that or grab her by the arms and shake her.

Or maybe he should gather her up, kiss her hard, and show her once and for all whose bed she belonged in, because, goddammit, if he'd known that Brent would—

"And how is who I sleep with any of your business?" Jenna continued, interrupting the barrage of thoughts that burst through his mind like machine gun fire. "Did I say anything about Megan? Or about the dozens of women before her?"

She had, actually. He distinctly remembered her standing in much the same posture and telling him time and again that he needed to get his shit together, because the way he was going, he'd have dated every woman in Travis County. Of course, she'd been wearing jeans that day. Not a bathrobe.

He drew in a breath and tried to keep his temper in check. "This isn't about—"

"This isn't about anything," Brent interrupted, using the same voice that Reece had heard him use with Faith when she was being particularly cranky. "Jenna slept in my bed, I slept on the couch, and I'm guessing nobody's sleeping with you lately. Because you, my friend, are wound too tight."

"What the hell, Reece?" Jenna snapped. "Do you honestly think I'd sleep with Brent? And right down the hall from his daughter?"

"You told me you were staying with Amanda."

She rolled her eyes, then turned and started walking toward the kitchen. "Oh, right." She paused in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder at him. "And since I'm not allowed to change my plans without sending you a text message asking permission, I'm in trouble now."

"Dammit, Jenna—"

She whirled on him. "Don't 'dammit, Jenna,' me. Unless I'm camped out on your couch, it's none of your business where I sleep. But for your information, the Franklins are having their floors redone, so Amanda's got her parents in her house. And I wasn't keen on sleeping on the sofa while Mr. Franklin hangs out in the living room at five in the morning watching the news."

"Children," Brent said, "if we could just—"

"Oh, no," Jenna said, cutting Brent off. Apparently, she was still on a very Jenna-like roll. She turned her attention back to Reece. "You seriously thought we'd slept together? You guys are my best friends. You know that. Hell, you're my family, and you know that, too. Besides, I don't think about him that way," she continued, her voice tight and sharp. "But even if I did, do you think I'd risk that? Risk losing the only family I have besides my mom? Damn you, Reece Walker. You're a goddamn idiot."

She was right, of course. He didn't believe it, but damned if an insane rush of jealousy hadn't completely swept him away in a tidal wave of primal, raw emotion.

He couldn't remember a time he'd lost his shit like that, and all he could do now was shake his head, apologize, and hope there wasn't a big neon sign flashing over his head advertising exactly why he'd gotten so bent out of shape in the first place.

"I'm an ass, okay? That's the bottom line, and the sooner we all accept the truth, the happier we'll all be."

"An ass," she repeated, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Care to elucidate?"

"I think he's summed it up nicely," Brent said. Jenna turned to him, her arms crossed and her mouth a thin line of disapproval. She stared him down. One second, then another—and then all three of them burst into laughter.

"Oh, shit," Jenna said. "I mean, seriously, Reece. What the fuck?"

"Sorry. I know." He ran his palm over his head, wishing the contact could help him come up with something even remotely plausible. "It's this bullshit with Tyree. I didn't sleep for thinking about it, and then I walked in and—well, straw, meet camel."

Her mouth twisted with exasperation as she pushed away from the wall. "Idiot," she muttered, then hip-butted him as she moved past him into the kitchen. She paused long enough to point to Brent. "You, go finish getting dressed. And to answer your question, yes, you can hang up my dress. In the bathroom, with the shower on hot. I need to steam out some wrinkles. And as for you..."

She turned her attention to Reece. "Make some coffee, would you? I'll start bacon, and Brent can do the eggs when he gets back."

Reece did as she said, and when the coffee was brewing, he hoisted himself up on the counter and watched as she poked at the frying bacon with the tongs. Her back was to him, and he could just make out the curves of her ass against the thick material of the robe. He wanted to slide off the cabinet, go to her, and cup her ass in his hands as he bent to kiss her neck. She probably tasted like bacon. Either way, he could damn sure eat her up.

And no way could that ever happen, for all the reasons she'd stated.

As if he'd spoken aloud, she looked over her shoulder, her brows rising in question. "Yeah?"

"Just watching you cook and thinking."

"Oh? About what?" She turned back to the sizzling pan, moving the meat around, as he hopped down and came up behind her.

What was he thinking? The truth was something he couldn't tell her, especially after her announcement that she considered him only family, and didn't think of him that way at all.

The truth was that he was thinking about her. About the feel of her skin that night. And he was trying to remember the exact pinkish-brown of her exposed areola when he'd undressed her. And he was probably heading straight for hell because those thoughts spun into a sweet fantasy about sliding his hand between her thighs to cup her smooth, shaved pussy. Not to mention the X-rated movie playing in his mind about what would have happened had he not simply cleaned her up that night, but if he'd laid her naked on the bed then tasted every warm, delicious inch of her.

But those weren't best friend thoughts, and so as he moved behind her now in Brent's kitchen, he said none of it. Instead, he told her he was thinking about bacon.

"Bacon?" She didn't sound convinced, but he didn't have the strength to argue, not when he was right behind her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating him. Brent's shampoo, actually, but it smelled one hell of a lot better on Jenna.

"I'm ravenous." He leaned to one side, his hand resting on the stainless steel edge of the stove as he reached around her with his other hand to snag a piece of bacon off the paper-towel covered plate onto which she was piling the cooked pieces. He paused in the motion, realizing that she was effectively caged in his arms, and it would be so ridiculously easy to brush her hair with his lips, or even spin her around and capture her mouth before she could protest.

"Reece." Her back was still to him, so he couldn't see her face, but he heard an unfamiliar tightness in her voice. An awareness. A heat. And he felt a corresponding tension in his balls.

"What?" He stepped closer under the guise of getting another slice of bacon, and in the process his chest brushed her back. For just an instant, time froze. And in that infinite moment, he felt the fire of a future he craved—and remembered one simple, wonderful, confusing point: she'd said she didn't think of him that way. Not them—not Brent and Reece—just him.

And in the context of that particular conversation, the "him" in question had been Brent.

Did that mean she thought about Reece that way? As more than a friend, and definitely not family?

And even if she did, so what? She was right, after all. How could either of them risk their friendship for something that might be fun, but wouldn't last? Because he knew better than to believe relationships last. He was walking, talking proof that they didn't.

"Reece?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you move?" she asked, breaking the spell. "You're blocking me, and I'm desperate for a cup of coffee."

"What? Oh, yeah." He stepped aside, then watched as she poured a cup for herself, then passed one to him. "I really am sorry."

She took a sip, then lifted a shoulder. The robe swallowed her, and with her long hair parted in the middle, no makeup, and bare feet, she reminded him of a little girl at Christmas sipping cocoa. That illusion, however, faded when those eyes flashed green fire in his direction.

"There are a lot of jerks out there you could have saved me from over the years. But you should know that Brent isn't one of them. I mean, what were you thinking?"

"I'm pretty sure we've already established that I wasn't. Thinking, I mean." He pointed at the stove. "Go. Cook."

"Set the table," she ordered as Brent arrived and went to work on the eggs. It was a routine they'd been through at least a hundred times. And when they each had a plate and were settled at the table, Jenna nodded at Brent. "So what are we going to do about Tyree. And, yeah, I mean we. I know I've been gone for ages and don't work there anymore, but I love him, too. So?" she demanded, looking at them both in turn. "What's the plan?"

"We need to know the problem before the plan," Reece said. "And I mean the details of the problem. More than just the fact that he owes money."

"Must be a shit ton of money," Brent said. "Austin commercial real estate isn't cheap, and it wasn't when Tyree bought the place, either. I don’t know what he paid for The Fix, but I do know the down-payment wasn’t huge."

"So you're saying it's a done deal?" Jenna pressed. She reached for the salt, the sleeve of her robe brushing Reece's arm.

"I'm saying that unless Tyree's been burying gold in his backyard, he's going to need a creative solution."

"We," she corrected, looking at Reece. "Right?"

"Hell, yes," he said. No way in hell was he letting Tyree lose The Fix. Not if there was anything he could do about it. Seeing Jenna's pleased smile at his quick reply was just a bonus. "This is Tyree, after all."

"I know," Brent said, his expression sober. He let out a frustrated sigh and sat back in his chair, his eyes on Reece. "He's like us. He's practically family."

Reece swallowed, his throat thick as it always was when he thought of his Uncle Vincent, a solider who'd died in Afghanistan at thirty-one, leaving three-year-old Mike and a young wife behind. Vincent Walker was Reece's father's only brother, a surprise who'd been born when Reece's dad, Charlie Walker, was fifteen. Also a serviceman, Charlie had served in Desert Storm, where one of the men in his command had been a green eighteen-year-old named Tyree. Years later, Tyree took Vincent under his wing and stayed with the mortally wounded younger man in the field despite the danger to himself from continuing enemy fire.

Reece had grown up knowing Tyree and thinking of him as family, which meant that he was family to Brent and Jenna, too. The three had urged him to take the plunge when he bought The Fix, and Reece and Jenna had been two of his first employees, with Jenna waiting tables and Reece tending bar before he worked his way up to manager.

Brent was still a cop back then, but he worked security during his off-hours, ultimately quitting the force to work at The Fix full time.

So, yeah. The Fix was home, and Tyree was family.

Helping him was a no-brainer. The question was how.

"Hard to say until we know exactly how much he owes," Brent said when Jenna voiced that very question. "But lending him the money seems like a good idea."

"Which he wouldn't take," Reece said. "The man's got pride. And unless you have some gold in your backyard, I don't know where we'd find the money to make it happen anyway."

"We could talk to Easton," Jenna said, referring to Amanda's former boyfriend who'd become a regular at the bar.

"If he's got too much pride to borrow from one of us, he's not going to borrow from one of the regulars," Brent said.

"Too bad," Reece said. "Some of our regulars have enough money they could just write a check. Hell, Cameron's sister won a Grammy, and she loves the place."

"Tyree would never forgive us if we started asking the customers. Same goes for one of those online crowdfunding deals. Not his style, and you know it."

"Yeah, I do," Reece admitted.

"That's not what I meant, anyway," Jenna said. "It's just that Easton's a lawyer, so he'd know how to renegotiate the loan or get an extension or forgiveness, or whatever you call it. And he knows everyone, too. Maybe whatever bank holds the note is already a client."

"Well, it's not going to do us any good to sit around making suggestions," Reece said. "We need to go talk to the man."

"Be persuasive. You have to convince him to let you help." They rose, and Jenna took all their plates and carried them to the counter, then came back. "You guys will figure something out."

She leaned in and kissed Brent's cheek, then turned to Reece. She hesitated for just a second, the pause so brief he barely noticed. Probably wouldn't have, except that he was hyperaware of her. And so he noticed the hint of a blush on her cheeks, too, when she brushed a feather-soft kiss across his cheek.

"So," she said, then cleared her throat. "Right, well, I need to go get dressed. I've got that job interview. Wish me luck?"

"Always," Reece said.

"You don't need luck," Brent said. "You've got talent." He turned to Reece. "Ready?"

"What? Ready to tell a man I've respected my whole life, who has more pride in his little finger than you and me put together, that I know he's hurting for money just a few years before his only son's about to go off to college? Why the hell would you think I'm not ready?"

Brent met Jenna's eyes. "We'll be leaving now."

"We'll call you later to see how your interview went," Reece said.

She waved the words away. "Oh, please. Don't worry about me today. I'm just looking for a job. You guys are trying to help Tyree with his life."